#experience that that’s the way to go in France

[waugh-bao]

Bordeaux: Days 1-4

[stormears]

NOTEBOOK THERAPY...

I'm becoming a slut for journaling materials...a person on Youtube reminded me that oh yeah, Notebook Therapy exists. And this deep, deep red is very me.

And the idea of black paper...writing with white ink...that is alluring.

I already have two journals that I ACTUALLY USE, UNLIKE THE OTHER GIRLS!!!! One is for fanfic ideas/note taking and the other is more of a personal diary. I also have a planner but I definitely use that less than I want to.

Writing in these books actually makes me feel like I have my head on straighter. I feel like a more with-it, composed, prepared young lady ready to take on some TASKS (taking out trash, going to Aldi) and look GOOD DOING IT.

It gives me romantic ideas of going to cool places and having cool things to do and cool experiences to remember, even though I usually don't. Which is exactly the point, I think. The marketing is working.

I wonder if the friend I haven't spoken to in 6 months and hasn't been texting me back lately would consider going to Japan with me at some point :/

[viir-tanadhal]

no no listen i see the vision

what were the other ones then

[homunculus-argument]

I may be swinging a fruit bat in a room full of hornet's nests here, but do americans know that most of the world doesn't look the way the US does? Like, specifically concerning ethnic diversity.

Coming from Europe, the fist time I went to the US, I was shocked by it, not in a negative way but in the same "wow, that's a real thing?" sort of way as western people finding out that there actually are that kind of pillar mountains in China, or americans who had never seen Fjord Horses in anything but the movie Frozen finding out that those fantastical yellow ponies are actually real.

And it wasn't some "backcountry rural hick sees Different Colour Person for the first time and dies of shock" sort of a thing. I had travelled before, and at 19 I considered myself quite worldly enough to go to a different continent I had never been on to go meet up a man from the internet, all by myself. I had been all over Europe from Iceland to St. Petersburg and from Norway to France, I have travelled. It was a slow realisation that it's turtles all the way down, that actually got me.

Being in an airport, going from one airport to another, I wasn't surprised by the sheer range of different kinds of people I saw. Airports just look like that, all over the world. Taking one flight after another, I didn't pay much attention to that, because airports just look like that. The "wait, holy shit" didn't hit me until I was already in rural Kentucky, in a fucking Wal-Mart. And if you're an american and the thought of a late teens nordic kid stepping foot into a Wal-Mart for the frist time and thinking "wow, this is actually what America looks like, all the time" makes you want to get defensive, it was by no means a negative feeling.

It was like looking into a bag of M&Ms. That's the only way I could describe it. Every single fucking person, group or family that I saw was apparently different colour and creed than the last ones who passed by. I had never seen black women with styled hair before because in Finland almost every single black woman you see is muslim and their hair is covered. I was used to the concept of large cities being more diverse, in FInland larger cities are the places where you're most likely to see people who aren't white. And I was stunned by just how colourful the population was in goddamn Beaver Dam, Kentucky.

I'm not trying to make any kind of a political point here. I'm just talking from my own experience as a Chronically Online European who has actually been abroad: City streets that look the way they do in the US are completely foreign to most people who are not american. And every time you people start complaining about why a game that's set in Poland, made by polish creators who have never been outside of Poland, only has polish people in it, they genuinely do not know what the hell you're talking about.

[canisvesperus]

:D

[dailyrothko]

No, the Popularity of Abstract Art is Not the Result of a CIA PsyOp

If you are unlucky enough to move around the internet these days and talk about art, you’ll find that many “First commenters” will hit you with what they see as some hard truth about your taste in art. Comments usually start with how modern art is “money laundering” always comically misunderstanding what that means. What they are saying is that, of course, rich people use investments as tax shelters and things like expensive antiques and art appraised at high prices to increase their net worth. Oh my god, I’ve been red-pilled. The rich getting richer? I have never heard of such a thing.

What is conveniently left out of this type of comment is that the same valuation and financial shenanigans occur with baseball cards, wine, vacation homes, guitars, and dozens of other things. It does indeed happen with art, but even the kind that the most conservative internet curator can appreciate. After all, Rembrandts are worth money too, you just don’t see many because he’s not making any more of them. The only appropriate response to these people who are, almost inevitably themselves, the worst artists you have ever seen, is silence. It would cruel to ask about their own art because there’s a danger they might actually enjoy such a truly novel experience.

When you are done shaking your head that you just subjected yourself to an argument about the venality of poor artists plotting to make their work valuable after they died, you can certainly then enjoy the accompanying felicity of the revelation they have saved to knock you off your feet: “Abstract art is a CIA PsyOp”

Here one must get ready either to type a lot or to simply say “Except factually” and go along your merry, abstract-art-loving way. But what are the facts? Unsurprisingly with things involving US government covert operations, the facts are not so clear.

Like everything on the internet, you are unlikely to find factual roots to the arguments about government conspiracies and modern art. The mere idea of it is enough to bring blossom for the “I’m not a sheep” crowd, some of whom believe that a gold toilet owning former president is a morally good, honest hard-working man of the people.

The roots of this contention come from a 1973 article in Artforum magazine, where art critic Max Kozloff wrote about post-war American painting in the context of the Cold War, centering around Irving Sandler’s book, The Triumph of American Painting (1970). Kozloff takes on more than just abstract expressionism in his article but condemns the “Self-congratulatory mood”of Sandler’s book and goes on to suggest the rise of abstract expressionism was a “Benevolent form of propaganda”. Kozoloff treads a difficult line here, asserting that abstraction was genuinely important to American art but that its luminaries, “have acquired their present blue-chip status partly through elements in their work that affirm our most recognizable norms and mores.”

While there were rumblings of agreements around Kozloff’s article of broad concerns, it did not give birth to an actual conspiracy theory at the time. The real public apprehension of this idea seems to mostly come from articles written by historian Frances Stonor Saunders in support of her book, “The Cultural Cold War: The CIA and the World of Arts and Letters” (New York, New Press, 2000). (I have not read this 525 page book, only excerpts).

The gist of Ms. Saunders argument is a tantalizing, but mostly unsupported, labyrinthine maze of back door funding and novelistic cloak and dagger deals. According to Saunders, the Congress for Cultural Freedom (CCF), an anti-communist cultural organization founded in 1950, was behind the promotion of Abstract art as part of their effort to be opinion makers in the war against communism. In 1966 it was revealed that the CCF was funded by the CIA. Saunders says that the CCF financed a litany of art exhibitions including “The New American Painting” which toured Europe in the late 1950s. Some of this is true, but it’s difficult, if not impossible, to know the specifics.

Noted expert in abstract-expressionism, David Anfam said CIA presence was real. It was “a well-documented fact” that the CIA co-opted Abstract Expressionism in their propaganda war against Russia. “Even The New American Painting [exhibition] had some CIA funding behind it,” he says. But the reasons for this are not quite what the abstract art detractors might be looking for. After all, the CCF also funded the travel expenses for the Boston Symphony Orchestra and promoted Fodor’s travel guides. More than trying to pull the wool over anyone’s eyes, it was meant to showcase the freedom artists in the US. enjoyed. Or as Anfam goes on to say, “It’s a very shrewd and cynical strategy, because it showed that you could do whatever you liked in America.”

For what it’s worth, Saunders’s book was eviscerated in the Summer 2000 issue of Art Forum at the time of its publication. Robert Simon wrote:

“Saunders draws extensively on primary and secondary sources, focusing on the convoluted money trail as it twists through dummy corporations, front men, anonymous donors, and phony fund-raising events aimed at filling the CCF’s coffers. She makes lengthy forays into such topics as McCarthyism, the formation and operation of the CIA, the propaganda work of the Hollywood film industry, and New York cultural politics—from Partisan Review to MoMA to Abstract Expressionism. Yet what seems strangely absent from Saunders’s panoramic history, as if it were a minor detail or something too obvious to require discussion, is the cultural object itself: The complex specifics of the texts, exhibitions, intellectual gatherings, paintings, and performances of the culture war are largely left out of the story.”

Another problem with the book seems to be that Saunders is an historian but not an art historian. For me, I sensed an overtone of superiority in the tale she’s spinning and most assuredly from those that repeat its conclusion. The thinly veiled message of some is that if it were “Real art” it would not have had be part of this government subterfuge. The reality is very different. For one thing, most of us know it is simply not true that you can make people devoted to a type of art for 100 years that they would sensibly hate otherwise. Another issue is that it’s quite obvious none of the artists actually knew about any government interference if there was any. Pollock, Rothko, Gottlieb and Newmann were all either communists or anarchists. Hardly the group one would recruit the help the US government free the world of communism. Additionally, this narrow cold war timeline ignores a huge amount of abstract art that Jackson Pollock haters also revile and consider part of the same hijacking of high (Frankly, Greek, Roman, or Renaissance) culture. If you look at the highly abstract signature work of Piet Mondrian and observe the dates they were painted, you’ll see 1908, 1914, 1916. This is some of the art denigrated as a CIA PsyOP, 35 years before the CIA even thought about it. Modern art didn’t come from nowhere as many would have you believe to discredit its rise. There was Surrealism, Dada, Bauhaus, Russian futurism and a host of other movements that fueled it.

Generally, people like to argue. On the internet, “I don’t like this” is a weak statement that always must be replaced by “This is garbage” or my favorite, “This is fake.”

It’s hardly surprising that the more conservative factions of our society look for any government involvement in our lives to explain why things are not exactly as they wish them to be, given the (highly ironic) conservative government-blaming that blew up after Reagan. In addition, modern fascists have always had a love affair with the classical fantasy of Greece and Rome. Both Mussolini and Hitler used Greece and Rome as “Distant models” to address their uncertain national identity. The Nazis confiscated more than 5,000 works in German museums, presenting 650 of them in the Entartete Kunst (Degenerate Art, 1937) show to demonstrate the perverted nature of modern art. It featured artists including Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Wassily Kandinsky, and Paul Klee, among others. The fear of art was real. It was the fear of ideas.

To a lot of people on the internet just the mentioning a “CIA program” is enough to get the cogs turning, but as with many things, the reality of CIA programs and government plots is often less than evidence of well planned coup.

The CIA reportedly spent 20 millions dollars on Operation Acoustic Kitty which intended to use cats to spy on the Kremlin and Soviet embassies. Microphones were planted on cats and plans were set in motion to get the cats to surreptitiously record important conversations. However, the CIA soon discovered that they were cats and not agreeable to any kind of regulation of their behavior.

As part of Operation Mongoose the CIA planned to undermine Castro's public image by putting thallium salts in his shoes, which would cause his beard to fall out, while he was on a trip outside Cuba. He was expected to leave his shoes outside his hotel room to be polished, at which point the salts would be administered. The plan was abandoned because Castro canceled the trip.

Regardless of your feelings on this subject or how much you believe abstract art benefited from government dollars, Saunders herself quotes in her book a CIA officer apparently involved in these “Long leash” influence operations. He says, “We wanted to unite all the people who were writers, who were musicians, who were artists, to demonstrate that the West and the United States was devoted to freedom of expression and to intellectual achievement, without any rigid barriers as to what you must write, and what you must say, and what you must do.” Hardly the Illuminati plot we were promised.

In 2016, Irving Sandler, author of the book that started Kozloff tirading in 1973, told Alastair Sooke of The Daily Telegraph, “There was absolutely no involvement of any government agency. I haven’t seen a single fact that indicates there was this kind of collusion. Surely, by now, something – anything – would have emerged. And isn’t it interesting that the federal government at the time considered Abstract Expressionism a Communist plot to undermine American society?”

