#pole position ii

[whencyclopedia]

Jezebel

Jezebel (d. c. 842 BCE) was the Phoenician Princess of Sidon who married Ahab, King of Israel (r. c. 871 - c. 852 BCE) according to the biblical books of I and II Kings, where she is portrayed unfavorably as a conniving harlot who corrupts Israel and flaunts the commandments of God.

Her story is only known through the Bible (though recent archaeological evidence has confirmed her historicity) where she is depicted as the evil antagonist of Elijah, the prophet of the god Yahweh. The contests between Jezebel and Elijah are related as a battle for the religious future of the people of Israel as Jezebel encourages the native Canaanite polytheism and Elijah fights for the monotheistic vision of a single, all-powerful male god.

In the end, Elijah wins this battle as Jezebel is assassinated by her own guards, thrown from a palace window to the street below where she is eaten by dogs. Her death, the biblical authors note, was prophesied earlier by Elijah and is shown to have come to pass precisely according to his words and, so, in accord with the will of Elijah's god.

Her name has become synonymous with the concept of the evil seductress owing to the interpretation of some of her actions (such as putting on make-up in order to, allegedly, seduce her adversary Jehu, who is anointed by Elijah's successor, Elisha, to destroy her) and calling a woman a “jezebel” is to label her as sexually promiscuous and lacking in morals.

Recent scholarship, however, has tried to reverse this association and Jezebel is increasingly recognized as a strong woman who refused to abide by what she saw as the oppressive nature of her husband's religious culture and tried to change it.

Jezebel's Changing Reputation

The story as given in I and II Kings presents Jezebel as an evil influence from the moment of her arrival in Israel who corrupts her husband, the court, and the people by trying to impose her “godless” beliefs on the Chosen People of the one true god. I Kings 16: 30-33 presents King Ahab as a wicked king seduced by the corrupting influence of his new wife and is an audience's introduction to the story:

Ahab, son of Omri, did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him. He not only , but he also married Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal, king of the Sidonians, and began to serve Baal and worship him. He set up an altar for Baal in the temple of Baal that he built in Samaria. Ahab also made an Asherah pole and did more to arouse the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than did all the kings of Israel before him.

Traditionally, the story of Jezebel is one of a corrupting influence on a king who had already shown himself a poor representative of his kingdom's religious culture. The biblical account assumes a reader's knowledge that Jezebel, coming from Sidon, would have worshipped the god Baal and his consort Astarte along with many other deities and also assumes one would know that the polytheism of the Sidonians was comparable to that of the Canaanites prior to the rise of Israel and monotheism in their land. Since monotheism and the kingdom of Israel are presented in a positive light, Jezebel, Sidon, and Ahab are cast negatively.

It could be that the biblical narrative depicts events, more or less, accurately but this view is challenged by modern-day scholarship which increasingly leans toward a new interpretation of the clash between Jezebel and Elijah as demonstrating the conflict between polytheism and monotheism in the region during the 9th century BCE. In this interpretation, Jezebel is understood as a princess, the daughter of a king and priest, trying to maintain her cultural heritage in a foreign land against a religion she could not accept. The historian and biblical scholar Janet Howe Gaines comments:

For more than two thousand years, Jezebel has been saddled with a reputation as the bad girl of the Bible, the wickedest of women. This ancient queen has been denounced as a murderer, prostitute and enemy of God, and her name has been adopted for lingerie lines and World War II missiles alike. But just how depraved was Jezebel? In recent years, scholars have tried to reclaim the shadowy female figures whose tales are often only partially told in the Bible. (1)

Although she has been associated with seduction, depravity, and harlotry for centuries, a more accurate understanding of Jezebel emerges as one considers the possibility she was simply a woman who refused to submit to the religious beliefs and practices of her husband and his culture. The recent scholarship, which has led to a better understanding of the civilization of Phoenicia, the role of women, and the struggle of the adherents of the Hebrew god Yahweh for dominance over the older faith of the Canaanites, suggests a different, and more favorable, picture of Jezebel than the traditional understanding of her. The scholarly trend now is to consider the likely possibility she was a woman ahead of her time married into a culture whose religious class saw her as a formidable threat.

Continue reading...

[ellemarianne555]

Munch (part II)

Summary: After the events of part one, you pull Aegon into your tent to finish what he started. Very self-indulgent as usual.

Author’s Note: you guys seemed to like obsessed Aegon so much I thought I’d continue the story. This is for all my people who don’t magically come from just having a dick inside you like in porn. And if anyone’s ever made you feel like shit about it, they’re the weirdo not you. Enjoy sweet and fluffy Aeg down below xx

Content warning: mdni, p in v sex, mild breeding kink, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting if you squint, wrap it before you tap it this is fiction.

Word Count: 1500

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Dragging Aegon into your tent, you giggled into his mouth as he tripped over a tree root and you two ended up falling onto the soft mattress. Wooden poles surrounded the tent and a hot fire roared inside, adding a sultry yet cosy feel to the soft interior.

You smiled up at him as he lay on top of you, his body slotted into yours so perfectly that you cursed both of you for waiting so long to act on these feelings. He moaned softly and kissed your neck, biting and nipping and sucking the soft flesh in a way you knew would leave marks that would be hard to explain away the next day. You didn’t care, you wanted everyone to know that he had claimed you and you owned him.

He panted desperately as you slowly moved to undo his shirt, wrapping your legs around him and flipping him over so it was him looking up at you. He grinned broadly as though he was turned on at how bold you were being.

“Hello.” He smiled up at you sweetly and you softly traced his red, puffy lips with your fingers, treating him as the precious thing he was. You leaned up to kiss him again, fiercely, as though you couldn’t get enough of the taste of him.

“Hi.” You grinned back as you again started to undress him. He groaned softly as you kissed up and down his collarbones, alternating between licking and sucking before reaching the small trail of white blond hair that snaked below his trousers. You looked up eyes wide to where Aegon lay sprawled on the pillows, his eyes wet and sparkling as if he’d been drinking from something other than your pussy.

“This okay?” He groaned, gathering your hair back from your face as though in answer as he smiled.

“I’d let you do whatever to me, I think you know that.” You smiled and leant back down only for him to tug firmly on your hair. “But I honestly think I’m going to lose it if I don’t get inside of you right now.” You laughed, him being so desperate was turning you on. You liked the idea that no one else did it for him; no one else made the prince, so famous for getting his dick and lips wet, this hard and aching.

You slowly straddled his waist, as you slipped your dress off your head. Aegon’s eyes were big and wide as he grabbed at your breasts, moaning as he tried to get a palm full in each hand. You giggled again, and swatted his hands away playfully as you reached to undo his trousers and his length slapped free. He was thick, wide enough that your jaw would ache but not big enough that taking him would be a struggle. You were considering the best position when he moaned desperately and thrust up his hips to meet yours.

You spat in your palm and he made an audible gulping noise as you leant down to take his fat cock in hand. He made eye contact with you, moaning deeply but never breaking his stare as you delighted in being able to watch him break apart. You slid your hand up and down his cock, using your thumb to gather slick from his slit before you moved your wrist again. He was moaning desperately now. His hands that had been limp at his side now locked around your waist as you carried on slowly teasing him

“I love you but I really don’t think I’m going to last.” He wheezed and you froze, unsure if he meant what he said or it was just pleasure melting his brain. He smiled bashfully, “I mean it you know. Now I really do want to fuck you.” You gasped as he took control of his own dick, and positioned it beneath your folds. You were still dripping from where he had sucked and mouthed at you not too long ago, so the slide was deep but only seemed to ache for a moment before you wanted more.

You moved your hips up and down, resting your hands on his shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around you and started mouthing into your neck.

“I love you. I’m never going to let you go. Want you to drip with my cum so everyone knows you’re mine and I’m yours. Want to make you limp s-so bad.” Aegon grunted as his thrusts became all the more desperate, he was chasing his high as he slowly moved his hand down to where you were throbbing and started rubbing at your clit.

“Fuck Aegon!” You whispered as his soft fingers came into contact with you. “You’re too big, it’s too much!” You babbled as his pace increased, thrusting upwards, his dick pressing against your inner walls, until you were no longer able to keep your eyes open. You wrapped your legs around him and sunk your nails into his back as he grunted, deep and satisfied, as you felt his warm release fill you up.

You both fell back onto the mattress, panting as he turned over and cupped your face as if to hold you still as he pulled out. It felt like you were no longer whole, and you moaned in protest as he slowly slipped his length out.

“Did you come?” He questioned as you shyly avoided eye contact and nodded. He pulled you up to look at him directly; “I don’t want you to lie to me. I want to make this experience and every other one as good as I feel right now. So answer me; did you come?” You shook your head softly as he traced his thumb around your jaw.

“I don’t really find release from just my fingers or you inside of me.” You said, avoiding his eyes. You felt like it was your fault you hadn’t both come at the same time. Like you weren’t trying hard enough.

“Hey. Listen.” He soothed as he again positioned your face so you couldn’t look away. “That’s perfectly normal and you shouldn’t feel ashamed. Tell me how I can get you there.”

“…Well, ” You said sheepishly, “I was almost there, I just really need your fingers.”

“Where do you want my fingers, sweet thing?” He teased, and you couldn’t help but redden. He was such a flirt.

“On my clit-” and before you could even get the words out he was plunging two fingers back inside you. Where his spend hadn’t yet dried, he took his cum and rubbed it on your clit in soft circles as you sighed in content.

His pace became quicker as he whispered filthily into your ear about how he couldn’t wait to marry you, how he wanted all his children to look as pretty as you did, how he knew that you could help make him a better man. His voice drowned out the slick, wet noises your cunt was making as if it couldn’t help but respond to him. You let out a high, whining noise as you could feel your orgasm getting closer and closer. You squeezed down on his fingers as Aegon continued fingering you gently but firmly.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He whispered into your ear as he kissed you tenderly on the brow.

Your release shot out of you and mixed with his on the mattress beneath. Aegon looked up at you in awe from between your legs, sweaty blond hair plastered to his forehead as he looked utterly wrecked; “Tell me how I do that again.”

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[love-belle]

you're losing me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's losing him and he's not fighting for her either.

or

for when you lose someone you thought you'd spend your lifetime with. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

sequel - i hope i never lose you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - my heart broke while writing this :// still, i hope u like it!! lmk if u want a part ii though i'll write it anyway. i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lilymhe and 2,628,926 others

yourusername when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

9,926 comments

username MOTHER?????

username max :///

username if they break up i simply give up, it's that easy x

lewishamilton sending you hugs and love from me and roscoe ❤️

-> yourusername missing you both ❤️

username guys............what if they did b word u word ?

-> username don't spread lies 😘😘😘

-> username they break up and i stop believing in love ☺️

lilymhe i could be a better boyfriend just saying 😮‍💨

-> yourusername you're already my wife 😘

username we really went from "the first flowers he ever brought me became my favourite" to "when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst" huh

username im just gonna ignore this!!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 897,628 others

maxverstappen1 pole position!!

very happy that we managed to put the best bits together for qualifying today! great work by everyone in the team redbullracing & hondaracingglobal 👏

looking forward to be racing again tomorrow 👌

7,972 comments

username NO Y/N????????

username im delulu

username is it just me or did he not seem really into it like idk

-> username if me and my fiancée broke up i'd be the same

danielricciardo proud of you mate! 👏

username need y/n to comment rn so i can be at peace

username nice prank guys 😐😐 REALLY funny 😐😐😐

username NO BC THE WAY HE ALMOST MENTIONED Y/N WHILE TALKING TO A REPORTER BUT STOPPED HIMSELF

-> username NO BC MY HEART BROKE SEEING

-> username they're really over huh

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1_wags, formulaone.updates, maxverstappen111 and 78,926 others

f1newzzz formula one driver, max verstappen and singer/songwriter y/n y/l/n called it quits on their engagement, source close to the pair claimed. "they just wanted different things, their goals weren't aligning," the source explained, "marriage had seemed like the picture perfect ending at that time, when max had proposed, but in the long run, they both would've been very unhappy." though the exact reason for their split isn't very clear, many speculate that it was actually verstappen who ended their 11 month engagement. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

479 comments

username ur telling me that the woman who wrote "your past and mine are parallel lines, stars all aligned and they intertwined" about her man wanted "different things"??????? ok.

username max i just wanna talk ☺️☺️☺️

username no bc they were so in love everyone could see it

username she did not write "i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw u" for u to write this fucking shit post

username "she's been my rock, my biggest supporter, my proudest fan and im very grateful for her, forever will be. i don't deserve her and i don't know what good i did to have her in my life but im very glad i do" NO WAY HE BROKE UP WITH HER

username idk man if u write 3+ albums about someone and stuff like "all that u ever wanted from me was sweet nothing" or "all's well that ends well to end up with u" the universe should it impossible for u to break up

username just a daily reminder that u should drink rat poison before falling in love bc it never works out

username the day i stopped believing in love

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilymhe and 2,865,628 others

yourusername you're losing me is finally yours. this is easily the most vulnerable, heartbreaking, raw and personal song that i have ever written and sharing it with you all is like sharing a big piece of myself. you are, at some point in their life, at a place where you're begging someone to love you the way you love them and i think that's a saddest thing someone can do, i've been there. this song is a messy compilation of my feelings, my thoughts and the enigma in my mind, i hope you like it. and finally, to that one person, thank you for being my forever. it was real.

16,829 comments

username I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER

username the way we went from "i'd marry u with paper rings" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING

danielricciardo in awe of you and your talent 🤍🤍🤍🤍

-> yourusername danny i heart you

username no bc what really hurts is that throughout her albums and songs she's always been like "i can't wait to marry you!!!!" like from lover and paper rings and now it's hinted that max didn't wanna marry her and the way she's trying not to blame him by saying "i wouldn't marry me either"

-> username "she would've made such a lovely bride what a shame she's fucked in her head" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username the way that some people were saying that they got married secretly and the whole time they were broken up and she still continued to act like everything was fine like my heart's hurting for her

username "thank you for being my forever, it was real" IM CRYING IH NY GKD

carmenmmundt the most talented person i know 🤍 i love you so much y/n/n

-> yourusername you own my heart 💌

username the 1 is gonna start hitting different now

-> username "it would've been fun if u would've been the one"

username her heartbeat in the song i died.

username thinking about "he didn't try at all though" vs. "do something babe say something"

[doodler16]

So there is this interview that Raphielle II did with the youtube Council of Geeks. Who did the story boards of poison. So do with this information as you will.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=AA1tdDnkeWg

Thanks for sending this to me! Honestly, I know the majority of the critics and antis dislike him but I will admit Raphielle’s perspective is interesting.