This blog post contains information and quotes sourced from The Piper Played to Us All: Orchestrating the Cultural Cold War in the USA, Europe, and Latin America, Russell H. Bartley International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Spring, 2001), pp. 571-619 (49 pages) https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20161004-was-modern-art-a-weapon-of-the-cia https://brill.com/view/journals/fasc/8/2/article-p127_127.xml?language=en https://www.guggenheim-bilbao.eus/en/learn/schools/teachers-guides/the-dark-side-of-classicism https://www.artforum.com/features/american-painting-during-the-cold-war-212902/ https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/modern-art-was-cia-weapon-1578808.html https://www.artforum.com/columns/frances-stonor-saunders-162391/ https://www.artforum.com/features/abstract-expressionism-weapon-of-the-cold-war-214234/ Mark Rothko and the Development of American Modernism 1938-1948 Jonathan Harris, Oxford Art Journal, Vol. 11, No. 1 (1988), pp. 40-50 (11 pages)

[eternalsunrise]

when in france

nfl! joe burrow x fem! reader

wc: 3.1k

tags! established relationship, college sweethearts (because i said so), 💍 hint hint, no smut!

notes! abby try not to write sickening fluff challenge failed horribly. i keep going back and forth about whether i like or not but i hope you guys do! mwah 💋

when joe told you he’d be attending and modeling for fashion week, you were ecstatic. you’ve been encouraging him to step out of his comfort zone, and it seemed like he was finally listening during this offseason.

when he told you the event was in france, you were even more stunned. you were so excited for him. there was no one more deserving of these opportunities than your joe.

and when he asked you to accompany him, you were absolutely floored. sure you knew he loved you. you’ve felt it every day for years. but an experience like this, you were so grateful he’d even consider sharing this with you.

“are you sure? really babe it’s okay, i won’t be upset.” you had reassured him the day he found out about the opportunity.

joe just looked at you like you had three heads over his dinner, his fork clattering as he dropped it onto the plate. he reaches his arm across the table and clasps your hand with his, “hey. don’t be silly. you’re my girl. there’s no one, and i mean no one, i’d rather do this with.”

there’s something about joe’s soft, steady voice that always reassures you in the way he knows you need. he places a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles. you don’t worry about it again.

your time in france is an absolute whirlwind. joe had warned you that his schedule was pretty packed, but you didn’t mind. after all, you’ve grown used to the hustle bustle of football season. nothing like the fast life. dinners, meetings, panels, runways, and parties. you’re supporting joe through it all, and he notices. hell, everyone notices.

the first dinner you all have together is after a runway show in cannes.

you’re chatting with a woman sitting next to you, laughing and sipping a glass of white wine. joe is on the other side of you, catching up with JJ and some of the other guys. of course the topic has reverted back to football, hard to avoid with those two at the table together. JJ and another friend are in a heated discussion about the rules surrounding taunting when the food arrives.

when the plates hit the table, joe watches your actions from the corner of his eye. you pick at your side choice, before putting the smallest bite into your mouth. reaction almost immediate, you turn to joe with a grimace that he knows all too well.

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head back and forth as he begins to eat his own meal, “i told you. i knew you wouldn’t like them cooked that way.”

you did this every time the two of you had dinner somewhere new. you like to order something you’d usually never try on the menu, in hopes of enjoying it. and joe, who knows you better than anyone, always warns you against it. then every single time, you flash him an adorable smile and say the same thing, “well, when in___”

this started when he brought you to ohio for the first time. the two of you were having lunch in cincy before heading to athens to meet his parents. you inquired about ‘cincinnati chili’, to which joe explained and confessed that even he didn’t enjoy chili served over spaghetti. but you had said “well, when in cincinnati!” with such excitement, that he didn’t have the heart to argue further.

the hometown specialty almost made you puke all over his childhood bedroom hours later. flash forward some years and the song and dance was still the same.

you shake your head, trying to lie. you’re stubborn. the last thing you want to do is admit he was right about this…again.

you attempt another bite, poking the food around your white, porcelain plate. “it’s not that bad joey…i kinda like it…”

you’re lying through your teeth. joe knows. he always does. the man has been reading you like a playbook since college.

so with a sigh he picks up both of your plates, making easy work of switching them. this is also a reoccurring affair. joe always orders something he knows you’ll enjoy, pretty much expecting you not to like your exotic choices. he never tells you this of course. but he’s not picky, so no harm no foul.

you frown down at your new dinner, as much as it looks delicious, you feel bad taking your boyfriend’s food. “no joey you don’t have to do that. i’ll eat it i swear!”

joe just gives you an affectionate eye roll, tapping your thigh a few times under the table, “eat baby.” he gently commands, picking up a fork and beginning to eat your rejected meal. his hand lingers, and you intertwine it with yours, leaning over and placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. you murmur a thank you against his skin, joe hums in response.

unbeknownst to you both, the people across from you were tuned in to the entire exhange. sharing amused glances with JJ, who just shrugs, “they’ve always been like this.”

the two of you resume eating, when the man across from joe speaks up in an amused tone, “so how long?”

joe looks up, confusion written on his face, “excuse me?” he swallows a bite and decides you’re right. this isn’t good at all, but he’s gonna eat every bite.

the man chuckles, sipping his drink. “sorry i didn’t mean to pry. it’s just, you two remind me of me and my wife early on in our marriage. i just assumed you must be newlyweds.”

the words catch your attention and your eyes turn into saucers. newlyweds? did the two of you really act married? the idea of being joe’s for life, officially; your stomach twists in lovesick knots. sure you’ve definitely thought about it. after all, you’ve been by his side for almost 5 years now. but you didn’t know where joe stood when it came to life long commitment. the idea that he might not want that with you, is sorta frightening. you don’t have time to overthink it though, a couple of ladies pulling you back into busy conversation.

justin gives joe a knowing smirk. he holds a hand up and wiggles his fingers, pretending he’s wearing a ring. an action he used to do back when joe would ditch them to hang out with you after lsu practices.

you’re so preoccupied you don’t notice joe’s hand playing with yours a little later into the meal. he takes one of your daily rings off of your index finger, slipping it onto the special one next to your pinky. he twirls it around a couple times, smiling fondly.

the rest of your days abroad pass in pictures of time. you and joe eating croissants early in the morning. sneaking kisses in your hotels elevator. joe asking if he had anything in his teeth before walking in a backless suit.

“were you planning on smiling on the runway babe?” you teased.

joe just shrugs, “maybe. it’s hard not to when i know you’re watching me.”

before you know it, it’s the vogue world after party, marking your last night before returning to the states. the night is lots of fun, full of mingling and laughter. although…there’s something up with your boyfriend. you’re not sure what, but he seems almost anxious. it’s usually out of joe’s character to be antsy, they call him joe cool for a reason. he’s been fidgety, bouncing his knee up and down every time the two of you were sitting. he’s quiet, but still sweet to you in a way that’s reassuring you that he’s okay. you blame his odd behavior on exhaustion, or maybe his social battery draining. maybe even the strobe lights are giving him a headache, which is bittersweet because they make his blues shine so well.

it’s well past midnight, and you’re sitting on joe’s lap wearing a black dress that compliments his outfit. you’re chatting with some people while

your boyfriend sits silently. you have no idea, but his mind is running a mile a second. one of his hands is wrapped around your waist, the other twirling stands of your hair that sit against the back of your dress. his heart thumps against his chest as he uses his leverage against you to raise himself up. he takes a deep breath, and leans his body forward to reach your ear. “you wanna get out of here?” deep voice rumbles from his chest and tickles your ear. it makes a shiver run up your spine.

you turn your head to look behind you, your noses are almost touching this way. the loose curl sitting against his forehead is begging you to brush it away. you resist the urge.

“sure babe, if you’re ready?”

joe looks at you with a look so full of adoration you think you might melt. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, “i’m ready. i already called the car.”

paris is stunning late at night, lights twinkling across the city. joe watches you stare out the cab window. he looks at you the way he has all night, full of love and an indescribable devotion. you’re so mesmerized by the landscape you don’t even notice you’ve passed your hotel until joe clears his throat.

your eyebrows furrow in confusion when joe turns your head to face him. “do you trust me?” the question is serious, but his voice is kind of rocky. like he’s nervous. but what for?

you nod your head with a laugh, “of course joey. why?”

joe smiles and deflects from the question. “alright. close your eyes for me then.”

now you’re really confused. you tilt your head at him, watching as the smile remains on his face. he’s really waiting on you to close your eyes. well, you choose to honor you words, closing your eyes tightly. you’re guessing a surprise is in store.

you feel the car slow to a stop. your hands drum on your lap, anticipation building in your gut.

joe places a hand on your thigh. “don’t get out yet, i’ll come around and get you.”

you nod your head, eyes still clenched to prove your honesty. you hear a car door shut and footsteps coming closer.

joe takes a deep breath, crisp night air filling his lungs. a shaky hand grips your car door, pulling it open.

you hear joe thank the driver, before he gently takes hold of your hands. he guides you to stand and step out of the car. you hear the cab drive away and your heart thumping in your ears.

the warmth of joe’s hands covers your eyes, making you laugh. whatever this surprise is, joe’s pretty adamant in not wanting you to spoil it.

you begin walking forward at joes command. “we almost there?”

you feel your body turn to the right, and suddenly the presence of his hands disappears.

“alright. open em’” he backs away from you, hands shoved into black pants.

you open your eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the lights blinking all over the place. you gasp at what’s in front of you, your eyes trailing upwards. “joe…you…”

he grants you a chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way you adored. “you didn’t think we’d leave before i let you see the eiffel tower did you?”

you just stare at the beautiful structure in front of you, trying to convince yourself it was real. there’s something so breathtaking about being in front of something you’ve only seen in photos.

joe is staring at you with the same fascination that you’re giving a wonder of the world. 5 years and you still make the confidence flee from him. you take his breath away simply by being well, you. he’s been a nervous wreck all day. but staring at you right now, in the middle of paris. he’s never been so sure of anything.

you’re rubbing your bare arms, but the cold isn’t even bothering you.

that doesn’t matter to joe. he slips his charcoal jacket off, draping it over your shoulders. you feel strong arms around you, a comfortable warmth covering you. joe rests his chin on your shoulder, turning and placing a few kisses on your cheek. his nose cold against your skin, but you still welcome the contact.

a content sigh escapes you, “it’s so stunning, isn’t it? there’s something so romantic about it.”

joe nods, but to be honest he’s barely even glanced at the tower. he calls your name, his voice cracking is like a bullet shooting through his ego.

you turn to face him, a grin on your face. “i know i keep saying it but thank you. thank you so much for bringing me here.”

joe’s response doesn’t miss a beat, “i’d take you anywhere. i want to take you everywhere, show you the world. that’s what you deserve.”

the sincerity of his words coupled with the setting make your heart soar. suddenly he unravels himself from you. you turn around to face him confused. you open your mouth to question him but he interrupts you by grabbing your hands, squeezing them with his own.

“i love you. i’ve loved you for 5 years and somehow i still love you more each day. you’re the best part of me. you make me a better man, and i wanna be that man for you, always.” joe’s voice is strained as if he’s getting emotional. it’s so rare to see from him. the fact that he’s getting choked up over you. his love for you nonetheless, you feel your own throat tighten. you feel your eyes well up with tears. joe brings your intertwined hands to rest against his chest, his heart pounding in a way he’s sure you feel. the night air sweeps his hair around, that single curl waving at you.