Here are some notes I made while watching the video:

- Raphielle ships ValAngel but not in a “I want them to be happily ever after” but he likes the dynamic.

- Raphielle grew up with a conservative mother who controlled them for majority of his life.

- Raphielle didn’t know the user he interacted with was 15 years old. According to Raph, he allegedly checked their profile and there was no age.

2 months later, another user dug the conversation and informed Raph that user is 15. Raphielle clicked on the profile and the age was there. Raphielle panicked and immediately apologized.

- Raphielle (in the interview) detracts their apology because the user (the 15 year old) blew it up into this big thing.

- Raphielle deleted Twitter because he realized there are a bunch of minors in this fandom who have no business being here.

- Raph acknowledges how his content and the things he enjoys is triggering. He apologizes and mentions how he doesn’t want to be a problem for people.

- Raphielle says that you cater your own experience and create your own internet experience. And says to block and mute him.

- Raph says that it’s not his job to vet every single person who follows them. It’s the parents’ job to watch their kid(s).

- Raph says that ValAngel people are the nicest people he met because they are open and understanding.

- Raph loves the kink community.

- Angel Dust positively changed Raph’s life (when he cosplayed Angel) and realized this what was holding them back. Raph loved how unapologetically Angel Dust is.

- Raphielle’s first assignment was “Addict.”

- Raphielle took pole dancing classes because of Angel Dust.

- Raphielle helped design the “Poison” outfit.

- Raphielle has no contribution to what actually happens in the show.

- Raph practices BDSM for a while (before Hazbin).

- Raph says that CNC and rape fetish is the same thing unless you specifically love a scene where it starts out opening with the two characters being like “tehee let’s do this” then they go into the crazy scene that they are role playing out and then by the end you see the aftercare and stuff.

- Raphielle expresses he is a bottom.

- According to Raph, everyone in the project has consented to creating this non consensual scene. Raph did let the interviewer know that designers, animators, etc can put down what kind of scenes they are uncomfortable working on.

- Someone chooses to watch it beyond the warning (Raph is aware that there wasn’t a warning and is glad they added it), but once you see that warning and see what this is about- Raphielle acknowledges the Hazbin haters are fully aware of Angel’s story from Addict. And you the viewer decide to watch it, you are consenting to watching the thing.

Raphielle mentions that the viewers safe word is the pause button and the X button. Raphielle uses the same logic for their artwork as they mention he has warnings, etc.

[tieronecrush]

all i need to hear

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: M

word count: 5.1k

summary: part II to 102 -- frankie lies to you to get out of your weekly meetings when he needs space. when you confront him after finding out, everything comes to a head.

warnings: no use of Y/N, post-film timeline, au where frankie doesn’t have a kid, use of pet names (solecita, mi mejor, osito), use of spanish, unrequited love, self deprecation, alcohol use, triple frontier boys teasing you, lying/deception, mentions of substance abuse

a/n: thank you everyone who wanted a part 2, and thank you to the lovely @cannolighost for beta reading <3

Frankie runs his thumb and index finger through the condensation on his glass, the foamy amber liquid downed halfway despite only getting it dropped off at the table a couple of minutes ago. His leg bounces under the table, half listening to the conversation happening around him at the round booth. Pope, Will, and Benny sit around the table, all with drinks of their own and chatting about Benny’s fight last week. His leg bounces under the table, but he keeps his eyes on the area of the table to attempt to tune into his friends around him. He can’t focus on what they're saying, hearing the words and not connecting them into sentences, and his mind races as he glances at the front door of the bar & restaurant. He can swear he feels the tick of his watch against his wrist, in time with his pulse. A hand lifts his cap off his head, running his fingers through his hair from front to back three times.

The doors moving in his periphery catch his attention. He stands when he sees you, raising his arm halfway in a short wave when you look around the bar for the group.

When you notice him, that sanguine grin of yours stretches across your face and crinkles the skin next to your sparkling eyes. His palms get sweaty at the sight of you nearly gliding through the restaurant, noticing people’s stares being drawn to you. You always managed to brighten every room you occupied effortlessly; he’s watched people sink at ease around your presence, just like you do for him every time he sees you or hears your voice, or feels the warmth radiating off your body and your smile.

The complete opposite of his shy diffidence.

A positive attraction to his negative.

Like those magnets on the North Pole and the South Pole that create a magnetic field, the energy between you two is constantly charged. At least to Frankie, it was; he couldn’t pull himself too far away when you were around.

He grins back at you, one side of his mouth reaching higher as you approach the booth. Your hand reaches up to tug a loose hair behind your ear and Frankie’s fingers itch to do the same on the other side.

“Hey, Osito,” you giggle as he rolls his eyes, trying and failing to hold back a grin at the nickname you’ve dubbed him with since you were teenagers.

“Hi Solecita,” he draws you in with an arm around your shoulders, yours snaking around his waist to squeeze you against his torso before pulling away. The other guys greet you, half hugs leaning over the table and Pope giving you a kiss on the cheek like he always does. He’s teased Frankie about it before, and it used to annoy him, but now he sees it as a sign that you, his best friend from before, have been fully integrated into his found family.

Frankie gestures for you to climb into the booth first, everyone cheating around the round table to make room. It’s a bit of a tighter squeeze with five people, so when Frankie sits down, his knee rests against yours.

He relishes in the contact, resting his hand on the leg closest to you. Silent short inhales fill his lungs every time you shift slightly, the comfort between you two over the years making you completely ignore the seemingly accidental touches. They’re no accident to Frankie — his hand is glued at the spot on his thigh, the other hand around his glass squeezing it tighter with each brush of your jeans.

Conversation turns to making plans to go see some new blockbuster comedy, all of the guys agree to a showing on Monday night. Santiago extends the invitation to you, and Frankie turns his head as everyone waits for your answer.

“I actually can’t make it, I’m sorry guys. You’ll have to tell me how it is.”

“Well, Miss Popular, where are you gonna be?” Benny asks, a corner of his mouth kicked up and a wink sent your way. Frankie turns, rolling his eyes to himself as he takes a swig of his second beer.

“Um, I’ve got a date, actually,” you admit slowly, and as each word leaves your mouth, Frankie feels his body temperature increase. With his glass still as his lips, he downs the rest of his drink and gingerly sets down the empty cup. Pope eyes him with a sympathetic gaze directly across from him.

“A date? Damn, Sol, who’s the lucky guy?” Benny grins at you and Frankie tenses, shifting to sit up straighter on the leather bench. Heat burns at the nape of his neck from Benny’s casual use of the nickname he gave you years ago; it’s become your call sign for the group, but he can’t help the flickering flames of jealousy every time he hears it. They’re only brighter from the mention of your date; it’s like gasoline poured over the fire, a burst of blazing warmth rising up his throat to blister his esophagus.

“His name’s Tristan. We’ve gone on like four dates so far?” You glance around the table as silence falls over the guys. With one look Frankie can tell what they’re all thinking, an involuntary chuckle slipping from his lips and shaking his shoulders. Your head immediately turns to him, confusion clear on your face.

“What? What am I missing?” You snap back to look at each of the other men, a disbelieving laugh escaping you, trying to play into whatever the unspoken joke is.

“Tristan? That’s really his name?” Benny asks with a baffled smirk on his face, eyebrows raised. Santiago explodes in laughter, the infectious sound roping in the rest of the guys. Frankie joins in quietly, glancing over at you and biting his laughter back when he sees your adorable pouty expression.

With a huff you cross your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes. “Y’all are a bunch of dicks.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sol. You have to give us some slack, the guy’s name is Tristan. What kind of name is that? He sounds like he’s like a personal trainer that creeps on women in the gym.” Santi says through his wide smile, shaking his head.

Benny gets even more of a kick out of Pope’s joke, adding to it, “Or sounds like he should be rolling up on a skateboard and asking if you want sativa or indica.”

A guttural groan comes from you and Frankie smiles softly as you bend forward to rest your elbows on the surface and bury your head in your hands.

He’s living for the guys ragging on this dude, but a larger part of him wants to make sure you know it’s only teasing.

“Alright, alright, give it a rest, pendejos.”

He lays a hand between your shoulder blades and rubs a slow circle, giving you an empathetic, tight smile when you raise your head. Frankie’s eyes drop to where you’ve placed your hand on his knee, patting twice before laying it back in your lap. Your touch has eased the burn of jealousy in him like a cold bucket of water thrown over his head and shocking his system.

“Frankie’s right, we shouldn’t be so judgmental just from his name. Even if it’s a little ridiculous,” Pope grins and Will shakes his head, cutting him off before he can attempt to crack any more jokes.

“Just tell them to shut the fuck up whenever you want to, Sol. They’ll actually listen to you, not Fish,” he nods and grins at Frankie, turning his gaze back to you, “So what’s this Tristan like?”

It’s been a few more hours, and you have not stopped bringing up Tristan at every chance you get now that the news was broken to the guys. Little things like Santi ordering a new beer from some local place, “I just went to that brewery with Tristan”, to something that Frankie certainly didn’t need, and desperately didn’t want, to know. Benny being Benny had brought up the third date rule, citing some conversation he had with some girls who work at the gym where he asked if girls have the same thought about the third date as guys. The younger Miller had turned the question to you, asking if you’d followed the third date rule with the new dude. Immediately flustered, you scrambled and Will stepped in, smacking his brother over the head in reprimand.

“Can’t just ask someone shit like that, Benjamin. God, you’re getting more clueless the older you get, I swear.”

It’s dropped after that, but Frankie is stewing inside over the fact that you hesitated. Being friends for years, he knows you would have shut Ben down immediately if nothing happened between you and Tristan.

He checks the time on his phone, thankful for the excuse he has to get an early night. Gently hitting his fist against the table, he grabs everyone’s attention and moves to stand from the booth.

“Gonna head out, got that early morning meeting for my hearing shit tomorrow.”

“Oh, wait! Do you mind giving me a ride? Sorry, I meant to ask earlier and totally spaced,” you smile sweetly at him, the look in your eyes saying ‘I love these guys but please don’t leave me here alone with them’.

Screaming at him, the voice inside his head tells him to say no, that he will just end up feeling worse than he already does if you bring up the other guy with no one else around to listen for him, but when he looks at that face that seems to always melt his resistance, his lips stretch into the softhearted smile that he reserves for you.

“Don’t mind at all, Solecita. C’mon,” he reaches a hand out, grasping yours when you take the offering, sliding out of the booth and turning to say your goodbyes to his friends still sitting. Frankie sends them each a nod goodbye, the lazy raise of his hand in a wave. He clocks the look that Pope gives him, his eyes saying wordlessly, “Do it, cabrón.”

Frankie strides next to you, walking a step ahead to his truck. You catch up with him at the passenger door, a light laugh breathed out as you speak.

“Geez, Frankie, you’re walking like your ass is on fire.”

He mumbles an apology, opening the car door for you and helping you up with a hand. It’s quiet on the road, the low hum of the radio filling the dead space. Franke’s suddenly the poster child for proper driving, sitting up rigidly straight, both hands on the wheel at ten and two, and eyes trained at the road in front of him, only flickering to check his mirrors.

He doesn’t dare look at you when you adjust in the seat, the swoop of movement in his periphery. Never thought it would happen, but he is incredibly grateful for his interrogation training, being able to sit in droning silence without succumbing to the need to break it. You, however, don’t have the same steal as him and decide to fill the pin-drop quiet with your plans for the weekend. Including seeing Tristan.

No physical reactions give him away, but the thought he has makes his insides roll like the barrel of a wave, crashing over and dissipating nervous energy throughout the rest of his body. 

Your voice fades into the background of the buzzing in his ears as he pulls up to your house, his eyes flay from the reach of the headlights in front of the truck and he looks over at you with a rosy, cushioned smile that he wants to fall into.

“Thanks for the ride, Osito,” your hand reaches across the center console, knuckle of your index finger lightly knocking against the stubble of his chin, “See you Sunday?”

The skin there burns reddened, hidden by the darkness of the car. All his frustration, at himself, at the situation, at you (albeit, misplaced, but still there), sits in his chest, fueling his spiraling thoughts that corkscrew into one decision. The words spill from his mouth before he can fully think about them.

“I can’t make it on Sundays anymore, or at least for a while. My, um, my NA meetings that I go to, y’know the ones closest to my place that are run by my sponsor? They got moved to Sunday mornings cause some church group needs the hall on Thursday nights now.” Eyes averted from you, he only glances lightning quick to see you visibly deflate in your seat. Guilt creeps across his skin, the disappointment evident in your face but you stay silent in your feelings, never going to ask him to do anything that would possibly affect his sobriety.

“Well, maybe we can chat next week and figure out another day that could work?” Moon-eyed with a stunted, mirthless quirk of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later this week, Solecita.”

“Alright, um, probably should head into bed. Night, Osito. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“Will do. Night, mi mejor.”

He sends you as loose of a smile as he can muster, idling at the curb to make sure you get inside your door. The engine revs when he pulls away, letting out a large exhale that he was holding in.

Maybe with some space, he can finally move on.

TO: Frankie 🧸

Hey, any chance you have a few minutes to talk? Got a little bit of time on my lunch left.

Can’t, sorry Sol. At work, don’t have lunch for another 1.5 hrs.

No worries! Call me when you’re off?

FROM: Frankie 🧸

Sorry I missed your call

About to go into another meeting with my lawyer, talk later?

Sounds good! Call me whenever

Hey, how’d the meeting go? Have time to chat?

TO: Frankie 🧸

Sorry to bother, do you have a couple minutes to talk? Just feeling a little meh after work today

Fuck

Sorry I missed this Sol

Guys dragged me out to celebrate my hearing getting scheduled for next month

FROM: Frankie 🧸

Hey Sol

Guess what

Did something you’re gonna hate

Francisco what have you done??

Got a haircut for my hearing

I THOUGHT SOMETHING WAS ACTUALLY WRONG

God, you’re such a dork

I forgive you for cutting your hair, it’ll grow back

How’s the license stuff going by the way? Haven’t gotten to hear about it from you!

TO: Frankie ​​🧸

Ran into Ben and Will at the grocery store

They said you need some character witnesses for your hearing?

I’d do it for you Osito

TO: Frankie 🧸

Everything okay? We haven’t talked in a while

Just wanted to check in with you 🩵

I miss you

It’s been an adjustment to have Sunday mornings free.

Normally you’d sleep until the last minute before you needed to get out the door, throwing on whatever clothes are clean and cozy, stopping for coffee on your way over to the park to meet Frankie. It was always early enough that there weren’t too many people, but consistently late enough to not be caught by a creeping dawn. Some of your favorite mornings with Frankie had been the ones where both of you still met in the pouring rain, parking right next to each other and him running out of his car and quickly over to the passenger seat of yours.

These days, your Sunday mornings have been quiet. Slow. No scramble to get out of bed on time. No feeling of warmth radiating off of Frankie. No sunlight wrapping you two in its embrace. No smell of Irish Spring soap, mint toothpaste, or his cologne you’d helped him pick out before a date years ago — notes of black currant, bergamot, patchouli, and birch that waft from his sweatshirt and tickle your nose, placating any anxious thoughts with one hit.

No, Sundays now are waiting. Waiting for the morning to be over to move on from the ache in your heart. Waiting for a message or a phone call from Frankie. Waiting for the word that his NA meetings have been moved back and your sacred routine can begin again. Waiting for the day that you don’t have to miss him anymore.

This week, you decide not to wallow at home. It will be a productive morning or at least a distracting morning; there’s a bookstore on the other side of town from you, close to Frankie’s, that you have been meaning to make a return at. You thought you would do it the next time you were on your way to his house, but with the way things have been, that day is further and further away. And you only have another week left, according to your receipt.

Rubber soles of your sneakers shuffle against the pavement as you walk down the street, taking in one of your favorite areas of the city that you haven’t visited in a while. You cross your arms over your chest, pulling the flannel jacket you’re wearing tighter to you to block out a chilled autumn breeze. The sun is shining, and it hasn’t quite dropped to an uncomfortable cold, so there are still tons of people milling about along the street. The cafe next to the bookstore even has outdoor tables arranged, and as you approach, the sight at one of them stops your feet from moving and glues your eyes to the spot.

Frankie is sitting in the sunshine, coffee in front of him, and Santiago across from him. He hasn’t seen you yet, and you check the time to make sure you weren’t off in your thoughts.

Yep, definitely should be in his meeting.

God, if only the sidewalk could swallow you up, leaving you to never have to face this. Why isn’t he in his meetings? He should be showing up to everything he can to prove that he’s sober for his license hearing. He would be a fucking idiot to mess that up.

Another thought crosses your mind, bubbling in your stomach and sending bilic, steamy breath to burn your throat as your newfound rage cooks you from the inside out.

Does he even have meetings on Sundays? Was he avoiding you? Lying to you?

Frankie would never do that to you. He couldn’t. He was your best friend. Your Osito. You were in lo—

No. No spiraling. No wasting any more energy on chasing your tail about him, feeling like a lost puppy begging for attention.

Instead, your anger forces your feet forward before your brain catches up, crossing the yard-width sidewalk and standing right in view of Frankie, next to Santiago’s chair. He looks away from Pope, the grin on his face dropping as soon as his eyes register that it was you. Mouth ajar, grip on his coffee cup tighter, and eyes wide —  embarrassed and apologetic.

“Are you skipping out on meetings or did you not want to hang out with me anymore?” Your eyebrows raise, glance darting to the side to see Santi sink in his chair. Frankie blubbers his lips, living up to his call sign as he gasps for air under your blazing vexation, “Y’know what, it doesn’t even matter, cause either way I can’t believe you. I’m so pissed at you. I thought you were better than this.”

“Solecita, wait.” He stands from the table and follows you as you walk away, tears stinging your eyes. You can’t even face him anymore, the fury inside ashing as it fades into icy dejection.

“No, Frankie, I can’t talk about this right now. I really don't even want to look at you right now,” he catches his hand on your bicep, turning you to face him as you stumble. He steadies you with a hand on your waist, the apologetic look in his watery brown eyes and the smolder of his touch making you step back breathlessly.

“I’m sorry, mi mejor. I really am, it’s just— you wouldn’t understand, I’m—”

You hold a hand up to stop him, shaking your head and attempting to cover the emotion in your voice, failing miserably when you open your mouth.

“Please, Frankie, I can’t,” you lock your eyes on your sneakers, blinking back your tears, “I need to go.”

Frankie doesn’t protest again, standing frozen on the sidewalk and watching as you walk past the table. Pope’s eyes flick up from his phone that he pulled out to keep his attention away from the private conversation. When you disappear around a street corner, his limbs loosen from their marbleized rigidity, sulking over to the small bistro table and sitting down in silence.

One of his hands drags down his face, his mind is willing away the tears threatening the corners of his eyes. Santiago looks at him with a grievance, clearing his throat and speaking bluntly.

“That was fucked up lying to her about that, Fish.”

Frankie glares, rancor jagged in his voice, “Obviously I know that. But I couldn’t sit there every week and listen to her brag about this guy…I want her to be bragging about me to her other friends. It’s not fucking fair.”

“You’re the one who stopped yourself from taking the chance to tell her how you feel. And you’re still doing it.”

“She’s probably in a relationship by now, I can’t just dump all my shit on her.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know if she’s even still dating the dude 'cause you’ve been avoiding her!”

That shuts Frankie up and makes him even more annoyed — mostly because Pope is right. And he fucking hates when that happens.

He stews for a taciturn minute; thoughts hastened in plotting. He runs a palm flat against the stubble dotting his chin, working his jaw side to side.

“I’ve gotta go,” he says it as almost a question before his brain is yelling at him to move, “I gotta go find her. Do you think she’s in her car yet? Fuck, I don’t even know where that is. Should I go to her house and wait if she’s not home? Do I drive around the city to find her?”

Pope chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he stands and claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“I think you know exactly where she’s gonna be.”

It’s nearly midday now, the blinding autumnal sun casting short shadows in the trees as he jogs from the parking lot along the paved trails. It’s busy — way busier than when he usually comes here on Sundays. He’s dodging strollers, slipping sideways between groups of friends and families, juking with runners in the middle of their workouts. When he almost reaches you, he nearly misses his foot getting caught in the slack of a dog lead, lifting it in a skip as he calls out an apology behind him, either to the dog or owner, he doesn’t really care who hears it.

 Darting his eyes around the field, his ears are filled with the sound of his thumping pulse, blood rushing as loud as waves. He’s standing in the middle of the path, getting dirty looks and passive-aggressive comments, but it all falls away when he sees you. Sitting on the usual rock, arms hugging your knees to your chest and head bent to rest against the joints there. Inside of his chest, his heart is squeezed to mush, seeping into the deepest ache he’s felt between his ribs and down his vertebrae.

Never, in all your years as friends, did he ever hurt you like this.

And with what he has to tell you, there’s a possibility that he’ll never be able to make it up to you. That you’ll never want to see him again.

In spite of it, his legs drag him forward, paying no mind to those around him having to stop in their tracks or swerve to avoid him. He’s chartered on a course directly to you, climbing onto the stone quietly until a scrap of his sneaker catches your attention and lifts your head to look at him.

Fuck, you were crying. All because he was a fucking stupid coward.

No sound breaks between you two as Frankie sits next to you, a foot of space separating you. He picks up a small pebble that’s broken off the larger boulder, rolling it with his fingers before tossing it into the water and watching the ripple form and dissipate. After another beat, his head turns to you, your own stuck straight ahead.

“I’m sorry, mi mejor. I am so fucking sorry that I lied to you. My meetings didn’t move. And—and I promise I’m still going on Thursday nights. Still sober. Nothing like that has changed. I wouldn’t do that to you—I wouldn’t put myself back in that place after all the help you’ve given me to get my life back…”

Your voice is thick with sadness when you respond, eyes trained ahead on the water, “So, why did you do it? Why did you lie? Why didn’t you want to see me anymore? I’ve been trying to think of something that happened, something I did. What did I do to drive you away?”

“No. Please don’t think like that. You did nothing, Solecita. Nothing. It was something I didn’t do that made me put space between us. It was a selfish thing to do, and I am so sorry that I did it.”

“What didn’t you do? I can’t think of anything I expected of you. Well, besides our Sundays and being my best friend. You’ve been doing both of those for years.”

“It wasn’t…It wasn’t anything you asked of me, Sol. It was something I’ve been needing to do for years,” he swallows hard and sits up, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off of the rippling pond.

“I understand if you need some space for real after this. Or if you’re angry, or if you wanna just get up and leave. I’ll understand.”

“Frankie, you’re kind of scaring me. Just tell me,” you rest a hand on his arm laying on his propped knee, tender eyes melting his heart, “Always here. Always, Osito.”

He takes a deep breath, nerves haywire, and shakes jolting energy throughout his body. He trains his eyes on his shoes as he begins the confession he’s held in for nearly as long as he’s known you.

“I’m…Sol—Fuck. I’m sorry. I want to tell you, I do, but the words are really not coming to me how I want them to.”

“Francisco Pedro Morales, just tell me. Whatever words are in your head are the right ones,” you lean closer to him, reaching a hand up to brush the hairs at his forehead that stick out from his cap.

His eyes close for a long minute, attempting to relax his galloping heart.

With no luck in calming down, he opens his eyes and turns his head to you, stare locking at yours as a meek voice leaves his mouth.

“I love you.”

You’re perplexed for a moment, eyebrows pinching together before a faint laugh slips out, “I love you too, Frankie. But…you’ve said that to me before. Like many times.”

“No, no I don’t mean — I’m in love with you, Solecita. I have been since…well, since about a month after I met you. You’re this—this radiant, lustrous, fucking dazzling, gentle, and gracious presence in my life that I can never stop thinking about. All I want is to see you smile, and hear your laugh…I want to make you proud of me. I would kill to protect you, even from myself, and stupid shit I do that hurts you. I want to be able to look at you when you walk into a room, and I see everyone fucking glued to you because you’re so shining and joyful and know that you’re mine. That anyone else could try, but I would know that you’re coming home with me, that you chose me. I would fucking worship the ground you walk on, cause I already do. Your word is like gospel to me. It’s like…you’re my true North in life, I just point myself toward you to be able to find my bearings and keep moving…I just, I fucking love you. Te amo infinitamente, con todo en mi. (I love you infinitely, with everything in me.)”

“And I know you’re with Tristan now, so I get it if you can’t—”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not with Tristan. We broke things off weeks ago. I broke things off weeks ago — when we weren’t keeping up with each other because I realized — I realized that I didn’t want him. He was a placeholder. And he could never live up to the person whose place he was holding.”

“Who’s that?” he says defensively, a puff of air leaving his lips in frustration that there’s yet another guy he needs to compete with.

“Que tonto, Francisco. (What a fool, Francisco.)” You shake your head with a creeping grin, the corners of your mouth slowly rising as your eyes sparkle in the sunlight. His own brow furrows in confusion until it clicks a moment later. His own smile matches yours, sheepishly hanging his head before he turns back to you.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, 'Oh.'” The trill of your laughter knocks up his spine and he rolls his eyes playfully, scooting closer on the cool stone.

“So…is this other guy you’ve been waiting around for just like, wickedly handsome? Es él todo lo que soñaste? El tipo de chico con el que te gustaría montar en la puesta de sol? (Is he everything you dreamed of? The type of guy you'd want to ride into the sunset with?)” He smirks, wagging his eyebrows as his eyes flicker to your lips. His pulse races with the real possibility that he’s finally going to get to kiss you, after all of this time and after imagining it in countless daydreams.

“Can’t say I’ve thought about riding into the sunset with him…but I have thought about flying into the sunset with him. Tiene alas para llevarme (He has wings to carry me). Anywhere.”

“Anywhere for you. Te llevaría a cualquier parte, amor (I would take you anywhere, love.)”

Frankie closes the gap between you two, one of his hands reaching up and holding your cheek in his palm. His lips press delicately, featherlight to yours as if he’s scared of breaking the spell with his touch on your skin.

You, always the more assured and decided, hold onto Frankie’s wrist near your face, deepening the kiss. It knocks the air from his lungs, every ounce of his breath is given to you as his lips begin to ebb with yours, tilting your head back to slant his mouth down. You pull away first, his head chasing after you. His mouth hangs open as he looks at you with a gentle smile, eyes twinkling with the dwindling sunlight. A silent laugh is shared between the two of you, a giddy, boyish grin on his face as his heart continues to race.

It’s you who speaks first, voice no louder than a whisper, as if you couldn’t dare share this moment with anyone else around you.

“I love you, Frankie. Always.”

“Siempre, mi amor. Siempre.”

tags: @beskarandblasters @swiftispunk @joelsversion @lunapascal @addictedtotlou @deathwife @johnwatsn @pedgeitopascal @pedrospartner @atinylittlepain @soaringcloud @wannab-urs @javiscigarette @yazsos @northernwindd @pr0ximamidnight @theelishad @scrambledslut @thetriumphantpanda @dinsdjrn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @ladamedusoif @meveispunk @bitchwitch1981 @marisemonteiroo @brittmb115 @axshadows @cannolighost @titabel @the-wrong-providence @wretchedmo

[1d1195]

Traditional II

Read the first part here

This part got a bit away from me. But I kinda like it. Hope you enjoy!

“Do men hold doors open for you, love?” He asked.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I will take that as a no, then,” he chuckled. “I would like t’hold doors open for y’whenever I can,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Well, thank you.”

“M’pleasure.”

Niall was very accommodating when she arrived. “Hey darlin’,” he smiled holding his hand out. “Nice t’see you again. Did you find everything okay?” He asked.

At the same time, she was trying to take in the beautiful, shiny floors that clicked with heels and others shoes all the way down the long hall. There were glass rooms spaced out at regular intervals between the beautiful wooden doors that looked like they belonged to a vintage castle.

“Yes, thank you. So far so good,” she smiled nervously. In the back of her head, she was thinking about that introductory message Harry sent her. Harry Styles. Styles. Certainly, Styles Incorporated was not the same Harry. The world wasn’t that cruel. Right? Harry would have said something. Even some low-on-the-totem-pole intern would have sparked something in the boss of a successful company like this while perusing a website for a girl to spoil.

“Great,” he smiled. “Follow me, I’ll show you around.” Her phone vibrated in her bag’s front pocket. As Niall showed her the breakroom with a half kitchen and spacious table, she put her lunch in the fridge and checked the message. Have a great day, love. You’ll do great. Excited to meet you later and hear all about it. No, he didn’t know. She decided. He would have said ‘See you around’ or something like that.Sliding her phone back into its space she turned her attention back to Niall. “Nervous?” He asked with a grin.

She nodded then shrugged with a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. “Kind of,” she admitted. “You’re very nice. I’m worried I’ll mess up.”

“Then you’re going to do great,” he chuckled and tilted his head toward the hallway. “This whole floor is ours; your office is small—sorry about that. A makeshift attempt and you deserve better. If it’s any consolation, most days m’not even in the office so you can lounge around and do your work in my space. I tried convincing Harry that you’ll need more but—”

She blinked and felt her heart rate take off before she could stop. No. “Harry?” She questioned, interrupting quickly.