“the first time i thought you to ohio, i saw howmuch my family loved you…and i realized something.”

that was only 6 months into your relationship. a spring break in march that joe wanted to spend with his family. he asked you to tag along and although you were petrified, you agreed. you’ve never felt nervous around his family after that, quite the opposite actually.

suddenly joe steps back from you, a hand reaching into his pocket. the implication of what’s happening makes your mouth dry up. it’s like you’re frozen, just staring at him with wide eyes.

“i–i went out and got this as soon as we got back to baton rouge. i’ve held on to it all this time….and i brought it with me because i thought well, when in france. right?” joe tries his best to keep his voice steady, a nervous chuckle escaping him. and sure enough, a little black, velvet box appears in his hand.

a hand flies to your mouth, and you look around as if a camera crew is going to appear and tell you you’re being pranked. but alas, it’s just you, joe, and the eiffel tower.

“joe….” the tears are definitely flowing now, silently down your face. you couldn’t believe your eyes. this was really happening. right now. in paris at almost 2 in the morning.

you watch as joe gets down on one knee. he tries to tame his trembling hands as he opens the little box, but to no avail. the quarterback that is usually so collected, has crumbled down to mush that you hold in the palm of your hand.

joe perches the box in between his hands, early morning moonlight dances across the diamond ring.

he breathes your name like a prayer, “i meant what i said. i would want to do this. or anything, with anyone else. i want to be yours forever if you’ll have me. so angel, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”

joe flashes you that boyish smile that you fell in love with all those years ago. it’s then that you realize it isn’t just joe kneeling before you.

it’s the handsome transfer student from ohio that asks you where bronson hall is. it’s the boy that invites you to watch him play football, and forgets to mention he’s the new star quarterback. it’s the guy your friends ask about when you’re blushing at brunch. it’s the teary eyed heisman trophy winner who thanks you in his speech. it’s the cincinnati bengal who trusts you decorate the new apartment you share together. it’s the guy that plays catch with your younger family members at thanksgiving. it’s your boyfriend that invited you to france. it’s your joe.

this is the easiest question you’ve ever been asked.

“yes. oh my fucking god! a million times yes!” you exclaim, heels clicking the pavement as you jump up and down a couple of times. you’re confused when you look down and see joe still kneeling below you, his grin rivaling the city lights. then you realize, you don’t have the ring on yet. “oh fuck which hand is it?!” your brain is so frazzled, you just stick both hands out toward him.

joe gently grabs your left hand, ring perfectly slipping onto your ring finger. he admires it for a moment and places a kiss on your knuckles.

he’s standing up straight for less than a second before you’re pouncing on him, throwing your arms around him. you pull his neck down toward you, crashing your lips together in a bruising kiss.

joe returns your affection quickly. hands find home holding your face, thumbs dusting away tears. this kiss is different than any you’ve had in the past. it’s a seal. a promise. a sign of your devotion to one another deepening after tonight.

the two of you stay like that for a moment. so caught up in one another. the anticipation of a lifetime together makes you feel as light as a feather.

the two of you break away with sharp inhales, crisp air filling your lungs. you remove your hands from his neck, instead grabbing his in your own and giving a laugh at their state, “babe. you’re shaking.”

joe nods, tongue darting out to lick his lips. he gives your hands a squeeze. “yeah well. good thing i got you to keep me steady.”

the ride back to the hotel is full of giggles and light touches. the ring on your finger is like a magnet to your eyes. you can’t look away, even as joe is extra affectionate; kissing all over your cheek and the side of your neck. you’re so full of love it feels hard to breathe.

“hey joey?”

your boyfriend fiancée pulls his head back to look you in the eyes, “yeah, pretty?”

you put your now ring clad hand on joe’s chest. he looks down at it with a smirk, before meeting your eyes once again.

“what do you think about that backless suit for the wedding?”

[austerity-audacity-asceticism]

The atomic habits of St. Therese of Lisieux

I used to be one of those people that were like “oh I love St. Joan of Arc, St. Thomas Aquinas, St. Paul, St. Teresa of Avila” because I thought they were Cool and Heroic and they did Big Things

And whenever someone would talk about “The Little Flower of Lisieux” I was like “mehhhhh… okay”

Not in a way that was totally disrespectful, but not totally aware of the enormity of her interior life

Because guys

Wow

You’d have to read The Story of the Soul to really appreciate just WHY she is a doctor of the Church

(She’s the Doctor of Divine Love, btw)

Because St. Therese? She was in the details

They like to say the devil is in the details, but let’s face it— God is in the details, and in his mercy and wisdom, he placed St. Therese there for us to learn from and imitate in our own ways

She had to reconcile her great desire to be a saint with the enormous legacies of the saints that came before her, especially Joan of Arc and St. Teresa of Avila

(She, along with St. Joan, are the patron saints of France. I’m sure that’s something St. Therese never dreamed of)

And she had the realization that God would not have given her a desire that she was incapable of, and that there must be a way for someone “as small as her” to become a great saint

Which lead her to meditate on Mathew 18:4 (Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven)

And she was like “oh, okay. This desire planted into my heart is an invitation to become a little child, because the Lord wants to be the one to carry me to Heaven” 

(I am heavily paraphrasing so that you guys won’t be spoiled for Story of a Soul. Go read it!!!)

All of this is to say that her writings and her life reflect a simple but profound theology 

The Little Way is one of total dependence on the providence of God, of total surrender and self-mortification— the emptying of the cup of one’s self little by little, so that the Lord can fill it with his graces and abundance, and ultimately, with His own divine self 

The Little Way is one of the smallest acts of radical love, because the only person who needs to see it is God 

The Little Way is St. Therese going out of her way to nurse the nuns that she didn’t get along well with 

The Little Way is St. Therese is doing her best to hold cheerful conversations with a particularly surly nun 

The Little Way is St. Therese relishing being splashed with dirty laundry water as a sign of the smallest of suffering that only God would see

I called this particular post her “atomic habits,” because she believed that small acts can lead to holiness when done with great love for our Lord 

Small acts of love and self mortification were the things that she sought for while in the Carmel 

St. Therese elucidated in her signature sincere and effervescent style the enduring idea that there is no suffering too small, no act of love too small, to offer the Lord— because what he wants is souls, what he wants is us

That’s not to say that her interior life was always rich 

She suffered so much from months of aridity that she grew an affection for atheists, even going so far to say, and I quote:

[God] allowed my soul to be overwhelmed with darkness, and the thought of Heaven, which had consoled me from my earliest childhood, now became a subject of conflict and torture. This trial did not last merely for days or weeks; I have been suffering for months, and I still await deliverance. I wish I could express what I feel, but it is beyond me. One must have passed through this dark tunnel to understand its blackness ... When I sing of the happiness of Heaven and the eternal possession of God, I do not feel any joy therein, for I sing only of what I wish to believe. Sometimes, I confess, a little ray of sunshine illumines my dark night, and I enjoy peace for an instant, but later, the remembrance of this ray of light, instead of consoling me, makes the blackness thicker still.

It’s thought that St. Therese experienced this interior anguish up until the end of her battle with tuberculosis, with her final words being: “My God, I love you!” 

To summarize everything, reading St. Therese is a study not only of radical love, but also radical humility 

From a spoiled child to a martyr of the Carmel, St. Therese lived an inner life that very few of her own sisters in the convent were aware of 

Her life is also a testimony to God's perfect timing; St. Therese wanted to be a missionary in Hanoi, but was prevented from doing so when she contracted tuberculosis. She was later named a patron saint to missionaries.

St. Therese's Little Way informed the spirituality of many of the saints and intellectuals that came after her: St. Josemaria, St. John Paul II, Mother Teresa, St. Teresa of the Andes, Blessed Cecilia Eusepi, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and Dorothy Day

On her feast day, let’s take the time to reflect on what small things we can do today for the Lord; what small sufferings we can offer him with great love and humility 

God would never inspire me with desires which cannot be realized; so in spite of my littleness, I can hope to be a saint. — St. Thérèse of Lisieux

St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Arguments II

Alexia Putellas x Hardersson!Reader

Natalia Guijarro (OC) x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first argument

You weren't really one to argue.

You didn't enjoy confrontations. You didn't like yelling.

But you knew this was where it was heading.

Talia stewed in the driver's seat all the way home, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel.

This wasn't how you wanted her to find out.

You had been lucky, you think. You and Talia didn't argue. You had disagreements over silly things over when to feed the pets and whose turn it was to do the laundry.

But you knew, just by looking at the way Talia's jaw clenched that this was heading toward an argument.

You prepare yourself.

It happens almost as soon as the apartment door is closed.

"Lyon?!" She demands," Really, Lyon?!"

It wasn't the best way for Talia to find out, you can admit that. It wasn't that you were trying to keep it a secret. It was that you were told not to talk about it while the details were worked out.

You sigh. "I'm sorry but-"

"I thought you were happy here!" Talia interrupts," At Barcelona. In Spain. With me!"

"I am!"

"You're leaving!" Talia yells," You're leaving!"

"I'm not!" You snap back, hands clenching into fists as you dig your nails into your palm.

Talia scoffs. "Oh, forgive me if I'm wrong but Lyon is in France, yes?! So, yeah, y/n, you're leaving!"

"You're blowing this out of proportion!" You stand chest to chest with her.

You're practically the same height as her now so you're both yelling straight in each other's face.

(You have to concentrate as to not connect your lips to hers because it's unfair just how attractive she is while yelling).

The loan to Lyon had come out of nowhere, as was most emergency loans. It was a string of bad luck for the French team, their keepers dropping like flies until all that was left was two academy players who had never played for the senior team.

You, on the other hand, were twenty-one years old already with six years experience and a world cup win under your belt. You were a proven winner and Lyon were willing to throw an extortionate amount of money at Barcelona to get you on loan.

They offered you bonuses that was bordering on more zeros at the end of a number than you'd ever seen.

Lyon had been knocking on the door when your agent let clubs know you were leaving Arsenal. It had been a toss up between them and Barcelona.

But you chose Barcelona and they still kept knocking.

You agreed to the loan though, if only to get experience in a different league.

"If you want to leave," Talia yells," Then there's the door!"

"Oh, yeah? Well maybe I will!"

"Go on then!"

"Fine!

"Fine!"

You whistle as you make it to the door, crouching down to clip on Prins' leash before storming out into the hallway.

You choose to take the stairs instead of the elevator, working out some of your frustration on the way.

Prins' leash gets clipped onto your belt loop and you take off on a controlled jog around the neighbourhood.

Talia calls you.

You ignore it.

She call you again.

You don't want to continue this argument.

You turn off your phone.

You keep jogging, your feet pounding onto the pavement.

Prins runs next to you happily. He's always been able to keep up on your morning runs and a random afternoon run doesn't seem to faze him either.

Your mind runs just like your feet as you overthink all of your little interactions in the argument earlier. You wonder, briefly, if this means you and Talia have broken up now.

You hope not.

You're not sure how you would cope if Talia broke up with you over this.

Your running slows to a walk as you make your way to the beach. You sit on the sand and just stare out across the sea.

Prins whines a little bit, stamping his feet on the ground.

"Sorry," You say, unclipping his leash so he can run," There you go."

He doesn't though. He just whines a bit more, shuffling closer until his snout is pressed up against your face.

You smile.

"Thanks, Prins," You say, tearfully," You're a good boy."

His tail wags happily.

"He is a good boy."

You nearly burst into tears are hearing a familiar voice behind you.

"Hi, Alexia."

"Hi."

She sits down next to you and you bury your face in Prins' fur, not wanting her to see you cry.

"Nat's worried," Alexia says," She's calling everyone to see where you've gone."

"I turned off my phone. I didn't want to argue anymore."

Alexia frowns. "You argued with each other? That doesn't sound right."