Niall smirked. “My best friend...and the boss. Don’t worry, he’s a softie at heart. Just don’t lie to him. He loves authenticity. M’sure you’ve heard rumors about past interns and—"

Her tongue felt dry; she wished she had taken her water bottle from her lunch bag. Her boss’s boss was...it couldn’t be that coincidental, right? If he knew there was a conflict of interest, she would either have lost her...outside position or this internship. Right? Niall was explaining the reputation of the rapid rotation of interns. She assumed one wrong look would leave Harry mad and Niall would have no choice but to let them go. “I have a good feeling about you though,” he smirked at her as he continued walking back toward his office...their office.

“Niall.”

“Speak of the devil,” Niall smirked as he muttered under his breath to her. Turning toward his name she spun on her heel at the same time to see Harry approaching. He was tall and beautiful. But she already knew that from his profile picture. He wore a collared button down and the collar was pressed firmly and stiffly against the dark green sweater he wore over it. With sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he displayed a multitude of tattoos and veiny forearms that she had to look away from quickly before she drooled. Adorned in a pair of slacks and dress shoes she thought that he knew exactly what he was doing: torturing any poor girl that looked at him as beautiful. She tried looking at his perfectly styled brown curls and his green eyes attached to eyelashes that seemed downright sinful with every blink. His face seemed a bit scruffy, like he forgot to shave this morning.

His gaze didn’t falter even a nanometer. It was perfectly normal to see the girl he had just paid a substantial sum of money to live in a beautiful, highly expensive apartment. She was going to see him tonight for a first date. And yet, here he was, at his company without so much as a flinch of surprise by the fact that she was interning here. “Harry, this is our new intern,” Niall explained introducing her to his best friend.

Harry held his hand out. “Pleasure t’meet you, beautiful. M’name’s Harry, Harry Styles. Make sure t’tell me if Niall is treating y’poorly.”

Her brain wasn’t processing the words. Maybe Harry hadn’t put two and two together yet. It would make sense to separate his personal life with his business. Or maybe she just wasn’t recognizable; she spent a good chunk of time getting ready this morning in hopes of looking pretty but felt she fell short.

Mostly, she couldn’t imagine Niall treating her anything less than perfectly and that quite baffled her. “Oh, thank you,” she managed to say taking his hand and noticing his grip was firm and warm just like a good handshake was supposed to be. Would they do this all again later when they met for dinner? “I’m excited to be here,” she said—that was the truth. She scoured for internships long before she thought of being a companion for someone with Harry’s kind of money.

Harry smiled and turned his attention back to Niall. “Tricked another one, I see,” he mumbled. “I wanted t’know if y’have the report for our first meeting this morning.”

Niall nodded and jerked his head toward the office. “I was just about to show her m’office,” he said opening the door to his home away from home. He held the door for her to follow him and she held the door for Harry, but he shook his head as Niall was already looking at the piles of messy paperwork on his desk. Her first order of business would be to organize that chaos.

“After you, love,” he said holding the door open for her to enter. She mumbled a quiet thank you and passed through the threshold. As she did, she heard him speak, just for her to hear, not Niall, “guess I should’ve asked where y’were interning, hmm?” He hummed quietly.

Her face warmed and she swallowed the lump in her throat as she did her best to maintain her composure. Fortunately, Niall was looking through his messy piles, so he didn’t notice her blushing face or her awkwardness.

“I can organize all this for you,” she decided to say to avoid the way her legs felt numb and shaky.

“I know where everything is,” Niall smirked at her with a grin that said the exact opposite of his words.

“I think you should let her,” Harry agreed. He rolled his eyes and produced a blue file folder with the document inside.

“Right where I left it,” he said passing it to Harry. She giggled quietly and Niall winked at her. As Harry and Niall discussed the file, she glanced around his spacious office with the pretty view. When they entered, she hadn’t noticed the tiny little room that seemed to attach inward through the door they entered. It seemed they went right through her little office. It wasn’t much, a space for a desk, a chair for a guest and a plant in the corner if she was lucky. There was a small window that looked like it belonged in a house, not an office that allowed her a view of the city that faced the nearby ocean.

It was perfect.

“Sorry we were interrupted,” Niall smirked at her. Harry was gone again, and she was slightly grateful, so she didn’t have to think about her strange predicament. “This is yours. I hope it’s not too cramped.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised. “Thank you.”

He logged into her computer. “You’ll have to reset your password, but this is my calendar,” he said clicking through several buttons. “I recommend having it open and whatnot, but it’s really up to you. I tend to need frequent reminders.”

“Like that you’re gonna be late to your 9:30?” She asked, pointing at the screen.

Niall checked his watch. “Yeah, exactly,” he chuckled. “I shouldn’t need anything during the meeting, but if I do, you just knock and enter to announce your presence, don’t be shy, people do it all the time. Just keep an eye on your phone for messages. Do you have any questions at the moment?”

“Do you drink tea or coffee?” She asked.

“Coffee, hot. Cream two sugars,” he said grabbing his laptop off his desk and throwing it haphazardly in his bag. She made a mental note of that.

“I’m going to organize this while you’re gone,” she said looking at the haphazard piles.

He ignored her comment with an eye roll and a shake of his head. “If Harry gets his way, meetings tend to run over the time they’re supposed to be—"

“I heard that,” Harry called fleetingly from outside the office. She giggled.

“—so please come get me if I’m being held against my will and late for another meeting,” he said ignoring his friend.

She nodded. “Will do.”

“Do you need anything at the moment? Otherwise, I’ll let you get settled.”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

He smiled. “Course you will. Welcome to Styles Incorporated.”

*

After organizing Niall’s messy desk, she sat at her own desk and worked her way through the different tabs and things. She was excited to work beside Niall and learn the ropes of his jobs.

She was thinking that if he had two jobs rolled into one, she would be able to take one of them at the end of her internship. But if Harry was her boss, she was thinking that wouldn’t happen. At least now she could learn both and apply to different companies, knowing the ins and outs of two jobs. Her phone vibrated and she hurried to open it, anticipating an SOS message from Niall. She received one halfway through his meeting to which she smirked and informed her he had no need to leave just yet, but asked if she would come get him solely because he was bored. (She did not, but she did ask if he was completely serious because she would have come up with some elaborate scheme if needed.)

Instead, this message was from Harry.

Enjoying your first day?

:)

She felt extremely nervous to be interning at Harry’s company knowing that outside these walls her life was still entangled with his. It seemed like a bad idea. But she was regrettably a bit desperate for money and for the internship. So, if Harry didn’t find fault in the predicament, she wasn’t going to say anything.

Niall was in and out for most of the morning. She sent him messages frequently updating him of his changing schedule.When her office phone rang, she bit her lip thinking of what she should say for a moment before answering. “Styles Incorporated, Niall Horan’s office. How can I help you?”

“That’s adorable,” Harry’s voice said softly. She nearly dropped the phone. Part of her wanted to hang up.

“Oh,” she replied. “Er...Niall’s not back yet.”

“I called to talk to you,” his voice was so deep she could feel it in her toes. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Huh? I’m fine. Do...do you need something?”

“Jus’ wanted t’make sure you’re having a good day, love,” he chuckled.

She blinked and nodded silently. “Haven’t done much. I was going to go get Niall coffee just to feel useful.”

She obviously couldn’t see him, but she could almost hear him smiling. “He’d like that.”

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Styles?” She asked.

“Hmm?”

She pulled a sticky note off the pad from the corner of her desk. “Coffee? Tea? Anything?”

Harry was quiet for a long moment. “Black tea would be nice, thank you, kitten.” She didn’t really need to write it down, but she did anyway. Black tea would be ingrained in her mind forever. She tried not to think about how he called her kitten either. “Jus’ Harry is fine, love,” he murmured, “...in and out of the office.” She was glad she was alone in her office so no one could see her blush.

*

At the end of the day Niall said he had a good feeling about her. “Mondays are typically craziest. The week will get easier as it goes along. Tomorrow I’ll have more time to show you what I do. Do you have any questions?”

“Er...no, thank you. It was a pretty easy day. I feel like I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did great love! The catastrophe of my desk alone warrants a full-time bonus. Even Harry complimented your phone response, and it was nice you asked him for his coffee order. I’ve had several interns put through the ringer by him, and I think you’re the first to make a positive first-day impression. I think most people are scared of him, which I think is hilarious of course. As I said, he’s a big softie. But none of them ever asked for his coffee order, and he noticed that.”

She smiled nervously knowing there was an ulterior motive to his kindness. “I’d get the whole office coffee if it was feasible,” she smirked. “If I’m here long enough, I’ll suggest they build a shop in one of these offices.”

Niall laughed. “I’ve got a really good feeling about you, darlin’. I hope you enjoyed your first day.”

“I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow,” she promised.

“Sounds good, love. Thank you.”

*

Her new apartment was hardly unpacked. She wouldn’t have time until the weekend to get it remotely live-in ready either. But here she was, standing among unpacked clothing boxes, clothes strewn about her bed (mattress still wrapped in plastic) as she picked out a dress to wear to her second first meeting with Harry.

It still felt surreal and honestly, she felt a bit stupid for even agreeing. But what was she supposed to do now that there were thousands of dollars in her account that weren’t there the day before? Louis video chatted with her. “How was your first day?” He asked. Eleanor was peering into the camera at the same time as well.

“Oh, I love that dress on you,” she smiled. “You look stunning,” she promised.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Tell us about the internship.”

She sat on the mattress, the plastic crinkling loudly and sticking to her thighs. “I’m interning at his company.”

“Whose?” Eleanor asked her eyebrows pinching together.

“Harry’s,” she mumbled quietly.

“No way.”

She sighed, putting a hand over her face. “This is so dumb.”

Louis was laughing. “That’s hysterical. What are the chances? What did you say?!”

So, she explained the whole day. Overall, the experience was positive. But again, it was about to feel awkward again since she was supposed to meet Harry in half an hour. “Aren’t sugar daddies supposed to be old?” Eleanor asked.

“I think they just have money,” Louis shrugged.

“He is not old,” she confirmed. “He’s like...29 I think.”

“Well good, maybe you’ll fall in love with a normal, functioning member of society,” Louis rolled his eyes.

She sighed. “Do you think this looks alright?” She asked Eleanor, ignoring Louis’ comment. She wasn’t going to fall in love with someone that was paying her both for her internship and simply for existing.

“Beautiful, love,” Eleanor promised.

She sure hoped it was.

*

The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment. Half a mile. She walked there in ten minutes. Harry was waiting outside as she approached. She was much more nervous now than she was this morning for her first day. The internship she was prepared for, she knew how to do the math and marketing aspects entailed in the description when she applied. She was totally out of her element walking up to the same person who was willing to pay her massive amounts of money just to have dinner with him.

“Did you walk?” He asked in greeting.

“Yes,” she said softly.

He frowned and turned to the car parked next to the sidewalk. He gently hit the top of the car frame twice to gather the attention of the driver. “She doesn’t walk anymore,” he told him. The man saluted from his seat and winked in her direction.

“I don’t mind walking,” she said hurriedly. She didn’t want to be driven everywhere. Certainly, everyone would know. “I walk all the time,” she explained.

“You don’t walk late at night, anymore,” she didn’t love the way he was demanding it, but again, didn’t want to argue with someone that was paying her substantial amounts of money. So, she quietly observed that it wasn’t that late and said as much in a whisper of the air.

“It’s hardly late.”

He turned his gaze to her and stared for a moment. Taking a deep breath in, he exhaled slowly. She noticed the way his jawline flexed, and his eyes were bright despite the evening darkening before her eyes. She noticed he shaved since she last saw him. He replaced the sweater with a suitcoat and to sum up he looked utterly handsome and equally terrifying in that moment. His eyes burned with something a bit angry, and it was odd that the man she worried about while she was at Styles Inc. was much more amenable than what she thought her date was about to be like. “I understand,” he said flatly. “M’jus’ worried about your safety,” he murmured, and she saw the anger dissipate by the second and again was surprised by how different she expected him to be versus the horror stories she heard through the grapevine of the interns that didn’t last.

Obviously, Harry was a businessman, and she was an investment. She could be agreeable, too, though. She nodded in response. “I will keep an eye on the time in the future, but I like walking.”

Harry pursed his lips and looked at his driver for a moment. The man shrugged and Harry sighed. “Noted. Not late,” he amended.

“Not late,” she conceded.

Harry tapped the top of the car once more and headed toward the door of the restaurant. He held the door open and tilted his head in silent command. “Ladies first,” he said much softer now that he was done arguing.

*

“Do y’want t’order, or would y’like me to?” He asked. The restaurant was obviously gorgeous. Dimly lit and quietly busy. The tables were spread out far enough that she couldn’t hear anyone’s conversation nearby. Gentle instrumental music played in the background. It smelled delicious and she was sure if she wasn’t with Harry, she wouldn’t dream of setting foot in this place as long as she lived.

Harry looked at ease perusing the small, printed menu in his hands. He probably already knew what he wanted—he probably already told the chef when he walked in by merely glancing at the hostess with some secret signal that only someone making seven figures a week could make. While he was at home in this fine establishment, she wished she wore a sweater over her dress. There was a nearby vent causing a draft to chill her skin. Doing her best to ignore it, she desperately thought about asking for some soup. She glanced up from the menu situated on top of her place setting. Nearly terrified by the millisecond: it was too expensive and too fancy. Keeping her cool she nodded, grateful for Harry for intervening on her unfortunate behalf. There was no way he would like her after this catastrophe. “Please.”

He smirked. “What do y’like t’eat?”

“Um, anything really,” she bit her lip. “I had pasta for lunch.”

“So no pasta,” he said easily scanning over the menu.

She laughed lightly. “Actually, I don’t think there’s a limit to pasta for me,” she admitted.

His smile grew, she could see it dancing in his eyes, but he didn’t lift his eyes from the menu. “I see.”

“Mr. Styles. Always a pleasure,” the waiter greeted. “Merlot or Pinot tonight?” He asked.

“Merlot, please,” he said glancing briefly at the waiter before returning to the menu. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to see a wine list, miss?” The waiter asked, looking at the sweet girl across from Harry.

“I’m okay with water,” she said simply.

Harry’s eyebrows pinched together, and he finally lifted his head from the menu for longer than a second. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. She really didn’t understand the etiquette of what she was supposed to do or say here. “I...I have to get to work...early tomorrow,” she said awkwardly. Of course, Harry knew that. A little glass of wine wouldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t bat an eyelash at anyone working for him for merely having a glass at dinner. Especially at a place like this.

He nodded slowly, taking her answer in as the waiter watched to see if she’d change her mind. Clearly, he was used to Harry, but this was obviously a first and he waited almost expectantly for her to change her answer. “Can I convince you t’have a glass of pinot?”

“Um...”

“It’s very light, miss,” the poor waiter promised. Maybe he was more aware that she gave the wrong answer than she was. Harry was ogling her curiously. Like she was a true mystery.