"She was very angry," You whisper, turning on your phone in your pocket.

Alexia can just hear you over the roar of the sea. You've still got your head buried against Prins so your words are muffled.

"She's not angry anymore," Alexia says," She's very, very worried. You've been gone for nearly two hours."

That doesn't sound right, you think but when you fish out your phone, Alexia's right.

You've been running for nearly two hours since the argument.

"Oh."

Alexia chuckles. "Yeah, oh. You've had people looking for you. I think Nat even called your parents."

"I didn't want her to worry. I just wanted to stop arguing," You mumble.

"That's okay," Alexia assures you," But maybe you should shoot her a text telling her where you are so she doesn't worry anymore, huh?"

"Okay."

You text Talia your whereabouts.

There's silence for a long while between you both, nothing but the ocean and occasionally Prins shuffling around to get comfortable.

The sun is setting when Alexia speaks again.

"What were you arguing about?"

"I'm moving to Lyon," You say and Alexia jolts.

"What?" She asks in disbelief," Why? Does Barcelona not make you happy anymore?"

You give her an odd look. "No, it does, but staying out for one season wouldn't do any harm. Lyon has no keepers. Barcelona has two others plus that La Masia girl."

"The one that's always following you around?"

"I think it's sweet. She's good." You shrug. "I'll be back next year anyway."

"Wait..." Alexia blinks a few times. "What do you mean you'll be back next year?"

"It's only a loan," You reply," They're..." Your face goes red. "Lyon's offering the club a lot plus a bonus for me." You're sure that you resemble a tomato right now. "It's a lot of money. Enough to pay for a house in cash. Talia mentioned about maybe finding a place for ourselves."

"You want to buy Nat a house?"

"Well, I want to buy us a house." You frown. "Sorry...is it too early in a relationship to consider that? My Morsa said she was envisioning a house with Momma within the first month."

"No!" Alexia assures you," It's sweet. You're sweet, y/n, but I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding."

You turn to look at her. "A misunderstanding? Over what?"

She doesn't get to answer because a body crashes into you and a phone is shoved into your face.

"I found her!" Talia exclaims," I've got her! I've got her!"

On the phone screen is your mothers, both pressed up against each other as they stare.

"Don't do that!" Morsa immediately jumps into a lecture. "Do you know how worried we were?! We called you so many times! We thought you were dead in a ditch!"

"I had Prins with me." It's a weak defence and you know it but you have to at least try. "He wouldn't let anything happen to me."

"Princesse, I love you but your dog is as dumb as a pile of bricks," Morsa says," But I'm glad you're okay."

"You can go to France," Talia says quickly," Not that you need my permission but if you want to go then go. I'm sorry that I yelled. If you want to leave Barcelona then go but-"

"Leave?" You repeat," I'm not leaving. I'm just going on loan."

If you weren't still a little worried about Talia breaking up with you then you'd find the shocked look on her face comical.

"What?"

"It's just a loan," You say," I...erm...They're willing to give me a lot of money for it. I thought, maybe, we could use it to get a house."

"I...You...We...You want to get a house with me?"

"I mean...er, if you want that too. I know that-"

You don't get to finish because Talia drops her phone to pull you into a kiss.

"Yes, I want to get a house with you."

[indecisive-capricorn]

Headcanons to Dating Yandere Tom Riddle:

WARNINGS: MDNI! Yandere, stalking, implied dubcon, mentions of sex, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of breeding, mentions of wife, mentions of marriage, etc.

SUMMARY: A chance to experience what dating Tom Riddle is like, even when it's against your will to do just that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, this headcanons leans more into dating Yandere Tom Riddle but technically, even without the yandere and dark part, he will do questionably dark things for his partner. I'm planning to make other headcanons that goes into details about that specific situation. For example, a "Headcanons to Dark Tom Riddle x Pregnant Wife Reader"

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

It doesn't matter where you come from, alright? Although it's important for Tom to have an excellent muggle free reputation, Tom has his ways to make sure any history you have with muggles are erased. No one knows your precise history because of it either, but according to their Dark Lord, you were a witch from a fine family in France. While that might have been true, what they didn't know was how you were actually a rebel and fought against him for a time until he kidnapped you.

You left him with no choice! He was infatuated with you due to your strength and infamous beauty. Tom kept on sending you gifts, invitations to balls even and attempted to bait you to become Dumbledore's spy in order to get closer to you. However, you rejected all his gifts and invitations, burning them into the fireplace as soon as they arrived.

You were intelligent enough to know about his plan, but as evil and cruel as Tom was, he was also a genius.

When Tom kidnapped you, you had screamed all the curses in the world at him, refusing for him to even touch you. However, it silenced down when you saw several death eaters pointing their wands to the necks of your little sister and other family members.

You were a rebel and if Tom tried to take you with the threat of hurting your family, he knew you would continue to reject him. After all, actions speak louder than words, and as the death eaters began to torture your family, you finally got on your knees and pleaded for him to stop. Tom was more than pleased with your actions, but to ensure that you will stay true to your promise, he demanded a kiss from you, which you reluctantly gave in the form of a peck on the lips.

Though Tom had spared your family, he will make sure you never see them again. One way or another, no matter how many times you plead and beg to see them, he will rip you away from your family for the sole reason so that your focus would not waver from him. Yeah, he's that possessive of you.

Speaking of being possessive, Tom from the beginning of the relationship will always make sure you are covered in the finest silk and most rarest yet stunning jewellery. You might try to refuse them at first, but you don't quite get it. All of the fine dresses, luxurious clothes and expensive jewellery that he had picked out for you was also his way to tell others that you're his, that you're his possession. Try to refuse it and he will punish you.

There are various of punishments Tom can give you. It depends on what you have done that made him measure how severe the punishment should go, but it also depended on his mood. If Tom was only lightly jealous, he'll most likely just leave marks on you like hickeys and bruises. However, if Tom was severely jealous.. then prepare yourself. Tom had once fucked you in front of two of your old friends whom he had taken as prisoner as a way to humiliate you after you had tried to communicate with them in their cells. Just don't defy him, okay? It won't end up good for you.

Other than that though, Tom will take care of you. He feeds you well, pampers you and even shower you with affection from time to time, which you always try to refuse. Tom tries to spend some time with you whenever he has the time, even with the ongoing war. Tom doesn't usually allow you to be out of the manor, but with his company, he allows you to wander around the garden and as much as you hate his company, a bit of fresh air will certainly do you good after being stuck inside for a long time.

However, with all that, he expects you to do your duties as well. You both might not be married yet, but Tom already views you as his wife, the only thing lacking is a wedding ring between your fingers and a ceremony. It will happen sooner than later. But due to it, you became the lady of the manor is your job to make sure that everything was going well in your 'home', telling the servants on what they must do to keep the cleanliness of the house.

And oh, on that note, you're not able to ask for them to help you escape. You learnt that the hard way because the day after you had tried to ask them, all of their tongues had disappeared, unable to speak properly anymore.

Tom desires to flaunt you to the public after making your relationship with him 'official'. However, he will only start bringing you to balls after he was sure that you will behave and Tom might just make a potion to help with that. He considers it as one of the duties you have to perform as his partner. But oh my, you do look ravishing in that tight dress he picked out for you.

At times during the night, you found Tom rubbing your stomach, eyes full of desire, as he thought fondly of children. He had been unsure of starting a family before. Of course Tom needed an heir, but he didn't think he would ever find himself wanting more children until he met you. It didn't matter if you didn't want children. Sooner or later, before or after marriage, you will be swollen with his child. And what better way to ensure an heir than start now?

[still-searching-for-something]

Today was Yom HaShoah, the day that Jews remember the Holocaust. The Holocaust was the industrialized genocide of the European Jewry by Nazi Germany and its collaborators from 1941-1945.

This is a really simple opening statement, but bear with me--I think it gets a lot more... 'yeah, buts' than most people may realize. And I think a good way of illuminating that is to break down the difference between how gentiles and Jews commemorate and remember it.

In my experience, gentiles seem to view the Holocaust as the ultimate example of mankind's barbarity to mankind. Like, the distillation of evil, the most obvious example of dehumanization and bigotry brought to its horrifying and extreme conclusion. They emphasize Nazi Germany's responsibility, elevate the instances of non-Jewish Frenchmen and Poles and Germans who made efforts to save Jewish lives, and generally view Nazi oppression as a catastrophe of whom Jews were one of many victims. And they emphasize the Allied Powers' role in ending it by liberating the camps and invading Germany. Hence why International Holocaust Remembrance Day falls on January 27th, the day Auschwitz was liberated.

But Jews have a different perspective.

We view the Holocaust as the most extreme manifestation of--but far from the conclusion to--mankind's barbarity to Jews. Not to his fellow man, per se, not to some universalized insert minority here slot, but to Jews, particularly and deliberately. The Nazis could never have accomplished their genocide were it not for the two millennia of anti-Jewish hatreds and dehumanization embedded deep in the institutions and political structures of European society. They didn't have to persuade Europe that the Jews were incurably evil, the Europeans already believed that. The Nazis had 99% of their work done before they'd even come to power, work that was done by the the Russian Empire, the Romans, Martin Luther, Christian Passion Plays, the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, the centuries of blood libels, the Fourth Lateran Council, the New Testament, the Spanish Empire, and on and on and on and on. It's as if some people think Hitler just woke up one day, out of the blue, with a total hatred of Jews and managed to use propaganda to convince the previously 100% tolerant Germans to hate Jews, too. Antisemitism did not begin or end with the Holocaust.

The sole responsibility of Nazi Germany in the Holocaust is also just... not true. Vichy France rounded up 13,152 Jews in the Vel' d'Hiv roundup, with not a single German participant, and sent them off to be murdered in Auschwitz. Vichy passed antisemitic legislation without any outside coercion--French Jews were hiding as much from the French police as they were from the Gestapo. France, of course, was the home of the Dreyfus Affair--antisemitism was and is a deep part of French society. And it isn't just France. Ukrainian nationalists participated in the Lviv pogroms, killing maybe around 8,000 Jews, Poles perpetrated the Jedwabne pogrom, and that doesn't even bring in that countries like the US, Switzerland and Ireland and Britain blocked Jewish emigrants, and I could just keep going on, but I think you get the point. Quite simply, six million Jews interspersed throughout Europe don't get murdered if it isn't without the collaboration of--or at minimum, silent assent and indifference--of all of their neighbors. The Nazis were the primary perpetrators of the Holocaust, of course, but almost all of Europe collaborated on some level, too. And this is a history that gets wiped away in favor of the comforting narrative of the Allied Powers bursting into Auschwitz, killing Nazis, and being horrified by what they've found, and then the poor people in the surrounding towns having NO IDEA about what had been going on. I think this narrative is why gentiles have International Holocaust Remembrance Day when Auschwitz was liberated--when they 'came to the rescue'--and why we have Yom HaShoah on the day in the Jewish calendar that the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising began--when we died on our own terms in spite of our murderers.

Think of the tiny, unwritten, centuries old minhagim of small Jewish shetls and towns like Trochenbrod, which were entirely annihilated. The end of the burgeoning Yiddish cinema. Yiddish going from 13 million speakers to 600,000 today. See how many entries in this list of shetls end with "town/city survived, but all/most Jews exterminated." Imagine for a moment, the potential rabbis and scholars and actors and scientists and artists who could have lived, had they survived or been born of Jews did. Three and a half million Polish Jews, to around 15,000 to 20,000 Polish Jews today. Imagine if Thessaloniki were still a majority Jewish city. How many Jews worldwide would be alive today had the Holocaust never happened? I've heard estimations of 32 million, compared to the real life 16 million. To kill such a massive number of people from an already tiny minority group--that has real consequences. The cultural loss for the Jewish people is staggering and beyond human comprehension.