“No thank you, I really like water,” she assured him. She wasn’t lying. She did like water. “Do you have lemon water, by chance?”

He glanced at Harry again. “Yes, of course, miss. I’ll bring it right out,” he nodded.

Harry was still staring at her curiously. She was nervous to look up, but she did. His eyes were gentle again. His lips quirked in a smirk that was making her insides melt and warm her up—thank God because she swore the vent was aimed purposefully at her. “I don’t breathalyze anyone on the way in, love. Y’could get a glass of wine if you’d like,” he told her.

She nodded. “I know...I...I just don’t really like t’drink during the week all that much. Especially with work and stuff. Wine...usually gives me a headache too. Thank you, though. I’m sorry if that was awkward or wrong.”

He nearly snorted. Quietly of course. This place was near silent. She wondered what they put in the air to make it so quiet. “Wrong?” He repeated.

“I don’t know. I’m...I’m really nervous,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Kitten, what are y’apologizing for?” He asked shaking his head. “You’ve got no reason t’be nervous. I invited you, remember? I want you here,” he reminded her.

Swallowing, she nodded. “Okay.”

“Really, love. It’s supposed t’be easy and light. Don’t be nervous,” he repeated.

She took a deep breath and looked at him head on. He looked...soft. Like this wasn’t some weird first date that would help figure out the rules of their...companionship. Objectively, he looked like he was her boyfriend...and why wouldn’t he look like her boyfriend? As Eleanor pointed out, he was young. So was she, even younger than Harry. It was obvious Harry was brilliant, but Louis would tell her to stop selling herself short because she was exceedingly intelligent (and on the days when she was willing to compliment herself, she kind of believed that too). The only reason it was unfathomable was the fact that he was twenty times handsomer than she was beautiful and he looked about twenty times as rich.

But still, he seemed to look at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It made her warm. Which, of course, reminded her of how cold she was. “Do they have a soup you could recommend?”

A pause before a slight chuckle. “You are...full of surprises, love.” Of course. No one orders soup at a place like this. Ladies were supposed to order salad. “It’s...warm outside,” it almost sounded like a question. She thought he might even ask if she was feeling okay.

“Um...” she swallowed and gestured in front of herself to point discreetly toward the vent. “The vent is blowing directly at me, it’s...kinda cold.”

Harry’s eyes immediately followed the path of her finger as she pointed and muttered a quiet, “Oh, for God’s sake,” under his breath while she finished speaking. As he stood up from the table, she thought she really messed up now. Harry quickly found the hostess and muttered something before he hurried back to her side of the table. “They’re going to move us,” he told her.

“Oh, God. Harry, that’s not necessary. I just—”

“Love, it’s fine,” he promised, putting a hand on her upper back as he stood by her chair. “M’not gonna have y’freeze before the appetizers.”

“But—”

“Love, it’s fine,” he repeated.

Biting her lip. “I didn’t mean to make a fuss,” she murmured standing up as Harry guided her to a nearby table.

“Not at all, love,” he promised. “I jus’ don’t want you t’be cold. I wish y’said something sooner,” he gestured to the table nearby away from the vents Harry draped his suitcoat over her shoulders before pulling her seat out.

“I’m really okay, Harry. I don’t—”

Gently grabbing her chin between his thumb and finger, he turned her eyes to his. Her breath hitched in her throat. Without his suitcoat he was left in his button down, tie, and vest ensemble and she thought she might lose her mind. It was worse than the rolled-up sweater sleeves. “Kitten, jus’ relax,” he hummed gently. “S’okay. I’ll get y’some soup and a lovely pasta dish,” he promised. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Okay, love?”

She nodded mutely and Harry smiled kindly at her. Coaxing her into her new seat and she waited for Harry to sit. “Sorry about the draft, miss,” the waiter returned settling her lemon water in front of her. “Here is your water. Can I get y’some hot tea?”

“She was wondering about the soup,” Harry interrupted. “Don’t usually get it myself here,” he told the waiter.

He nodded. “Of course,” Harry winked at her as he listed the different varieties they had for the evening, and she quietly chose the mixed vegetable. “Do you want to start with the prosciutto wrapped mango, Mr. Styles?” He asked.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she interrupted her face warming as she did. “I’m very allergic to mangoes. I know that’s odd.”

“Oh, well then never mind,” the waiter smiled easily. “I will bring the soup in the meantime.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry about—”

“You’re really going t’apologize for having an allergy?” He wondered.

Swallowing, she nodded. “Umm...”

He chuckled quietly shaking his head. “I think m’really going t’like having you around, love.”

*

After she apologized at least seventeen more times and thanked Harry profusely, they were finally in the car driving her back to her apartment. She was warm, full, and very happy with how the remainder of dinner went. Harry didn’t look at his phone once while they talked but was now scrolling through his missed messages while the driver was paused at a red light.

She kept her hands in her lap, folded neatly. “Did you miss a lot of calls during dinner?” She asked softly.

He shook his head. “Nothing important,” he smiled gently as he scanned. “Sorry, s’rude of me t’look when you’re beside me,” he slipped his phone back in his pocket.

“No, no. M’sure you have a lot more important messages than just asking me about my favorite color and stuff.”

That smirk of his graced his face again, melting her insides. He shook his head briefly and then tilted his head at her curiously. “What is your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Hmm...y’struck me as a red kind of girl.”

“I did like pink when I was younger but these boys in school made fun of girls that liked pink because it was so girly, so I decided to like blue instead. And I really do like blue. It’s much better for walls and decorations than pink,” he smiled brightly during her explanation, chuckling at her little feminist outcry.

They were parked outside her apartment. “Do you want me t’walk you in?” He asked as she unclipped her seatbelt.

“Oh...um...” the blood flooded her face thinking about Harry seeing the mess of the beautiful apartment Harry bought her and how she would die if he saw it. “I...I’m okay.”

“Hey love,” he said gently, stilling her hand by the wrist as she tried to gather her purse from the floor. “I had a lovely time tonight,” he promised. “I want t’do it again. If you’d like.”

Again, her breath caught in her throat. “Really?”

Chuckling, Harry nodded. “Yes. You’re very funny and sweet.”

“Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“Of course.”

“Am...do I need to worry about this internship? Because I really need it to get my degree and I don’t want to—”

Smiling, he shook his head. “You have nothing t’worry about, on that front, love. I don’t trust nearly anyone but Niall. He read your application and chose you because y’have the best qualifications and had glowing recommendations. I read them today after I realized I’d be seeing y’much more frequently,” he told her. “I think you’ll do really well,” he promised.

“Oh...good...it’s just...” she took a deep breath. “This is really hard for me to say, but I know interns don’t...typically last very long at Styles Inc. But I really want to...but I also have a very different...predicament,” she landed on after a moment.

He nodded. “You do. But you’re also the only one who shook m’hand, took m’coffee order, and seemed t’know what Niall needed before he did. All on the first day.”

“Tea,” she mumbled. Harry tilted his head in silent question toward her. “Black tea. Not coffee,” like she was reminding him of what he drank.

Harry nodded. “Exactly.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Are you sure y’don’t want me t’walk you up? See y’in safely?” He asked. She hesitated. She wondered if this was part of the...deal. But she really didn’t want him to see how bad it looked right now. Again, especially because he was paying for it.

“Can I be honest with you?” She said quickly.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded. “Of course, love.”

“I haven’t had time to unpack and it’s horrible in there right now and I don’t want to embarrass myself or you because I haven’t...unpacked. Especially when you’re paying for—”

He started to laugh a bit and it made the most beautiful face she had seen to date. His cheeks had a matching pair of indents with two beautiful dimples on either of his cheeks. Her body warmed at the beautiful sound of his laughter filling the car. “Kitten,” he shook his head. “I don’t care about any of that,” he rolled his eyes unclipping his belt and getting out of the car. She grabbed her purse and then tried to get out of the car except the handle was locked. She frowned. Harry opened it in the next instant before she had time to worry that she was trapped inside the back seat.

Smiling beautifully still, he shook his head at her. “Do men hold doors open for you, love?” He asked.

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I will take that as a no, then,” he chuckled. “I would like t’hold doors open for y’whenever I can,” he explained.

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Well, thank you.”

“M’pleasure.”

She got out carefully, worried she would trip and fall. Harry held his arm out for support, and they strolled up to her new apartment. She held her phone to the key reader and heard the lock click. On instinct, she reached for the door handle, touching Harry’s hand as of course he was ready to open it for her. “Thank you,” she said quietly hurrying through the door.

Harry followed behind her as they walked up one flight of stairs to the next floor. Turning to the left and then found themselves in front of the third door.

“It’s really a disaster,” she told him.

“Y’jus’ moved your stuff over a few days ago, love,” he reminded her. “S’okay.”

“I’m not a messy person. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about my habits and stuff—”

“Kitten, please open the door,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Shutting herself up, she took a deep breath and pushed the door open, flicked the light on, and gestured for Harry to enter.

“It’s not furnished?” He asked looking at the empty living room area. Just a TV, a few boxes, and a painting strewn on the floor. He moved toward the window, enjoying the view of the city night.

“Uh...no,” she kicked her shoes off and set her purse on the adjoining kitchen counter. “I...lived with my ex before. We rented from his aunt...she had all the furniture.”

“Oh. M’sorry. I didn’t realize, I would have made sure to furnish it for you—”

“Oh no, it’s okay. I just...ordered some yesterday. It’s supposed to be in by the end of next week.”

He turned from the window and stared at her. “You ordered some?” He asked.

Her blood felt cold and she was grateful she still had Harry’s suitcoat still wrapped around her because she was worried her teeth would start chattering. “Uh...yes. I figured you...you gave me a lot of money and of course I had some savings and stuff. And I needed a lot of furniture. I got a lot of tables, bookshelves, and my dressers from IKEA. That should actually be here sooner...and then I needed a couch and a TV stand, and I thought it might be worth having a desk. And I’ve always wanted a nice bed...one that had like a canopy option?” She started but then she realized she was over explaining. “I’m sorry...that was way more information than you needed. So—”

He raised his eyebrows at her in surprise. “You bought it yourself?”

“Uh...yes?”

“And you’re going t’put it all together...from IKEA...by yourself?”

“Well...my friends Eleanor and Louis will probably come over and help. Louis isn’t all that helpful—he’s usually too busy making jokes...but Eleanor and I can hold our own.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you, kitten,” she blushed and looked at her feet nervously. “I’ll...put more money in your account tonight, beautiful. Order as much furniture you want...but please don’t order stuff from IKEA.”

Biting her lip she nodded. “I don’t need you to put more—”

“Love,” he said gently and came across the room once more. Gently, he cupped his hands around her face. “S’what m’here for,” he reminded her. Carefully, he glanced at her eyes and then quickly pressed a kiss to her forehead. She thought she really might melt. She no longer needed his jacket. It was much too hot in the room, all from a little kiss on the forehead. “See you tomorrow?” He asked pulling away and heading toward the door.

“Um...Harry?” She asked.

“Yeah, kitten?”

“Can you just...text me when you’re home. So I know?”

She saw the way Harry’s eyes danced at her question. “Of course, love.”

--

taglist: @tpwkstiles

[tenthmuseondine]

The Back Pearl of Braavos and 16th century Venetian Fashion:

There is a common consensus among fans that Braavos - a city sited on a group of small islands that are linked by bridges and walkways, divided by canals, channels and waterways of varying size - is heavily inspired by Italian mercantile/maritime republics, of which Venice is the most famous.

Furthermore, the canal-based, inter-connecting island architecture is not the only similarity between Braavos and Venice; both cities are famed for their courtesans.

Indeed in 16th century, Venice was famed for its many elaborately dressed and coiffed courtesans; Veronica Franco (1546–1591) is a famous example! She developed her position in Renaissance Venetian society as a cortigiana onesta (Honest Courtesan), known for her notable clientele, feminist advocacy, literary contributions, and philanthropy.

Her fictional parallel in ASOIAF could be Bellegere Otherys II - one of the famed courtesans in Braavos (the other being Daughter of the Dusk). We know Bellegere comes from a family of courtesans, bearing the title of Black Pearl of Braavos - a moniker borne by a descendant of Bellegere Otherys I, the first Black Pearl, a pirate queen who became a mistress of Aegon IV Targaryen.

The eldest bastard daughter of King Aegon IV and Bellegere, Bellenora Otherys, became a courtesan under the same name. Bellenora's descendants became courtesans as well, each eventually bearing the name "Black Pearl".

We can also assume that Bellegere is rather wealthy, owning her own barge and servants to pole her to trysts and when purchasing three cockles from Arya, who is disguised as Cat of the Canals, paying ten times what the cockles are worth. This wealth is directly reflected in her clothing!

"She was so lovely that the lamps seemed to burn brighter when she passed. She had dressed in a low-cut gown of pale yellow silk, startling against the light brown of her skin. Her black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts." (TWOW, Mercy)

The aforementioned "low-cut gown" immediately brings to mind the 16th century gowns worn by Venetian courtesans!

Look at this art print of a Venetian Courtesan (Cortigiana Veneta) published by Pietro Bertelli in 1591.

Notice the incredibly low and exposed neckline of the gown!

It is important to mention, however, that not only courtesans dressed this way. Venetian noblewomen of the 16th century also bared their breasts in keeping with the fashion of the day.

For example, look at this art print of a Venetian Bride (Sposa Veneta), also by Pietro Bertelli. There is virtually no difference; perhaps that is why the civic authorities decried the courtesans' deliberately misleading resemblance to 'honest women.'

In some portrayals, the Venetian woman's neckline opens almost immediately below the breast!

In Dress of Venetian Women (Habiti delle Donne Venetiane) ca. 1591–1610, the engravings done by Giacomo Franco show ornately dressed courtesans and respectable women, all of whom sport very low cut bodices.

In the second plate we see a depiction of parentado, or the ritual presentation of a bride to her relations. Here, a bride in a richly embroidered dress wearing pearls and a bejeweled crown is presented by her ballerino, a dance instructor who prevented the woman from toppling over in her chopines, or platform shoes.

In conclusion, in depicting Bellegere Otherys - the Black Pearl of Braavos - I would most definitely illustrate her wearing a gown inspired by 16th century Venetian dress (worn by both courtesans and noblewomen). She'd look rather striking I think.

[bunniehoneys]

Coanda Effect - JJK F1 AU

Coanda effect: noun (Co·an·da effect) (kō¦andə-, -än-) : the tendency of a fluid jet, such as airflow, to be attracted to a nearby surface. Used in motorsport and car design by aerodynamicists to help divert airflow to specific areas of the car.