And yet, the Nazis deliberate targeting of us is, in many ways, being pushed aside. Magnus Hirschfeld was gay, yes, and advanced the Institute of Sexology way ahead of its time and yeah, the Nazis were homophobic. But they were homophobic for antisemitic reasons. They viewed his work as Jewish perversions BECAUSE Dr. Hirschfeld was Jewish. In fact, they viewed homosexuality as a creation of the Jews. But so many progressive queer people, especially those who run in antizionist circles, seem to be trying to co-opt the Holocaust as being their trauma, downplaying Hirschfeld's Jewishness and holding the Institute up as proof that queer people were the 'real' victims of the Holocaust, entirely shutting out the millions of Jews, Sinti, Roma, and Slavs who were murdered. You can also see this in anti-mask conservatives comparing masking mandates during the pandemic to anti-Jewish legislation in the Holocaust, or the comparisons of the ongoing war against Hamas as being a 'modern day Holocaust.'

This phenomenon, Holocaust universalization, gets so much pushback from Jews for a reason--it downplays the anti-Jewish character of the Holocaust. It's softcore Holocaust denial. And it's so ridiculous we even have to say that, as the whole point of the Holocaust was to be anti-Jewish, to be the "Final Solution to the Jewish Question." It's 'All Lives Mattering' the Holocaust. Holocaust universalization, and Holocaust inversion--the phenomenon of talking about Jews, Zionists, or Israelis as perpetrating a 'new Holocaust'--minimizes and trivializes the astounding damage and traumas and death and destruction wrought by the Holocaust. It's a polemical lie, so incendiary and so insulting--imagine telling a sexual assault survivor that they're morally no better than their rapist--that the only thing it can be is antisemitic. It is beyond reprehensible to talk like that, but it's so mainstream and acceptable to do it. Activists who say these things need to examine their own rhetoric, because it's dangerous, antisemitic, and adjacent to Holocaust denial. Not a place I think anyone should want to be.

The Holocaust is not a lesson Jews should have learned, an educational seminar, a 'card' Jews play, a choose your own adventure novel, a philosophical meditation on the nature of mankind's evils, or an empty slate upon which to project modern politics, warfare, or your ideology onto.

The Holocaust is, quite simply, the industrialized genocide of the European Jewry by Nazi Germany and its collaborators from 1941-1945. And today was Yom HaShoah, the day we remember that.

[psblooms]

stupid in love | for valentine’s day

‧₊˚♡𓂃 enhypen hyung line x fem reader fluff works established relationship, non idol!au, just silly cheesy love.

heeseung ₊˚⊹♡ book a flight to paris only one way

having pancakes at 3am was something that was becoming a weekly tradition between heeseung and you. and while he was always the one who was craving them, he was awful when it came to flipping them around, so, just like every other week, he was sitting in the kitchen island watching how you flipped the pancakes and put them on a plate, he wanted to help you but the insane amount of times he almost broke something there had him in observing duty. and he didn´t mind it one bit (he did mind washing the dishes after but he wouldn´t tell you that), he got to see you (even if it was your back) in his sweatshirt, with your hair up and glasses in the warm light of the decorative lamps, and his thoughts always came back to how he was incredibly lucky to have you in his life, someone so perfect to him, someone who loved him as much as he loved you, he wanted you to give you everything you could wish for, he just didn´t know where to start. "should we go to france on our anniversary love?" he asked almost in a whisper "huh? its still months away?" you answered without looking at him too concentrated in the pan in front of you. "its always better to think ahead of time, we can ask for vacation days at work" he said simply "for how long?" you asked him turning off the stove and making your way in front of him "we´ll know that when we get there" he smiled mischievously while grabbing a pancake with his fork and blowing you a kiss.

jongseong ₊˚⊹♡ paper rings are good for now

neither you nor jay had a lot of experience when it came to taking care of little people, sure, he was the designated mom friend dealing with twenty-something year old men, not with kids whose safety relied solely on him. but as scared as he was he would not show you that, if he panics, you panic. so, here he was, "babysitting" his nephews as a favor, and it was low-key a lot easier than he thought. maybe it was because you were a perfectionist and had created a timetable with activities you could do to avoid boredom and tantrums. and now he is sitting in a chair that was clearly too small for him working in a table that was not created for someone his size on some origami pieces with his niece and nephew while you explained how to do a paper boat. and even if he wasn´t paying attention to his boat, he was paying attention to you, not you explaining, just you. looking at you was his favorite thing to do in the world, he could do it for hours and never get tired of it, so he didn't even realize the moment the kids were done with their boats. only seeing how they ran to the couch in front of the tv to do movie night and how you went to the kitchen to make some popcorn, but he was still sitting in that uncomfortable little chair folding a little strip of paper getting up after some minutes joining you at the kitchen "here you go" he said while putting his arm around your shoulders showing you a pink paper ring "what is this for?" you asked looking up at him smiling. "ill give you the real thing soon" he said while kissing your temple.

jaeyun ₊˚⊹♡ let’s get matching tattoos

in the years you´ve been dating jake there were some things you ended up learning of him: how his voice gets higher when he sees a dog, or how he becomes a social butterfly while drunk. how he was an early sleeper and he wouldn't stay up until midnight because "he needs his beauty sleep" and also how he never drinks caffeine after 7pm because he gets hyperactive. so you can imagine your shocked face when you walk home just to see jake pouring himself what you assume is his second cup of coffee and he explains to you how it was because he couldn't find hot chocolate and was craving a warm drink. and while you didn´t make a big deal out of it because it was still ´early´ and he wasn´t getting all excited, the clock reached 0:30 and instead of cuddling and listening to his light snores all warmed up wrapped in the blankets, you were listening to jake insane late night thoughts and questions. "ynie, what do you think happens when poison expires? does it become more poisonous? how would that work" he asked while looking at the ceiling "I don't know jake, just go to sleep" you said avoiding his questions "but how does sleeping work, if our body shuts down why do we dream and why do we remember it? would you like to see your dreams when you are awake?" he continued "sure" you answered him hoping for him to finally fall asleep. "should we get matching tattoos?" he asked "yes" you said without registering his words thanks to your sleepy mind "great!" he said hugging you and lulling you into sleep "go to sleep babe" you said quietly "good night darling" he said hugging you tighter and putting his head on top of yours.

sunghoon ₊˚⊹♡ what’d you think about sharing our last name?

with sunghoons extremely busy schedule, he learned to find happiness in moments of simple nothing, he found joy in the little things of life, in its monotony. he loves picking you up from work after he got out of his office, he loves holding your hand while walking on your way home after going grocery shopping, he loves seeing both of your toothbrushes on the bathroom counter, he loves your weekly going out for dinner dates, and most importantly, he loves you. he loves keeping a routine, and he loves that you were part of that routine, he absolutely adores knowing that every single plan in his life includes you. he could not fathom the thought of not having you in his life; he tried to not think of it because it would make him spiral, and because you would always erase his insecurities. he knows that he would do whatever was in his power to have you in his life for as long as possible because he was happy simply being yours. he blinked looking for you only to find you cuddling him in the living room. he didn´t remember why his thoughts went that way when he was supposed to watch a drama with you since both of you had the day off. he wasn´t sure if you saw him spacing out since you were leaning on his shoulder way too invested in the tv. and he loved that. doing nothing with you, even if he was not paying attention, just sharing his space with you made sunghoon feel overjoyed "angel, do you think yn park sounds nice? well I could also be sunghoon yln. or maybe we can also merge them you know park-yln or yln-park" he ranted still looking at nothing in front of him but holding you closer. making you raise your head off his shoulder, pause the tv and look at him surprised "what are you talking about?"

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 01. It's 2018, Baby!

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: It's the big year of 2018 and y/n is looking forward to win her fourth championship title. A pretty boy with green eyes won't distract her damnit!

Word Count: 4.5k

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2012

When Formula One fans talked about paid driver, they said that the position can go either two ways.

The first one, is being proven unworthy for the seat. With the highly competitive nature that the sport serves, it will only took one race, one qualifying, only one bad day, to show the world that you don't have enough experience or talent to deserve a seat in Formula One. That the reason why you're one of the top drivers in the pinnacle of motorsport is because daddy's got money.

Unfortunately - to the fans, or even to the said paid driver themselves - this scenario is often the case.

It is such a bad branding for rookie to have. To be branded as a spoiled and talentless kid that doesn't know how to do anything without the help of their famously wealthy parents. For someone that ha just entered the sport, for someone that is still searching for fans and sponsors, this kind of branding can be the death of their career.

Yet, why is there so many paid driver when the risk is evident?

The second scenario, is the most unlikely one. Though, it is still possible.

There is a probability that a paid driver can enter the sport, and show the world that they're as talented as y/n l/n, just like what she did back in 2012 when she famously entered Formula One because her dad bought the Porsche Formula One team.

It was such a controversy back then, for such a young driver - a female driver, something that the sport had never seen in decades - to easily enter the pinnacle of motorsport with the large monetary support from her dad. Back then, when it was not revealed yet that her dad had bought the team, many had anticipated her debut. When the news came out, many had muttered things like-

"Maybe she's just that talented?"

"She did won a lot of trophies in the lower category."

"Who cares? It's a sign that Formula One is finally evolving!"

"Bet she got a lot of skills."

And well, y/n does have skills. People had actually anticipated her arrival at first, saying that it’s time for Formula One to change and she will be the one to start the change.

Though back in 2012, that was not the reason why she managed to get into Formula One. Her dad, a famous billionaire from France, had bought the Porsche Formula One team and gave one of the seat for his daughter.

Cue, the many controversy.

Now, when she looked back, y/n really have to admit that the online and offline attack that she had received back then was simply atrocious. News outlets and magazines would print photos of her without her knowing, calling her a spoiled princess who is throwing tantrum and making Formula One a joke to the eyes of everyone.

Sport critics would make a whole segment with previous or current Formula One stars to talked about her. Many calling her undeserving, talentless, and many many sexist slurs that she doesn't even want to remember anymore.

While, okay, being a paid driver, it’s obvious that controversy will always follow. Thought, back then, she had thought, if she was a man, would the controversy became this big?

Paid drivers, after all, is known secret to everyone who watches the sport. Formula One is an expensive sport to start with, so it's no wonder that many people from a privileged background would start using Formula One as a chance for them to have a career outside of their wealthy family.

And don't get her started with drivers who has connections with retired Formula one Drivers!

At least half of the grid is the son or a friend or a family friend of a retired driver. If you want to talk about the sport with the most nepotism, y/n thinks that Formula One is up there.

Though, her controversy got blown up this big just because she has one thing that separates her from the rest.

She's a girl.

A girl who has no space in the world of motorsport.

Someone who doesn’t have balls hanging between her legs and somehow, it made people think that she’s less than them.

Honestly? Fuck them. 

She knows the world of Motorsport. She knows, if her dad didn’t bought the team, there is no way her dream to become a Formula One driver will come true. No matter how much they preach about equality, women in sport, or even feminism, there is no way any of these teams will even look at her.

How can she get into the sport when no one will give her a chance? When everyone in this goddamn sport will always think that the world of Motorsport is only for men and she has no place Ini it? It’s only fair for her to use her advantage so that she somehow can have an equal ground with everyone else here.

During the start of the 2012 season, y/n is already in a bad mood from the start. 