“Yo, Satoru.” Getou Suguru looks older. His hair is longer. He still has the same small scar along the left side of his forehead from 2013. It’s fainter, now, than it was then. “It’s been a while.” It's been seven years, but who's keeping count?

---

Jujutsu Kaisen Formula One AU / Satosugu & Minor/Background Itafushi / Slowburn / Childhood Friends to Enemies to Lovers

FULL FIC on ao3 here!

Chapter-by-Chapter:

i - out lap

ii - lock-up

iii - camber

iv - flat spot

v - out-brake

vi - gravel trap

vii - slipstreaming

viii - parc ferme

ix - telemetry

x - apex

xi - retirement

xii - understeer / oversteer

xiii - summer break

xiv - delta time

xv - shakedown

xvi - traction control

xvii - multi 21

xviii - extrication

xix - porpoising

xx - blistering

xxi - pole position

xxii - HALO

xxiii - Blue Flags

xxiv - Winner Take All

Word Count 262,170 - 24/24 - Complete

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

ELEVEN: A HELPING HAND.

It isn’t hard to find the theater. 

There are signs everywhere which wealthy-looking carriages and automobiles follow down the road. You totter down the cobblestoned road on your horse, feeling comfortable enough to do so being that your identity is still protected because you’ve kept it hidden for so long. 

When you finally come to the theatre, all you do is stare at it for awhile, enchanted by and fixated on the structure and architecture of the humongous building. You can tell it’s old, the stoned walls and steps aged with time and decades of shows and stories put on stage. Guests in their tailored suits and expensive dresses doused in fur shrugs and hats despite the heat walk up the steps to the building, unaware of you and what you’re here for. 

You slide off of Reneigh’s saddle and fix your dress before tying her to a street pole between two carriages. “Wait here, darlin’,” you coo to her as you stroke her side. “I’ll be back.” Reneigh flicks her ears and nudges you in response, telling you to be quick about it and to stay safe.

With your heart pumping as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings, you strut in your shoes up the steps to the doors of the theatre. You come to the front lobby where several ticket booths are set up handing out tickets for the show. It’s an opera, translated to “The Sweet Sensation of Suffering”.

You walk up to a young man in a red suit, hat, and white gloves dressed as a ticketman. “Good evening, madame!” the young man says. “How can I help you?” 

You keep calm, not wanting to give yourself away despite your roaming eyes. You’re looking hard for Benji but you suddenly feel like you’re looking too hard. You take two coins out of your purse. “One ticket, please,” you say, pushing the two coins across the counter.

He takes them before clipping a ticket for you and passing it your way. “Here you are,” he politely says. “Enjoy the show, miss!” 

You give him a small smile and a nod before heading towards the doorway stated on your ticket. You pass by multiple people that are so unlike you. They don’t hide. They don’t sneak. They don’t have to dodge the law or danger at every corner. Though they don’t give you weird looks, you still feel uncomfortable. You feel like you don’t belong here. 

The only time these feelings shut off is when you’re finally in the theatre and walking to your seat among the sea of people adorned in expensive clothes, accessories, and jewelry. ‘This place is like a pick-pocketer’s gold mine,’ you think to yourself. Pardoning yourself, you shimmy through a tight row and find a spot next to an older woman in a blue dress and silver updo. She is busy speaking to her much younger lover next to her, paying no mind to you. While she sits on your right, the seat next to you is empty. 

The stage below is covered by a red curtain, the show not on yet. Just enough time to scout for your target. You begin to look around, scanning each face and back of the head. Your body reacts each time as if you see your target, your hands trembling as they grip the seat and your blood pumping. When the lights finally dim and the audience cheers, your eyes move to the row at your left. 

There, in the upper left corner a few feet away, you see him. You nearly gasp but hold your breath, staring at him in the darkness. He is sitting in a box with two other women, each one adorned in pearls and gloves, one of them holding binoculars to see below. On stage, the curtain rises and a plump woman with a big bust wearing a long, black dress begins to sing in Italian. Her voice is soft yet powerful but it doesn’t gain your attention. You’re too busy staring at Benji. 

‘It’s him,’ you realize. ‘He’s really here!’

The Bandit nearly takes up space with how big he is, sitting in his suit and puffing on a cigar between his meaty fingers. He watches the show below, completely oblivious to you who stares at him with bloodlust like a shark in the darkness.

‘He’s so close,’ you think. ‘If only I could just move closer…’ 

But you can’t because someone has sat down next to you. You abruptly turn to the front, watching the show below. The woman has now sprouted fake wings that flap around, controlled by the thin ropes holding them from up above. “Fancy seein’ you here, ma’am,” a very familiar voice suddenly says beside you. 

Your body instantly tenses, recognizing the voice immediately. ‘No,’ you think in dread. ‘It can’t be…’

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Do we know each other? You just look so…familiar.” Slowly, you turn your head to see your seat neighbor and find it to be none other than Valentine dressed in a rogue-colored suit. 

It’s like seeing the Devil with your own two eyes. He smirks at you, his ringed hands folded in his lap. “Ah,” he chuckles. “So it is you. Glad to see that prison didn’t make me go completely insane.” You can’t move, your body glued to the seat, yet you find the will to speak. “W-What are you doin’ here?” you whisper. “H-How are you–” 

“Here?” Valentine finishes. He leans toward you, his lips brushing against your ear. “Usually, I wouldn’t expose my secrets to a lyin’, backstabbin’, nosey ass bitch like you.”

You flinch at the ice in his tone. “But since ya caught me on a good night, your target down there bailed me out.” 

He nods up at Benji still smoking his cigar, his big hand on the thigh of one of his female guests. You stare at Valentine, wide-eyed. “Oh, we work together!” he laughs. “He’s my boss. Didn’tcha know? Well, ya know now.” 

Immediately, the realization hits you dead on. “Gojo and Geto,” you shakily whisper. “The Cherrywood train massacre…you framed them for it. Benji helped you do it.”

Valentine puts a finger to his lips, smiling. “But why?” you ask. Have the Gunslingers left the Bandit feeling THAT butthurt because they left him? 

“Benji is a very secretive man, as I’m sure you know,” Valentine says. “He had to take precautions to make sure his two infamous slingers ain’t run they mouths about where he is or what he’s doing. He was hopin' the train would kill ‘em when it crashed, but prison worked just as well.” You grip your seat harder, your gun pressing against your thigh.

“So what now, huh?” you hiss. “You gon’ kill me too? In front of all these people?” His devious smirk widens. “I was thinkin’ of talkin’ first,” he chuckles. “We don’t wanna rush this.”

He opens his jacket and pulls out a gun, laying it on his lap. You stare at him, fear making your stomach flip flop. “But if you tell me where Geto and Gojo are, I just may spare ya. The only thing I’ll do is drag ya out by your hair and let the law have ya.” 

Both options are horrible, so you don’t hesitate to fix your mouth to lie. “They’re not here,” you say. “It’s just me.” 

Valentine grips your neck and roughly yanks you toward him. “You lyin’ whore!” he snarls into your ear. “Don’t fuckin’ try me, bitch. I’ll blow your brains out right here.” He presses the gun into your cheek, making your heart pound.

“And then what?” you growl. “You’ll be caught before you can even escape! Look around you!” 

He does and his ugly, enraged expression softens. Then he laughs. “Oh, you clever bitch. Now I remember why I liked you so much…other than how amazin’ that pussy was.” He trails the gun down South, prying your legs apart. You do your best to resist punching him.

“What do you want?” you whisper. 

His eyes flash with something that isn’t friendly or warm. “Revenge,” he growls. He doesn’t elaborate any more than that, but he doesn’t have to. “You’re comin’ with me right now and don’t even think about tryin’ to fight me off.” His free hand grabs your wrist while the gun presses into your side. 

You don’t even get a chance to utter a prayer when the doors to the theatre suddenly open with a loud bang that startles the audience and the stage below. You turn, finding your gunslingers standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light pouring into the doorway. The music ceases, allowing them everyone’s full attention as they walk into the room. 

You’ve never been so happy to see them. Their hats sit low on their heads and their guns are already in their gloved hands, ready to shoot. “Sorry to interrupt this show,” Gojo calls, his voice echoing among the silent theatre, “but we’re lookin’ for somebody. So if ya value your life and don’t want to end up six feet under, I suggest–” 

“They’ve got guns!” someone screeches from somewhere in the room. And just like that, the entire theatre erupts into madness. People race to the exits, avoiding Geto and Gojo, stepping over each other and knocking each other down. Distracted by the commotion, Valentine’s hand loosens its grip on you. 

Quickly, you yank yourself out of his hold and hurry out of your seat, doing your best to move among the crowd of people. Gojo and Geto are just a few feet away from you, but Benji is gone. 

You raise a hand to try and get their attention, but you’re suddenly stopped by a sharp blow to the back of the head. 

With a gasp, you fall to your knees and grip the back of your head. Your fingers come back stained with blood. “Oh, not you don’t,” Valentine snickers. “You don’t get to run away from me that easily.” 

You sink onto the dirty theatre floor, your face pressed against the carpet. Valentine stands over you, his eyes void of light. Just darkness. “Nighty-night, bitch,” he whispers. 

It’s the last thing you hear before silence descends over you and you fall into an inky blackness. 

**********

You awaken sometime later to some cold water being splashed in your face.

“Wake, wakey, bitch,” Valentine sings. “It ain’t lights out for ya yet.” 

You sputter and cough as you’re forced awake, suddenly staring up at the starry sky and a man standing above you. You try to move, but can’t and look down to see yourself restricted with rope bound tightly around you. Your dress is ruined and one of your shoes are missing.

But none of that stuns you as much as the state you find yourself in: your legs, ankles, and midsection are all tied to the railroad tracks of an outdoor train station. Immediately, your head is flooded with warnings signals, alerting your entire body of danger. “What is this?” you gasp. “Where am I?” 

The man standing above you smirks down at you, his gorgeous face and wicked smile illuminated by the full moon above. Where you belong,” Valentine cackles. He turns around, laughing to something behind him. “See, I told ya her reaction would be priceless!” You squint into the darkness behind him where benches sit under a hood for those to wait for trains. 

The entire station is dark, the gas street lamps completely void of flames. You see shadows lingering near a bench, one of them four-legged and whinneying softly. You recognize it as a humungous horse. The other shadow rises from the bench and stands under a non-lit gaslamp. He lights a cigarette, illuminating his horribly familiar face and salt-n-pepper hair. “You,” you hiss. 

Benji smiles at you, his gold tooth glinting in the moonlight. He struts up to you and Valentine in his suit, confident and pompous. “Nice to finally meet you too, miss,” he chuckles. “I’ve heard lots about ya. You’ve got the entire population of male outlaws shakin’ in their boots with the pistol on you. That’s impressive.” 

He puffs on his cigarette before lightly tapping the ashes on your dress, putting holes in the fabric. “But not enough to shake me,” he growls, his face darkening. “I been lookin’ for your ass for a minute now. Word is you were out lookin’ for me too.” 

You don’t say anything, knowing well enough not to. He kneels down in front of you, his one brown eye narrowing at you. “I know what you do,” he snarls. “You hunt down guys like me and Valentine. You hunt ‘em, smoke ‘em, and then leave ‘em for the buzzards or the law to have.” 

He smirks maliciously. “Well, you won’t be doin’ that this time, sweetheart. Sorry to break it to ya, though you did do a fantastic job.” 

Valentine shakes his head down at you. “Needy thing just couldn’t leave us alone,” he sighs pittingly. “I knew there was a chance you’d find your way here. Soon as I saw ya walkin’ in here, I knew we had to act now. That’s why I waited here for you and your stupid boyfriends to come through when Benji’s men lost y’all on the road.” 

You are horrified as everything starts to unravel in front of you. So they are trying to kill you and the Gunslingers. They knew you’d be here. “I had a feelin’ it was you,” Valentine says. “That woman I ran into earlier at the hotel. I’ve never seen ya face, but I knew I’ve seen them vengeful eyes somewhere before.” Benji chuckles at this, standing up to smoke the rest of his cig. 

Though it’s so obvious, you ask anyway: “So what are y’all gonna do?” you hiss. “Just kill me?” 

The two outlaws smile, filling you with dread. “Bingo,” Valentine chuckles. “Well, we were gonna wait till your outlaw lovers got here to save ya, but they’re nowhere to be found unfortunately.” 

“I told y’all, they ain’t here!” you angrily say, raising your voice. “We parted ways on the way here. I came to Sage County by myself to find Benji.” Valentine’s expression grows sour and he slips a gun out of his jacket. “You lyin’ little–” 

“Hang on,” Benji cuts in, holding him back. “She may be tellin’ the truth. And even if she ain’t, you know she won’t say nothin’ about where they are.” He turns to you, actually looking so sorry for you. 

“Sorry to do this to ya, Y/N,” he sighs. You shiver at your name coming from his lips; it sounds so utterly wrong. “But I just can’t have anyone huntin’ me down like this. I’ll hand it to ya, honey: you’ve got guts.”

He takes his cig out of his mouth and tosses it down into the railroad tracks near your head. “But then guts will gethcha killed.” 

At that moment, the traffic lights above you turn red, signaling the arrival of the train. And then you hear the clanking sound, meaning that it’s almost here. You begin to wriggle around as the outlaws walk away from you, leaving you to die. “Wait!” you shout. “Wait, wait!” 

Benji hops on his horse first while Valentine hops on after, giving you the middle finger. “Have fun makin’ the newspapers, bitch!” he laughs. “I’m sure the law would love to see that your ass is finally dead and gone.” Benji’s horse whineys as if it’s taunting you too and takes off down the road, leaving you alone. 

And then the sound of the train whistle blows. It’s like Death calling you. You turn your head to the left, finding the train moving toward you in the distance. “Fuck!” you scream. You wriggle and buck under the binds, trying to shimmy your arms out, but nothing works. So you scream.

“Help!” you holler. “Someone, please help me!” You plead and shout until your throat burns, tears springing into your eyes. 

But no one is here. So no one is coming. You begin to cry as the train chugs forward, getting closer and closer to you with every passing second. This is it. You’re going to die. You close your eyes, seeing Geto and Gojo behind your eyelids. ‘I’m sorry,’ you think. 

You almost believe yourself to be hallucinating when you suddenly hear boots running toward you and then some soft, calloused hands on you. You open your eyes, looking up in the pale green ones of a stranger. He is a handsome blonde, possibly in his early 30s, wearing a crisp button-down with the sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny, toned arms, dress slacks, and polished shoes. 

“It’s going to be okay, miss,” he pants, his voice deep and soft like silk. “I’ll get you out of here.” He begins to tug at the ropes and at the knot under your breasts.

When you realize that he is in fact real, you begin to sob even more. This is God sending you an angel. “Hurry!” you cry. “Please, please hurry!” 