She fucked her qualifying. So fucking badly. She honestly thinks it's because of the added pressure from the press as well as the pre-race jitters that she had, almost throwing up in the garage due to how fucking nervous she is. All of those added, and yes, the result is a really bad qualifying.

P10 honestly is a really bad position when you have a car like Porsche. After all, her other teammate, Antonio Bacque, managed to snag P3 during the qualifying.

It's an embarrassing result and she really hates it. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that y/n was going to be eaten by the media with that kind of result. 

Her first interview ever since the announcement of her position was with some famous sport channel. Y/n knows them, considering the've been blasting a lot of her controversies and 'questionable' behaviors for their viewer to watch.

So she should've expected the question that they had prepared just for her.

"What do you think about your path towards Formula One?" asked the woman, blonde hair and seems to be older than her for a couple of years. "Do you think that you still deserve the seat without the help of your father?"

She had froze, eyes flicking towards he PR manager who also got her eyes widened. It seems, the interviewer had asked her a question that was not previously approved by her team. Illegal? She doesn't know. Nor she cares.

After all, she's really fucking exhausted at this point.

There are too many glances and cameras towards her way. Too many layered questions and fake  empathy from those around her. Too many, judgmental look from those who doesn't even know her personally.

Y/n is tired.

"Yes," she said, staring straight back at the camera. "Yes I deserve it."

"How so?" pressed the reporter once again. Fully knowing that she's a paid driver. Fully knowing that she had just fucked her qualifying up. Fully knowing, that she haven't shown the world her skills.

Yet.

The female stared at the camera, she's aware that her next answer will be the headline of every major sports channels the next day. That this answer can be the one to make or break her career. A brand, that will stuck to her until her retirement.

Should she play the part of a spoiled child? Or should she play the part of a hothead driver with a too big ambition? She could play with the male fantasy and become a docile and demure little girl with too much naiveté in this cruel cruel world of motorsport. To become the doll for this sport to play with without care in this world.

But she's better than that.

She's y/n l/n and knows she's worth more than those fake personas and branding. She knows that she deserves her seat and she will be damned if she didn't prove it to the world.

"Like this," 

And, she gave them the middle finger.

In the end, all of those criticism changed during the Australian Grand Prix.

It's stuffy and unbearably hot inside the car. Her race suit didn't help much. If she's in any other situation, she would've complained to everyone that's willing to listen.

Though, at this moment, she found herself to not care.

Bright eyes stared at the car in front of her. She could see the familiar Mclaren in front of her, passing the checkered flag. She could see the Mclaren team cheering by the fence near him. Y/n could only see Mclaren in front of her.

Only one car out of 22.

"P2, y/n," breathed out her race engineer on the radio as she passed the checkered flag. There's a hint of disbelief and wonder on his tone. "Fucking P2."

She screams, no doubt flooding the team radio with her rather inhumane scream as she let go her steering wheel and hold the top of her helmet. It's a bit unbelievable, a bit hard to belief, and of course, so so fucking wonderful.

"YES!" screamed the woman. "YES YES YES! OH MY GOD!"

Y/n could hear the announcer announcing the result of the race, voice excited at what just happened. After all, today on the 18th of March 2012, a Formula One history was just made. This day would be written as one of the most memorable moments in the history of Formula One.

As she hopped out of her car, her team is already out there, ready to celebrate with her.

Some would have criticized that action as excessive, considering that she didn't won the race. Though, this race was the debut race for Porsche. This is the race where the team can show the world that they're not here to play. They're here to win.

It could be said, that both the team and y/n's goal are aligned.

The girl wants to show the world of motorsport her worth. Want to show everyone, that she deserved her seat in this sport. Want to show, in this men dominated sport, a girl like her too, can thrive.

Her team too, wants to show the world of motorsport their worth. To show everyone that Porsche Royale Formula One team is here to stay and to make history.

Maybe that's why they worked so well. Maybe, that's why both Porsche and y/n became unbelievably loyal to each other. That the team, had became her second home and y/n had become someone that the team can trust fully.

If she looked back towards that day, she can confidently say that it was one of the happiest day in her life. It was her first race in Formula One, it was the start of her historical journey in this sport, and of course, it was the day that she managed to shut every criticism that was directed at her way.

It was satisfying.

2018

Y/n's presence is almost mythical at the grid.

Which is a bit weird, considering she had been a constant presence in the grid for years at this point. Still, it still didn't diminish the almost divine status that she had achieved amongst the fans of motorsport.

After all, there are drivers that's like that. Drivers that can command a room with their simple presence or someone that had reached so many achievements throughout their career that it sounds almost unbelievable. Drivers, that you had ever only heard of and never seen. Drivers, that had inspired the next generations of motorsport enthusiast to follow this adrenaline filled career path.

Y/n is one of those drivers.

Today is the pre-season testing and y/n is ready to retire from the sport.

"I'm going to retire," said Y/n as she groaned, stretching her back inside of Porsche's hospitality. "Like for real." 

Truthfully, the weather today is perfectly warm. Barcelona in February had never been glaringly hot. The sun is shining above them and yet the temperature didn't rise unbelievably high. It should be a good day to do your daily routine and well, for y/n, this should be the perfect weather to do the pre-season testing.

Though, the ache on her joints is saying otherwise.

A hand hit her shoulder playfully. "You're only 23" said her athletic trainer, Luca. "That's like the age where everyone started their career," he said as he slid a strange concoction of healthy smoothie in front of her. "Drink this."

"But I started my career when I was 17," whined the woman as she sniffed the drink. It smells healthy. And weird. She really doesn't like it. "It's almost 6 years, I think it's an appropriate time for retirement, or maybe a promotion. Do you think I'll make a great team principal?"

The mere thought of this woman being Porsche's new team principal sends shiver down Luca's back. "Honestly, don't even joke about that because I seriously think Herman will get a heart attack."

Y/n laughed at that. Just imagining her team principal being shocked to the point of a heart attack just because she's going for a retirement is a bit funny to her. 

It's the start of the 2018 season and she could feel excitement ringing through the air.

Somehow, the grid feels different than usual. People seems more excited, a bit wary, and yet, still excited. Y/n likes to think that it was because how exciting the 2017 season was, considering how intense the battle between her and Lewis for the driver championship title. Though, she knows that it was not the reason.

She glanced towards the cameras that littered around her.

In this season, somehow, there will be a documentary crew film documenting their 2018 season. Which is, weird. Formula One teams are notorious with their secrets and fear of corporate espionage after all. Now they're letting a filming crew to document all of the behind the scene of the season?

It's a new concept. 

Herman had told her that almost all teams in the grid had allowed the filming crew to lingered around the garage. Well, except Mercedes and Ferrari - which shocked her a bit because she really think that this kind of thing is something that Lewis would do. But oh well.

Hopefully, this kind of coverage can boost the ratings of Formula One and make the sport more known to the general public. It will be great if there's a lot of new fans who will start to watch the sport from the documentary.

"Now that there's a film crew following us around," started y/n with a snicker, leaning back on her seat. "I think it will be more dramatic for me to announce my retirement right now, no?"

Luca sighed, "Y/n-"

"I hope you're not serious about that," said a dry voice behind her. 

She doesn't even have to turn around to see who's standing behind her. "Herman!" she greeted, cheerful as always and as if she was not talking about possible retirement just a few seconds ago. "My favorite team principal, how are you?"

"Good," said the German, raising an eyebrow at her. "As long as your retirement plan stays like that. A plan."

The female nudged his shoulder playfully. "You know I love you too much for that."

"Really," muttered the team principal as if he doesn't believe what she's saying. "With how you behave lately, I really doubt that."

That, actually, made her laughed louder. "What do you mean? I've been a perfect worker!" she said, tone full of teasing. "I'll be a more star worker if our car this season is perfect like always." At this, she added a wink towards a team of mechanics that's sitting on the next table, eliciting a round of laugh from them.

"I'm counting on you then," said Herman as he took a seat in front of her. "I'm here to talk about other things."

She blinked. "What other things?"

The pre-season testing had barely started and he's already here to talk some serious stuff towards her? She's allergic to that.

"Someone wants to meet you," continued Herman as he took out his iPad, writing something on it. His thick rimmed glasses glinting. "It's a favor from a friend."

"Oh?" asked y/n. "Like,  I don't know if you're aware, I'm a pretty popular girl," she started and Luca actually has the nerve to roll his eyes at her. "Lots of people want to meet me."

"It's a favor from Fred," continue the man, ignoring her comment. "It seems they found a star driver or something, someone that they really cherish. And apparently that rookie is a huge fan of yours"

Y/n blinked at that. Fred Vasseur is the team principal for Sauber Formula One team, one of the teams in the grid right no. They never really interacted much with Sauber, though she do knows that Herman and Fred are friends. Golf buddy or something. While the Sauber team itself is not one of the top team that will compete for the championship, it's famous for one thing.

Its relation to Ferrari.

While true, it's not like Sauber is Ferrari's b team like what Toro Rosso is to Red Bull, they still have a really close partnership with each other. Like really close. So close to the point that almost every part of Sauber came from Ferrari. For Fred Vasseur himself to ask a favor to Herman for their rookie driver can only mean one thing. This rookie driver is projected to drive for Ferrari.

A competitor then, she thought idly. 

"Well, I'm honored," the woman finally said. "So where's the superstar?"

"They should be here soon-"

Just at that, someone opened the door towards Porsche's hospitality, calling Herman's name. "Herman!" greeted Fred as he entered the building with a perky energy. "And of course, y/n, always lovely to meet you."

"Freddie, Froyo, Fredman, it's been awhile," she greeted back, standing up to give the man a short hug.

Maybe it's because Sauber itself is not a champion winning team that it made them interact easier. After all, she can’t even imagine greeting Christian or Toto like this.

"Yes, yes," laughed the man, not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable at the random nicknames being used. "I told Herman already, but there's someone that want to meet you."

It was at this, that y/n realized that there's someone standing behind Fred.

A man, maybe around y/n age, a bit younger perhaps, could be seen standing a bit awkwardly. He's wearing the white and red Sauber shirt, paired with a ripped skinny jeans. From the get go, it's obvious that he seems uncomfortable at the sudden familiar setting of Porsche's hospitality. At the same time, his eyes looks excited and a bit jittery.

Y/n immediately knows that this is the future superstar. Sauber's apparent cherished rookie driver who is now being projected to be one of Ferrari's future driver.

For a career prospect, not bad. A Ferrari driver certainly is a good option. Though, y/n is sure if this Formula One driver gig doesn't work out, he can be a model or someone in the entertainment industry. Because honestly, the guy is really pretty to look at.

Warm green eyes, messy dark colored hair, and a nice face to look at. If he ever decided to become a model, he could probably be a successful one.

"Y/n," called out Fred, catching her attention. "This is Charles Leclerc, he's a big fan of yours."

He seems a bit embarrassed at that mention, what with how his cheeks started to redden and how he flail his hands around. Which is, cute.

"Really?" she said, smiling as a teasing grin entered her eyes. "Really honored, then."

Charles let out a huge smile at that, looking a bit relieved. "I should be the one saying that," he said and his English is thick with accent. French, she realized. "I've been following you since your debut."

She let out a low whistle. "2012? That's a long time," laughed y/n easily. "You were how old back then?"

"15," he replied.

"Ah, I'm only 2 years older than you then," she said, putting it at the back of her mind. "At long last, it's no fun to be the youngest on the grid for so long."

Herman coughed, eyes staring at her straight in the eyes, "There's Verstappen, he's also two years younger than you."

"But Max is way too serious!" she whined out, remembering Christian’s favorite driver. Ever. "It's no fun to tease him when he gets all broody, which is like 70% of the time."