He does so, trying in vain to untie the knot but it’s too tight and the ropes are too thick. “Goddammit!” he swears, panicking. The train is getting closer, its whistle damn near taking out your eardrums. Then you remember. “My knife!” you shout. “It’s unde my dress!” 

The blonde looks down at your legs, momentarily hesitant. He even blushes. “I’m sorry about this,” he whispers before his hand crawls under your dress to feel up your thigh. His fingers are long and calloused as they drag against your skin. Finally, he slides the knife out of your garter belt and begins to saw at the knot, moving fast. 

But the train moves faster. It gets closer and closer, only several feet away from you. You begin to cry louder staring into its headlights like a deer. Finally, the rope breaks and you are released. 

“Got it!” he shouts and yanks you on top of him without a moment’s hesitation. You fall into the dirt off of the tracks together, alive and breathing. 

The train zooms past you a second later, its engine and the steel tracks rumbling in your ears and blowing your hair as it passes. To think that you would’ve been under that train if the man hadn’t freed you a second before makes you sick. You would’ve been dead. 

The man looks up at you, panting heavily. “Are you alright, miss?” he asks. You don’t say anything, too stunned to speak. His thigh is wedged between your legs as you lay pressed against him, the shock of the situation fading. 

“Y/N!” Geto shouts. You and the man look up, finding the Gunslingers jumping off of their horses and barreling toward you. You jump off of the stranger who stumbles to his feet, stunned at the two outlaws. And even more at the pistol Geto pulls on him. “You get the fuck away from her,” he demands, his voice low and frightening. “Who are you?” 

The blonde puts his up in defense, shaken. “Hold on now, I didn’t–”

Geto cocks the gun at him. “Talk,” he demands. “Now before I put a bullet in you.” Gojo stands behind the blonde, his gun also drawn and his blindfold pulled up to expose his shockingly blue eyes. 

 “Wait, Geto, stop!” you shout, grabbing Geto’s arm. “He didn’t do anythin’ to me! He just helped me escape before the train came. He saved my life.” Geto’s sharp expression softens somewhat at the revelation, but not enough to drop the gun. “It’s true,” the blonde huffs. “I would never do anything so barbaric to your lady, especially in the situation she was in.” 

The Gunslingers share a look before looking back at the blonde standing between them. “Name?” Gojo asks (more like demands).

“Kento Nanami,” the blonde introduces. “I’m a doctor from Willow Springs who came here for a medical conference in town.” Your eyes widen and your stomach flips at the name. Your dream home. “Willow Springs?” you breathe. 

The blonde nods, not at all understanding why this excites you. “Yes, it’s where my place of business is. I was just waitin’ for the next train when came across you and those two men. One of them got away, but I managed to get his partner.” 

Geto and Gojo only drop their guns because Nanami walks you up the road to where Nanami’s blazer lies next to a very beaten-up, dead-looking Valentine. His nose is dripping with blood and one of his closed eyes look swollen as he lies in the dirt. “He’s just unconscious,” Nanami says. “He’s not dead.” 

Gojo looks up to the sky, relieved. “Thank God!” he sighs. “We don’t need the law on our backs even more than they already are.” 

But Geto still isn’t convinced. “And you can swear you’re tellin’ the truth?” he asks, still giving Nanami that same sharp stare. Nanami firmly nods, his eyes unyielding and his jaw set. 

“Then I owe you a big apology,” Geto says, slipping his gun back in its holster by his hip. He puts his hand out for Nanami to shake (Nanami doesn’t take it). “Forgive me, Mr. Nanami. She’s very special to us.” At this, your stomach flutters. 

“And in some very big trouble,” Gojo growls. The fluttering stops and you glare at the white-haired outlaw. “Sorry about this whole thing, Mr. Nanamin!” He pats the blonde hard on the back, smiling sheepishly. 

“It’s Nanami,” Nanami corrects him, still frowning. “And it’s quite alright. I’m sure an outlaw has his habits, especially if they have business with Valentine and Benji the Bandit.” His eyes switch to you, knowing yet not judging. “And with you too, apparently.”

Though you feel slightly hesitant about revealing your true identity, you know that it’s inevitable. And the man just saved your life. “I’m their partner,” you explain. “I’m the Fatale Femme.” 

Nanami nods, barely having any kind of reaction. “I’m not gonna tell,” he says, sensing your thoughts. “But the entire world knows who you are at this point being that your posters are everywhere. Though I’m not a fan of violence, I respect what you do for victims of it by bringin’ justice to them, many of whom are from my town who fell victim to people like the ones you’re after.” 

At that moment, you feel all of your tension and concern leave you. “Well, that’s nice to know,” Gojo chuckles. “Listen, was there any chance Benji told you where he was headin’ off to?”

Nanami shakes his head, much to your dismay. “I’m afraid not,” he sighs. “He rode off headin’ that way.” 

He points opposite to where the train is headed on the second set of tracks on the other side of the platform. “He’s headin’ North,” Geto says, squinting into the dark.

You slap your thigh, overjoyed. “Which means we still have a chance to get him!” you exclaim. You turn to Nanami and vigorously shake his hand. “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Nanami. We’ll be on our way now.” 

But the Gunslingers aren’t as eager to jet as you are. Gojo clears his throat and lays a hand on your lower back. “Y/N, sugar,” he begins, “I know you must be a little frazzled right now so your head ain’t workin’ right, but I’ll fill in the blanks for ya: did you just hear where Mr. Nanami is from?” 

You blink at him clueless and he raises a brow at you. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go with him since you’re fixin’ to go there anyhow?”

Now is when the gears in your head finally start training and you shove his hand off of you. “What?” you snap, bewildered and shocked. “But what about our deal? And I can’t just take a train! What if someone recognizes me?” 

Gojo snorts, rolling his sapphire eyes. You’re actin’ like we can’t just get you inside with the luggage.” You glare at him, hating his go-lucky attitude when he’s talking about you abandoning your mission. “And you’re actin’ like I can just leave my horse and break my promise,” you snap. 

“You’re not breakin’ your promise, darlin’,” Geto soothingly says. He moves to touch you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “We’re just sayin’ that it’d be better if you just leave now instead of stayin’ here with us since we’ll have to part ways in Willow Springs anyway. You almost died tonight and–” 

“Oh, stop!” you scoff, smacking his hand away. “I’m not a little girl and I sure as hell ain’t your woman, so stop treatin’ me like I am.”

Both men look at you in shock though you see something else. Something like disappointment in their eyes. You ignore it. “We are partners. I gave y’all my word and I ain’t goin’ nowhere until Benji is behind bars. Besides, I’ve had many brushes with death before, so this is no different.” 

Even as you say that, your nerves are still shaky, knocking you slightly off balance. But wouldn’t anyone still be shaken from almost getting hit by a train? Nanami clears his throat to ease the tension. “Well, if you ever decide to chance your mind and show up in town, I’d be happy to help.” 

His eyes are kind despite his stoic expression and you nod, exhaling to release your anger. He looks down at his watch, tapping it. “Y’all might want to head out before the next train comes.” 

“First we’ve gotta take care of him,” Gojo says, nudging Valentine with his foot. “And leave a note for the law folk.” He smirks at Geto who already takes a pencil out of his pocket. 

Before you pack up to go, you sit Valentine up against the pole of a street lamp and pin a note to his chest: “A Valentine gift for the sheriff - from G, G & FF”.

While the duo set their horses up to head out, Nanami walks you away from the tracks, his hands behind his back and his blazer on. “Thank you again for your help, Mr. Nanami,” you say softly.

He nods, clearing his throat. “Kento,” he says. “I’ll make sure the sheriff and his men get him behind bars for you.” He then retrieves his hands from his pack and holds an item out to you: your knife. “You be careful with them, miss,” he says, seriousness in his gaze. 

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, you give him a grateful smile and take the knife. “Y/N,” you whisper. “And thanks, but I can handle ‘em.” He nods, leaving it at that, and you depart. 

You are quiet as you walk up to Geto’s horse, refusing his help. You hop on yourself and get settled on the Bronco before he hops on in front of you. Gojo hops on his own horse, giving you a concerning look as he passes by you. 

“Do you wanna talk about what just happened?” Geto gently asks, not looking at you. You place your hands on his hips, his back pressing against your front, and ignore the way his scent makes your body feel.

“No,” you answer, more bitterly than you meant to. “I just wanna take a shower and leave. We’re wastin’ time the longer we’re here.” 

Geto nods and clucks his tongue twice, making his horse follow after Gojo. And that’s the end of it.

[rubywolffxxx]

Pole Position (Formula 1 x lectora)

Resumen: Tania y Franco cada vez estan más cercade debutar con su nuevo equipo, pero en ese pequeño lapso, el argentino tuvo la oportunidad de ser piloto de Williams por tiempo limitado.

Nota: La prota se va a llevar de 10 con todos, ustedes pueden votar al final del capítulo si los personajes les gustan solo para amigos o como interés amoroso. Voten al final~

~ Capítulo anterior Capítulo siguiente ~

Masterlist de capítulos

Masterlist de mi autoría

~ II ~

—No me cambies por el roba novias, eh.—

Franco miraba con una leve sonrisa a la chica frente a él, quien no se veía muy segura de separarse.

Cuando Williams pidió un reemplazo para Sargeant por lo que quedaba del año, Franco fue el favorito. Solo sería hasta diciembre, por lo que quedaría libre justo cuando General Motors lo anunciara como piloto oficial. Era experiencia, una que sería de mucha utilidad.

Tania por su parte aún tenía obligaciones en Formula 2, no podía darse el lujo de acompañar a su amigo.

—Ganales a todos, Fran... Pero a Charles no... A Lando tampoco.—Franco rió con ganas antes de abrazarla con fuerzas.

—Leclerc va a ser el primero que pase entonces.—

—Con tu autito de Williams hecho mierda lo dudo.—

—Que mala que sos.—

—Te voy a extrañar, Fran... Así que te conviene jugar conmigo cuando puedas. Mandame mensaje y me conecto.—

—Obvio, sí... Hay que terminar la granjita.—Tania rió bajito, dándole un último apretón antes de soltarlo.

—Te va a ir bien, Franco... Dejá a Argentina bien arriba.—

—En unos meses los dos lo vamos a hacer...—

Era tarde en la noche y Tania seguía trabajando en aquel motor. Hace algunas semanas, la joven había encontrado a muy buen precio el auto de sus sueños. Estaba destruido, pero se creía capaz de restaurarlo. Por ello pasaba horas en el garage de su edificio.

—Camaro... ¿86?—

La chica levantó la mirada del motor, viendo a Oliver entrar como si nada.

—67... ¿Cómo entraste aquí?—

—Ah, el portero de la cocheria me reconoció. Le firmé la gorra y me dejó pasar.—Tania negó divertida—. ¿Qué haces?—

—Justo ahora termino de ajustar los pistones, luego reemplazaré los torch por unos nuevos y calibraré la presión del motor.—

—Si, eh. No entiendo nada de eso. Yo solo manejo y ya.—

—¿Qué haces aquí tan tarde? Mañana tenemos prácticas.—Tania le señaló unas herramientas en la mesa, y Ollie entendió que debía pasarlas. Se apresuró en ayudar.

—Justo pasaba por aquí y pensé en saludar.—

—¿Por aquí? ¿De casualidad? Osito, vives a una hora de aquí ¿Qué hacías en...—la chica se detuvo un momento, pues recordó algo—. Ella vive por aquí cerca ¿No? Me habías dicho eso la otra vez que viniste a almorzar.—

Por como se puso el chico, Tania supo que algo malo había pasado.

—... Se difundieron rumores de que la engañé y... Rompió conmigo.—

—Ya veo, quieres decir que no nació de tu corazón visitarme y solo viniste porque tu novia te dejó...—la chica lo miró con fingida ofensa antes de sonreírle.

—¿De verdad no sabías nada de eso? Esta en toda internet.—

—Para saber de tu vida, te lo pregunto directamente, Osito. Ahora ¿La engañaste o no?—tomó otra herramienta—. Tal parece que ella engañó a Franco contigo, sería una especie de karma, supongo.—

—Ella dijo que ya no salía con él... Y tampoco la engañé, son rumores falsos.—

—¿Y le dijiste eso?—

El par se quedó charlando un buen rato, hasta que la alarma del celular de Tania le indicó que se había desvelado demasiado.

—Bueno, es la alarma de "ve a dormir o morirás".—tomó una toalla, caminando hacia el lavamanos del lugar—. ¿Quieres quedarte a dormir? Iremos juntos mañana.—

—¿De verdad?—

—Pues claro, hay otro cuarto.—Tania secó sus manos, revisando no tener rastros de grasa—. Es el que usaba Franco... iba a hacer un comentario desafortunado.—le sonrió divertida—. Ya, Osito. Es tarde. Hasta que llegues a tu casa y te acuestes, pasarán unas cuantas horas. Quédate, no hay problema, de verdad.—

Esa noche, ya en su cama prestada y rodeado de una extraña comodidad, Oliver intentó escribirle a Estelle, pero ella lo había bloqueado. Entonces un mensaje le llegó.

Tato ⭐

Deja de escribirle a la

innombrable y ve a dormir.

El chico sonrió, escribiéndole de regreso.

Bear🐻

Tu deja de acosarme

y ve a dormir.

Tato⭐

Le estaba escribiendo

a Fran y te vi en línea.

Ve a dormir.

Bear🐻

Deja de escribirle

y ve a dormir.

Tato ⭐

Tú deja de llorarle

y ve a dormir.

Bear 🐻

Tú ve a dormir.

La chica no respondió nada, pero solo unos momentos después, la puerta del cuarto se abrió de golpe. Y una almohada se estampó en la cara de un desorientado Oliver.

—Duérmete, en 6 horas y...—revisó su celular—. 46 minutos sonará la alarma... ¿Café con tostadas?—

—Claro.—

—Bien.—Tania cerró la puerta casi por completo, arrimándose por el pequeño hueco—. Duérmete, Potter. Que Voldemort ya debe estar haciéndolo...—

Oliver rió bajito, viendo como el rostro de la chica se desvanecía al cerrarse la puerta.

Miró el celular bajo las sábanas, pero esta vez lo dejó a un lado.

Se acomodó mejor, tomando la almohada que momentos antes se habia estampado en su cara.

Tenía una funda de Star Wars. Y olía a frutas...

Oliver hizo a un lado su almohada, usando la que olía a su amiga.

[whencyclopedia]

Jezebel

Jezebel (d. c. 842 BCE) was the Phoenician Princess of Sidon who married Ahab, King of Israel (r. c. 871 - c. 852 BCE) according to the biblical books of I and II Kings, where she is portrayed unfavorably as a conniving harlot who corrupts Israel and flaunts the commandments of God.