"It's because you keep annoying him," said Herman dryly. "Anyway, Charles, correct? What do you think of F1 so far?"

Now, all of them are seated at the same table, making conversation with each other. Honestly, y/n is a bit invested at the topic. Moreso on Charles because with him entering his rookie season is like a wake up call for her.

Lately, more and more young driver debuted in F1. It started with Max and Carlos back in 2015. Younger and talented drivers with more vigor and a brand new vision for the sport. Back when she debuted, the grid was way older with more experienced driver filling up the spots. Now, it seems, the teams want to change the way they view the sport a bit.

Younger drivers started to arrive every year. Guys who had karted since they were four or guys who basically just skipped F2 straight into F1. Thinking back, it's a bit sad, because it made her realize that more of the older driver too, will retire soon. That the grid will change soon.

Hm, she thought. It's an added pressure for her.

Maybe it's because she debuted so young and had become a world champion when she was only in her second season, it made her think that she's way older than she actually is. This year is her seventh year in F1 and now she has three driver championships under her belt.

It's a bit jarring thought that she is now one of the most experienced driver in the grid.

Charles talked about his experience so far with so much enthusiasm and starry eyes that it made her want to protect him a bit. Which is normal, because to all of them, Formula One is a dream that they had ever since childhood. When they first entered the sport, it's only normal for them to look at everything with full of reverent and wonder.

The male seems to live and breathe just for racing. A feeling, that y/n can relate to.

"So you liking it so far?" she spoke up, catching everyone attention. "Does it fill up your expectations?"

"Yes," nodded Charles with a huge smile. "I'm really excited for the first race."

"Nice," grinned y/n.

Really, if anyone ever asked her what is one of the defining moment in her life, she would described this moment at one of them.

With Charles smiling in front of her inside the Porsche's hospitality, with the impending knowledge of a new generation of Formula One, and with the fear of destroying all of those Formula One hopeful dreams. It was at this moment that she decided something.

She really really wants this sport to be enjoyable for the young drivers. For them to have someone to talk to and not became a clueless little shit like she was all those years ago.

It was a decision that stayed on her mind as they continue their conversation. Herman seems interested in Charles, not that they can sign him for Porsche considering his love for Ferrari, but still, having an option is still a good one.

They stayed and chatted there until both Charles and Fred presence is needed back in the garage. 

"Hey Charles," she said a few minutes later when both Fred and the younger male was about to leave Porsche's hospitality. The younger had asked her to sign three hats, saying that it's for him and his brothers who is also a big fan of hers. 

Perking up, he motioned for Fred to walked ahead before he jogged back to where she's standing.

Pulling out of her phone, y/n let out a grin towards him, "Give me your number yeah? I think it will be fun to stay in contact."

Charles stared at her.

"Seriously?" he asked, blinking rapidly.

"Yeah."

Almost immediately, he scrambled to get his phone out of his pocket, to the point that he almost dropped it to the ground. It was such a comical sight that it made her laugh, which seems to only embarrassed him further. Maybe when they became a lot closer she can tease him more about this? Certainly a thought for the future.

They exchanged number and Charles thanked her many times, saying things that she's his idol and he really admire her. Y/n merely watched him, amused, at the blabbering, before he seems to realize that he had talked too much and excused himself in such a hurry.

Well, certainly, Formula One will be more interesting in the coming years, right?

Humming, y/n entered the Porsche hospitality once more, only to be called by Herman to discuss something.

"So," started the man, finger idly fiddling with the papers in front of them. "We need to talk about your teammate,"

"Ah," realized y/n. This is going to be a long and painful discussion.

Drive to Survive Season 1 episode 3

It's all about Porsche

Will Buxton appeared on screen, smiling. "The thing about Porsche is," started the man. "It's a team that most drivers doesn't want to be in."

A shot of y/n talking with Herman and the mechanics could be seen. Her face is serious as they discussed details about today's Grand Prix and the car. They seems dedicated in their work, a true showcase of the prowess of one of the top team in Formula One.

Which makes Will's earlier statement a bit bizarre.

"At least, if you're not y/n l/n," continue the man with a small laugh. "It certainly not because they have a bad car-"

Porsche's Formula One car could be seen zooming at top speed, a clear indicator on how fast the vehicle is going.

"-Nor is it because it's a bad team-"

Y/n's car could be seen entering the pit stop, something that the Porsche team handle flawlessly without a hitch.

"It's because of the strict hierarchy there," laughed Will, a wry smile appearing on his face. "A really really strict one."

Herman appeared after that, eyebrow raising at the question that the producer had asked off screen. "I think it's quite obvious who will be the no.1 driver," said the man bluntly. "It's an open secret in Formula One, no? About no.1 and no.2 driver?"

Christian Horner appeared in the dark interview room, wearing a dark cardigan and a light blue cardigan underneath it. The man laughed, almost throwing his head back at that. "No.1 and no.2 driver is common in Formula One, but no one impose it as strict as Porsche," said the man, eyes full of amusement. "The team is basically a y/n cheerleading squad."

Many clips appeared after that, of team orders to let the woman through or the team failures to handle a simple pit stop when it's not y/n on the car. Articles too appeared, of how often Porsche has to change one of their driver and to find someone that is perfectly fine to be the second best in their team.

It's a team that prioritize y/n. It's a team, that undoubtedly will choose y/n l/n as their number one driver and will never budge on that decision. 

The thing is, if Porsche is not a championship winning team, this shouldn't be a problem. Many drivers are grateful to have a seat in Formula One even they ended up not in one of the top team.

But Porsche is a team that fights for championship. Their cars are fast. They're the team that fight for wins and podiums. They don't fight for points, they want wins and glory.

A complete domination. Just like their motto. And when a driver tasted that sweet sweet taste of victory, it's hard to stop.

"Formula One driver needs to think that they're the best," said Will. "It's a mindset that they need to have if they want to survive in this sport," he continued. "Can they really, give up wins for their teammate? when their direct rival is that teammate herself?"

Y/n has too much presence for her to be the number 2 driver.

She is the icon of the sport, someone that is way too talented and way too influential to be the second best driver. The team itself was basically assembled around the woman needs.

The mechanics is someone that she can easily discuss the car with, her race engineer remains unchanged ever since her debut because she's comfortable with him, heck, even Herman position is secured because y/n actually likes him as a team principal.

It's y/n l/n very own personal cheering squad and everyone knows it.

"Fighting y/n on track is already a hard fight to win," continue Will. "A really hard one."

A clip of her racing and passing so many drivers could be seen. Her skilled handling of the car, overtaking those in front of her, and being an all around driver that deserves the title of a world champion.

"Fighting y/n for a spot as Porsche's number one driver? Impossible."

"The drivers need to understand that we're fighting for championship," said Herman as the scene cuts back into him. "We need someone that can support us in that cause."

Christian appeared, laughing. "Well, there's a reason why they need to change their second driver five times since 2012," said the man, looking so fucking amused. 

Porsche after all, is y/n's kingdom.

Taglist!

@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos

[zhaobear]

28 (teaser)

It takes you 28 weeks to leave Kim Gyuvin, but only 28 days to run right back.

PAIRING : kim gyuvin x fem reader

GENRES : fluff, crack, eventual angst, with a happy ending, enemies to lovers au, strangers to lovers au, rich girl au, bakery au, falling in love in france!!

WORD COUNT : 1209 (teaser), estimated to be 20k

SUMMARY : when you pack your bags and move to france on a whim, you don’t expect just how many challenges you’ll meet — whether it’s your difficulty in adjusting to the new country, the harsh truths of the fashion industry, or most infuriatingly, pastry chef kim gyuvin, whose immense talent doesn’t stop you from deeming him the bane of your existence. despite yourself, his shop soon becomes more of a home than you’d like to admit, as gyuvin’s delicious creations and honest words slowly worm their way into your heart and show you that affection is more than just a monetary transaction.

WARNINGS : profanity, might be suggestive, red hair gyuvin x blue hair mc, mc wants to go to fashion school and gyuvin owns a pâtisserie (both are 20), mc is a bad bitch but sometimes superficial/spoiled but!! has char development, gyuvin shows love by being a little shit, i apologize for the banner graphic design is not my passion

AUTHOR'S NOTE : happy gyuvin day!! i wanted to finish this whole fic for his bday but i'm not quite there yet so take this teaser <3 if anyone wants to be tagged for this lmk and i'll start a taglist! i'm super excited to finish this fic even though gyuvin already got rid of his red hair......i will pretend it's still there

"NOT TO BE RUDE OR ANYTHING, BUT COULD YOU MOVE THE CRYING SOMEWHERE ELSE? YOU'RE AFFECTING BUSINESS." 

Your mouth falls open. Out of all of the words you expected to hear from the employee with the red hair, these weren't at all what you imagined.

The sheer nerve of a stranger — you can’t help but fume. Your status has led you to experience all sorts of men,  most commonly the kind that fall to your feet at first sight, begging you for a mere minute of your time. You’ve unfortunately experienced their rotten sides too, particularly the petty insults and misogyny that come with your industry. You’ve also experienced the raging anger when they realize you take too much pride in yourself to become their dolls. 

But to be insulted so brazenly on the first meeting, given your name, your reputation — men do not dare. 

“Well, excuse me for choosing your store to have a mental breakdown under. I couldn’t exactly—”

“Excused.”

“What?” You seethe, your face growing hotter by the second. 

“You’re excused,” the boy repeats simply, before turning back to the door. “If you want to sit inside, you’re welcome. Please just don’t cry outside of my shop,” he calls over his shoulder. 

The door closes behind him before you can even say anything back. You’re frozen in place, shocked by the pure shamelessness of the boy. Surely no manager would let their employee act this way? You’ve never been much of a Karen, but you’re tempted to find out. 

Finally, you look inside the store, peering through the glass door. Despite yourself, you’re pleasantly surprised upon the realization that you’ve stopped under a pâtisserie. Although none of the French bakeries have made any lasting impact on you, the decent crowd inside the shop has to amount to something. 

A variety of pastries are neatly lined on the glass shelves, clearly crafted with great care and intricacy. Almost all of them are unfamiliar, but your mouth waters anyway. You didn’t even know it was possible to crave something you’ve never had. 

You observe a flash of red hair saunter behind a door at the back, and all your cravings disappear. That bitch. You’d rather die than sit inside the shop and let him win, but you cajole yourself with the thought of making a complaint as soon as you find the right person. 

You push the door open, greeted by the bell that chimes overhead. 

Warmth. 

That’s your first impression of the store, and it’s not just the significant temperature difference. Something about the aura of the shop itself, the quiet but contented chatter of customers and the soft music spilling through the overhead speakers — you hate to admit it but it gives you a sense of comfort you were missing in the past three days. 

You shake your head. Pull yourself together. 

You storm past the line of customers, immediately met with their indignant shouts and protests, and stop in front of the young boy manning the register. His eyes widen, flitting back and forth between you and the customer he was helping. 

“Miss, I—I’m sorry but you can’t just cut in line like that…” he trails off nervously. His expression makes you think of a nervous rabbit, cornered by prey twice his size with nowhere to go. Twitchy nose and all. It’s kind of cute, and a part of you feels bad. You know he didn’t do anything wrong, but maybe the intimidation will get him to help you faster. 

“I need to speak to your manager.”

The boy balks, clearly unsure how to respond. He covers his confusion with a small smile. 

“I’m sure whatever it is, I can assist you. Can I ask what the problem is?”

“Look, I appreciate you trying to help, but the best thing you can do for me is just get me the manager,” you huff. “Please,” you tack on awkwardly, feeling worse at the small flash of hurt in his eyes. The boy nods and leaves, disappearing behind the door at the back of the store. 

You tap your foot impatiently, ignoring the string of curses the customers in line direct at you. Already irritated with the amount of time they’re taking, you consider leaving, about to turn around until the door finally swings open. 

However, you’re not prepared for the man who emerges from the back. You gape at the sight of the red-haired boy, who raises an eyebrow at the sight of you, giving you an infuriating once-over. 

“Is something the matter?” He asks coolly, like he didn’t insult you mere minutes ago. Like you’re just a regular disruption and not — not you. The heir to one of the most widespread fashion companies in the world. The girl with everything. 

“I asked for the manager,” you hiss. But the boy’s face only brightens at the word, a casual grin spreading across his face. 

“Looks like you’ve found who you’re looking for,” he replies, raising his hands. “Manager by day, chef by night. What can I do for you?” 

Your hand clenches into a fist against your will, the need to punch the cheeky smirk off his face overpowering you. You hold yourself back, instead matching his attitude with a sickly sweet smile of your own. 

“I thought most managers were aware of basic customer service. But I suppose I expected too much from a hole-in-the-wall place like this,” you simper, watching his face turn the same shade as his hair.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man splutters. “I—I have five star reviews on Google!”

You try not to snicker at how quickly you’ve caught him off guard, schooling your expression into something that you hope is cool and unconcerned. “Well then, I’m sure Google would love to hear my thoughts instead. No use being here if I can just put a few dents in those five stars, right?” You shrug noncommittally and turn around. 

“Hold on,” the boy says, a hint of desperation in his voice. You face him, trying to smother the smug smile threatening to overtake your features. “Would a free pastry help?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “I don’t know. None of the pastries in Paris have been particularly outstanding to me yet.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be a problem here,” he answers, smiling. The smile looks genuine enough, but you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze is stuck on you — calculating, wary, like he’s still trying to make sense of you. “Yujin-ah!” He calls out without taking his eyes off you. The boy from earlier emerges behind him, refusing to look at you.

“Yeah?” He glances at the redhead with a lingering hint of that bunny-like anxiousness. 

“Get her a kouign amann on the house for me, please.” He finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the smaller boy with a gentle smile that you can tell is reserved for him. Yujin nods, hurrying to grab the pastry. 

“If it’s not to your liking, you can mention me personally in the review. The name’s Kim Gyuvin,” the redhead says, giving you a maddening wink before walking away. You splutter at him indignantly, but to deaf ears as he vanishes behind the back door.

[strwbrryeyes]

𖦹°｡⋆ tendou as a best friend

⟡ cw: fluff, friends to lovers, tendou feeling insecure, lmk if i miss anything

⟡ a/n: hey i feel bad for not posting so thought i'd quickly do tendou rq (i feel like im doing shiratorizawa dirty im so sorry my shiratorizawa friends </3)

⟡ best friend series: semi, ushijima || masterlist

best friend tendou who you met youre second year of high school when you were assigned to be partners to bake a cake in your cooking class.

best friend tendou who you argued with because he wanted to bake a chocolate cake while you wanted vanilla.

best friend tendou who you got closer to when he surprised you with a recipe for a marble cake so that you could both get what you want.

best friend tendou who invited you over to his dorm on campus to share the cake after being graded (perfect score obvi).

best friend tendou who introduced you to his other best friend ushijima. he scared you at first but tendou told you not to worry and that ushijima was glad to meet you.

best friend tendou who invited you to his volleyball practice match so he could show off how good he was at guessing the opponent's next moves.

best friend tendou who impressed you so much that you were left speechless after the game.

best friend tendou who helped you make chocolates for your homeroom for valentine's (you're very fond of the holiday).

best friend tendou who pulled you into a massive bear hug when you surprised him with chocolate you made on your own. they weren't the best but he ate them all anyway.

best friend tendou who in your third year of high school mostly focused on volleyball (because he wanted to make it memorable for ushijima) but still made time to hangout with you on weekends when he didn't have practice.

best friend tendou who was confronted with his feelings for you when ushijima came up to him and asked how long the two of you been dating. "we aren't dating" "i thought you two were, it looks like you are with how affectionate you both are".

best friend tendou who ran around the gym after thinking about it for a few minutes because he realized he in fact did love you but was worried about what you thought about him (my poor insecure boy </3).

best friend tendou who got some old man advice from ushijima. he took it with a grain of salt.

best friend tendou who still refused to ask you out because he was scared of rejection so he just finished the year acting as normal as he could.

best friend tendou who assured you he was okay when he lost nationals but was actually crying when he turned away from you.

best friend tendou who you got into culinary school with because you both loved cooking so much.

best friend tendou who lived in a dorm across the hall from you and would always drag you to the community kitchen to bake seets or cook dinner every night.

best friend tendou who got an offer to go to paris for more experience in chocolate making.

best friend tendou who you encouraged to go to france because he was having doubts about not being good enough and because he was scared of being judged.

best friend tendou who you kissed in the middle of his ranting to shut him up before reassuring him that he would be okay because he was an amazing person and that you loved him so that means other people would definitely love him.

best friend tendou who said he loved you too and cried tears of joy because he never thought anyone would love him this way.

best friend tendou who is now boyfriend tendou who goes off to paris but sends you post cards every week all while video calling you every day telling you about all the plans he has for you both once you move to paris with him in a few months after you finish culinary school)

[jwanniie]

g!p chaewon fucking stupid bratty fem!reader who was super bratty in public ranting about wanting to buy this and that with chaewons money but once they go home reader goes very submissive?

Pairings: G!p Chaewon x fem reader!

Word count: 2-3 k ish?

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), rough sex, dom pupu and sub reader, doggy, hair pulling, weed and alcohol mention, not proofread, reader strips,p in v and just filthy smut!

—————————————————————————

You and Chaewon went to one of her plastic friend's attic party, you thought it was a creative and cool idea for the party to be hosted in an attic so you accepted the invitation. And you don’t have anything better to do at home so why not?

As soon as you stepped into the attic, a strong weed smell carved inside your nose. Along with the alcohol and cigarettes. It was like people came here to either get drunk or high.

Chaewon walked you both through the crowded space, hand in hand. Guiding you towards her friends, as soon as you saw them they gave you their plastic smile and a small ‘hi’. You returned the same plastic smile and mustered a fake ass ‘hi’.

The conversation was so boring and awkward, it was just them talking about how they are going to the Maldives next week and how they just came back from France.

You were not one to boast about your possessions or income, but during the conversation, you felt the urge to share your own achievements. It seemed like they were showing off their wealth and how they spend most of their time traveling. You didn't want to come across as less affluent than them, so you confidently shared your own experiences and accomplishments.

“Yeah, me and Chaewon are going to Italy next week!” you exclaimed proudly. “Chaewon is going to take me to the main Gucci store!” you continued.

Chaewon found you ridiculous, she knew you and she knew that you are not the type of person to start bragging about their wealth, so she felt that you were putting a fake act just to impress her so called “friends”. Yeah, it is true that you and Chaewon are going to Italy next week and yeah it’s also true that she promised to take you to the main big Gucci store but nobody has to know.

Chaewon remained silent the whole conversation, only sighing or scoffing here and there, sometimes even rolling her eyes. Her friends had no plans on stopping the talking about their own lives, it was like a non ending cycle.

Chaewon's grip on your hands tightened as she took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the room with a hint of frustration. It was clear that she was eager to leave the party. She had only accepted the invitation because she wanted to spend quality time with you, not to stand around and listen to her friends boast about their wealth. The noise around them seemed to grow louder and more obnoxious with every passing moment, making it harder for Chaewon to focus on anything else. Her eyes locked onto yours, silently pleading with you to whisk her away from this chaotic scene.

“Uhm, it was nice talking to y’all, have a great time in Maldives!” you awkwardly uttered, scratching the back of your neck. They flashed the same plastic smile.

Chaewon led you by the hand to the car, her grip firm and unyielding. The atmosphere inside the vehicle was heavy with an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. You felt her hand rest on your thigh, a physical reassurance that belied the tension in the air. You knew that she was unhappy with the party, and she was unhappy with the way you acted like someone you are not.

As you pulled up to your apartment complex, you could feel the tension rising in the car. You turned off the ignition and opened the car door, stepping out onto the pavement. At the same time, Chaewon also got out of the car and closed the door behind her. Together, you walked towards your shared apartment, the quietness between you almost palpable. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you could feel the weight of the day's events still hanging heavily in the air.

You quickly unlocked the door to the apartment and anxiously entered, with Chaewon trailing behind. You made sure to lock the door after both of you were inside.

Chaewon once again took your hand in hers guiding you to the bedroom, you saw how her jaw was clenched and the stern look on her face, it made you anxious but at the same time you couldn’t ignore the way your panties started sticking up to your folds. You loved this side of Chae, the side that she had on when she was dissatisfied or frustrated and the only thing that helped her was to fuck you stupid with her dick.

Once you were in the bedroom she turned and looked at you, sitting on the couch that was in front of your bed.

She gave you the same stern look but eyes brimming with lust now.

“Strip” her voice was stern and demanding, which made you follow immediately, knowing that she isn’t in a teasing mood.

You discarded your crimson red silky dress and heels, leaving you in only your undergarments. You don’t know was it the cold air of the room or the cold air of the windows but either way it left shivers down your spine. Feeling so exposed and bare under her eyes that burned with fire and desire.

“I said strip.” She looked at you now a hint of annoyance and slight anger. You realized that she wanted you fully naked, your hand went to your back unclasping your bra, your cheeks flushed red and pink while nervously taking your panties all the way to your ankles before stepping out of them.

She gave you a smug smirk, registering your bare form. You felt so intimidated by her look and the way you felt so weak under her.

“Good girl, now on your knees and hands!” She had a pleased look on her face but the fire in her eyes undying.

You went to the bed, on all fours, ass in her direction. You heard how she slid down her pants along with her boxers then shirt, you looked back meeting her gaze. Her lip was between her teeth while stroking her cock, the tip drenched with pre cum. You bit your lips at the sight, you felt how your pussy clenched at the sight that you saw seconds ago.

You wiggled your hips, trying to get any type of friction and to seduce her. “What a slut” she chuckled making her way towards you with the same smug smirk. Placing her tip at your entrance before slamming herself all the way in.

A loud gasp fell from your lips. A husky low moan uttered from her at the welcome of your warm pussy. It was like you were made for her, so perfect for her. Taking every inch so well and still clenching around her. “So fucking tight, wet and warm.” she groaned out, followed by a rough thrust. Her tip bumping into the spot that made you see stars, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

She pulled out her tip before ramming it all the way in, earning a choked moan from you. Her tip continued the abuse to your cervix, loud cries of pleasure from you and chuckles from her.

She grabbed a fistful of your hair, her nails sinking down your scalp before yanking your hair towards her. Your back meeting her chest, “doing so good for me baby, hmm? You like to get fucked like the slut you are, yeah?” She whispered near the shell of your ear, her hot breath fanning over you making you shiver. Her words alone made you feel over the edge.

Your juices flood down your thighs and out of your hole, your pussy now swallowing her deeper and tighter. “Oh fuck-“ and with that her white seed painted your walls white.

You collapsed onto your stomach on the bed, her body against your back. Your sticky and sweaty bodies making contact and both of you trying to calm your breaths. She pulled her cock out of you a string of her cum along with yours connecting her tip and your cunt, she turned your body to hers. Her hand on your stomach rubbing it, only to see her cum gush out of your hole, the sight itself could make her hard again, but you are probably sore and exhausted so she will clean you both up and cuddle you warmly.