Her story is only known through the Bible (though recent archaeological evidence has confirmed her historicity) where she is depicted as the evil antagonist of Elijah, the prophet of the god Yahweh. The contests between Jezebel and Elijah are related as a battle for the religious future of the people of Israel as Jezebel encourages the native Canaanite polytheism and Elijah fights for the monotheistic vision of a single, all-powerful male god.

In the end, Elijah wins this battle as Jezebel is assassinated by her own guards, thrown from a palace window to the street below where she is eaten by dogs. Her death, the biblical authors note, was prophesied earlier by Elijah and is shown to have come to pass precisely according to his words and, so, in accord with the will of Elijah's god.

Her name has become synonymous with the concept of the evil seductress owing to the interpretation of some of her actions (such as putting on make-up in order to, allegedly, seduce her adversary Jehu, who is anointed by Elijah's successor, Elisha, to destroy her) and calling a woman a “jezebel” is to label her as sexually promiscuous and lacking in morals.

Recent scholarship, however, has tried to reverse this association and Jezebel is increasingly recognized as a strong woman who refused to abide by what she saw as the oppressive nature of her husband's religious culture and tried to change it.

Jezebel's Changing Reputation

The story as given in I and II Kings presents Jezebel as an evil influence from the moment of her arrival in Israel who corrupts her husband, the court, and the people by trying to impose her “godless” beliefs on the Chosen People of the one true god. I Kings 16: 30-33 presents King Ahab as a wicked king seduced by the corrupting influence of his new wife and is an audience's introduction to the story:

Ahab, son of Omri, did more evil in the eyes of the Lord than any of those before him. He not only , but he also married Jezebel, daughter of Ethbaal, king of the Sidonians, and began to serve Baal and worship him. He set up an altar for Baal in the temple of Baal that he built in Samaria. Ahab also made an Asherah pole and did more to arouse the anger of the Lord, the God of Israel, than did all the kings of Israel before him.

Traditionally, the story of Jezebel is one of a corrupting influence on a king who had already shown himself a poor representative of his kingdom's religious culture. The biblical account assumes a reader's knowledge that Jezebel, coming from Sidon, would have worshipped the god Baal and his consort Astarte along with many other deities and also assumes one would know that the polytheism of the Sidonians was comparable to that of the Canaanites prior to the rise of Israel and monotheism in their land. Since monotheism and the kingdom of Israel are presented in a positive light, Jezebel, Sidon, and Ahab are cast negatively.

It could be that the biblical narrative depicts events, more or less, accurately but this view is challenged by modern-day scholarship which increasingly leans toward a new interpretation of the clash between Jezebel and Elijah as demonstrating the conflict between polytheism and monotheism in the region during the 9th century BCE. In this interpretation, Jezebel is understood as a princess, the daughter of a king and priest, trying to maintain her cultural heritage in a foreign land against a religion she could not accept. The historian and biblical scholar Janet Howe Gaines comments:

For more than two thousand years, Jezebel has been saddled with a reputation as the bad girl of the Bible, the wickedest of women. This ancient queen has been denounced as a murderer, prostitute and enemy of God, and her name has been adopted for lingerie lines and World War II missiles alike. But just how depraved was Jezebel? In recent years, scholars have tried to reclaim the shadowy female figures whose tales are often only partially told in the Bible. (1)

Although she has been associated with seduction, depravity, and harlotry for centuries, a more accurate understanding of Jezebel emerges as one considers the possibility she was simply a woman who refused to submit to the religious beliefs and practices of her husband and his culture. The recent scholarship, which has led to a better understanding of the civilization of Phoenicia, the role of women, and the struggle of the adherents of the Hebrew god Yahweh for dominance over the older faith of the Canaanites, suggests a different, and more favorable, picture of Jezebel than the traditional understanding of her. The scholarly trend now is to consider the likely possibility she was a woman ahead of her time married into a culture whose religious class saw her as a formidable threat.

Continue reading...

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 2

Part II of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU

Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024

Prompts: Changes, Racing

Links to: Part I, Ao3

Here comes Nutter Butter 🌻

•••

Endless weekend on a wave 

FormulaNews24 @formulanews24 (1d)

Eyes on the track as we witness history in the making! Silver Racing unveils a new bold addition to Tremblay's strategy team. Meet 22 year old Leo Knut, the youngest race engineer in F1 history. 

#ItalianGP #SilverRacing #LT10

"Loops!" Finn shouted. His curious eyes darted over the picture of a smiling blond man on the X For You page.

Qualifying was about to start and Finn was killing time, trying to calm his nerves before jumping into the car. 

The fireproof undershirt felt suffocating, and his cherry red racing suit lay unfastened and loose around his hips, in a hopeless attempt to beat the sweltering heat. 

Finn locked the phone's screen and pulled up from the desk he was leaning on, scanning the noisy garage. Remus was sitting on a stool, one leg shaking nervously on the footrest, lips pinched between long, bitten fingers. His full attention was caught between too many monitors at once.  

"Loops." Finn moved closer. 

Remus didn't bother to acknowledge him, he just pointed to a sheet of data on screen. "Here," he said. "You're braking too early over there, before the chicane."

"By how many–"

"Two hundredths," Remus was always one step ahead. "I've been up all night studying the numbers, Harz," he turned to him, looking resolute. "This is your only chance to get the pole." 

Finn blew out a long, deep sigh. "I know it is." 

"And I know you can do it." 

Can I ? Finn couldn't help but wonder. 

"Aw, Loops," he cooed instead. "You're gonna make me cry." 

Remus just shook his head affectionately. 

Starting from the front row on Sunday wouldn’t be enough. Finn wanted the pole position. But weighing down the load of an emotionally tough week were the expectations of too many people he couldn't disappoint. It was the Scuderia's home race, after all, and all eyes were on him and his teammate Kasey. 

Right now, however, Finn couldn't bring himself to think about numbers, times, and strategies. Together with his team, he had discussed all the details a hundred times that morning, right after the third and final free practice session. Because Logan had set the fastest lap. 

Finn knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He just wished he could escape that oppressive weight on his shoulders, the intrusive fear of failing—a bitter consequence of the events of the past week.

So he dared a topic switch, if only to avoid giving himself and his concerns away. 

"Hey, where's Black?" He asked casually. 

Remus eyed him suspiciously. "How should I know?" 

"I understand that you want to be professional," Finn arched one of his dark red eyebrows. "You know, being friends with the enemy," he pretended to whisper. "But honestly, you two are as thick as thieves." 

The veil of pink that brushed Remus' pale cheeks betrayed him. "You're the one to talk," he grumbled back, then pretended to check the time. "Green light in five, Harz. Go get ready." 

"You're no fun, you know that, right?" 

"Yeah? Want to trade me for your bff' s new race engineer?" Remus' grin was teasing. 

"No need to get defensive," Finn scoffed indignantly. "And that's why I asked about Sirius, by the way." 

"Meaning?" 

"I'm curious," Finn shrugged. "I thought he might have told you something about their new acquisition." 

Remus went back to the screens. "He didn't say much. Just that Knut's young and talented. But rumor has it he's a real hothead."

"Well," a familiar voice chimed into the conversation. "He sure is hot." 

A sharp elbow hit Finn's waist and he found himself shoulder to shoulder with a smirking Natalie Darcy.

"What's up Loops?" 

"Hey Nat," Remus laughed. 

"What?" Finn asked, confused by her amused face. 

"Were you blushing, O'Hara?" 

"No. I... I'm," Finn stuttered. "What? I wasn't blushing." 

"If you say so," she smiled smugly. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I need Freckle here," she gestured toward Finn with the camera in her hands. "Gotta get some shots for the qualy posts." 

"Better do that in the car," Remus suggested. "Harz, radio check in two minutes." 

"Copy," Finn nodded, then spun on his heels to go grab the rest of his equipment. 

"We should do another close-up with the helmet on," Natalie offered as Finn stepped into the car. "Fans go crazy for those big eyes, you know?" 

"Yeah?" Finn tried to act casual as Natalie nimbly captured his movements from different angles. 

"Yep," she twisted the lens again with a smooth flick of her wrist. "But I prefer Kasey's." 

"Of course you do," he chuckled, then finally pulled down the visor. "Wish me luck," he said louder as the engine roared to life. 

Natalie patted his helmet. "You won't need it."

–

There had always been a moment before a race when Logan would simply close his eyes and breathe deeply. A peaceful silence would permeate his mind, leaving out the deafening noise of twenty rumbling engines ready to run, and the roaring crowd, ecstatic and impatient for some action. It was a much-needed release to make room for concentration and nothing else, right before the emotional rush that washed over him every time the countdown began.

That Sunday, Logan was starting from P2. To his left, perfectly positioned on the first grid slot, was Finn's car. The crimson livery shone brightly in the few rays of a timid sun. The pattern of red and yellow lines on Finn's glossy black helmet, partially hidden behind the halo, reflected the afternoon light perfectly, drawing a slightly curving 17 on top of his head. 

Logan had tried to be mad about it. He'd wanted the pole, he'd put in a fantastic lap, and yet Finn had overqualified him by three hundredths of a second. He'd really meant to be upset, if only for the sake of appearances. But as soon as they'd climbed out of their cars, sweaty and out of breath, the glow that had brightened Finn's face at the crowd's loud cheers had instantly tamed Logan's furor.

On the other hand, the hint of disappointment in Leo’s voice had also been a hard pill to swallow. I’m sorry , he’d said over the radio at the end of the Q3 session, as if it had been his fault. But Leo had done a perfect job. He’d been confident and meticulous, showing his professionalism to everyone in the pit wall, and to Logan as well. He didn’t want Leo to feel guilty about that. Sharing the front row with Finn was a good starting point for a thrilling battle for the win. 

Still, Logan understood his concerns and the impulsive urge to prove that he was worthy of the responsibility he’d been given, despite his young age and all the rumors that had made their way to the paddock. 

Now, feet ready on the pedals and hands tight on the steering wheel, where gloved fingers brushed over the shift paddles, Logan looked out at the clear track in front of him and felt the first wave of adrenaline run down his spine. 

"Mode A on," Leo’s voice came through the earbuds. "Lights out in thirty seconds." 

"Let’s bring this home, Nut," Logan grinned to himself. "And tonight we're going to celebrate together." 

The next second, his eyes were locked on the starting gantry, intent and alert. Somewhere near the end of the pit lane, the hand of a clock marked two o'clock, and the five lights ahead of him began to turn on in sequence.

One.

Two. Breathe.

Three. Focus.

Four.

Five. 

It’s lights out and away we go here in Monza! Amazing reaction time for both men in Red, with Logan Tremblay still in between, contending the lead with O’Hara and Winter down to turn one. Here comes O’Hara first, then Tremblay, and James Potter goes to the inside, but Winter has the power to hang on to third position, as they all make their way through the first chicane. 

It wasn't until Turn 3 that Leo realized he was holding his breath, caught in his dry throat. He scanned the monitor, looking for anomalies, the back of his pen clicking insistently on the full page of notes in his journal. Everything seemed fine. 

The live feed showed Logan darting away from Kasey and rushing behind Finn, waiting for the best chance to overtake him.

"You all right, Knutty?"

Leo lowered one of the earpieces of his headset and faced Sirius, nodding briefly and giving him a polite smile.

"Good, you're doing great," Sirius smiled back, and once again Leo couldn't believe his luck. 

How many times he'd imagined this exact moment, he couldn't say. Late, sleepless nights spent over books. Endless days of training, split between work at the factory and research for his thesis. Leaving New Orleans, his family and friends, and moving to England to fulfill his dream. It all finally made sense, because this was where he was meant to be. 

He could be grateful for all the risks he'd taken, all the sacrifices he'd made. And on top of that, he'd been assigned to Logan, Silver Racing's star driver, to assist him in one of the greatest battles for the world championship ever witnessed.

Leo reached for the radio console with one hand and held the boom microphone to his mouth with the other as he spoke. "DRS is enabled," he told Logan. "Right now you're 0.4 behind."

Logan's voice came back scratchy, slightly static. "I'm trying," he panted. "He's too fast."  

As a fan of the sport, Leo had followed both of them throughout their careers. Finn was an incredibly gifted driver, and Leo remembered the struggle of the past few years, trying to get the best out of a very problematic car that had allowed him only a few wins. Logan was just as skilled, born to speed through tight corners and sharp hairpins. Lucky to drive an exceptionally fast car that had rarely been beaten in recent seasons.

Watching them race against each other had always been astonishing, an emotional experience like admiring a masterpiece of art. So it shouldn't have surprised Leo to see them battling for the lead, showing off technical offensive and defensive moves that were driving the crowd crazy.

Until something unexpected happened just before the start of lap thirty-five.

"Shit, look at that," Sirius nudged him, pointing to his laptop.

Leo watched as the track map on screen slowly filled with patches of different shades of blue.

"Heavy rain expected in ten minutes," he heard Sirius tell James over the radio, before looking back at him expectantly. It was then that Leo noticed the dark clouds approaching rapidly with the increasing force of the wind. 

A strategy. They needed a new, effective strategy. Quickly.

"Finn has fresh medium tires," Leo began, twiddling the pen between his long fingers as he spoke. "They're going to pit Kasey first, 'cause he won't have any grip for a full lap with washed hards."

Sirius kept humming as he followed his train of thought.

"And they might be expecting a red flag, or maybe a safety car if someone slides off the track. But if we call Logan in for inters as soon as it starts raining harder..."

"What if they don't want to wait?" Sirius said. 

"We'll pit him anyway, just follow plan A. Same strategy as the leader," Leo explained. "But if we manage to get Logan in before Finn, he could easily end up leading the race."

Sirius rubbed a hand over his dark stubble, his icy grey eyes telling Leo he was thinking a mile a minute. "Okay," he breathed. "But James is coming in with him."

Leo nodded. "It's going to be chaotic, but it'll work out."

Please, I need this to work out.

At the other end of the pit lane, the mechanics rushed to grab two sets of new intermediate tires. Then they took their positions in the pit stall, helmets on, ready to spring into action.

Leo felt the smell of rain first, the strong scent that the contact with the hot asphalt released. He spun around in his chair to hold a flat palm over the canopy, where a gentle drizzle wet his hand, the intensity increasing by the second.

He locked eyes with Sirius again as they silently agreed to proceed with their plan. A single, confident nod was all he needed.

"Box, box," Leo chanted over the radio.

"What? Already?" Logan protested.

"Yes," he insisted. "Please Logan, confirm the pit stop."

Now, this is unusual. Silver is calling both of their drivers to box on this lap. That's Tremblay coming into the pits, followed by Kasey Winter and, wow, it's getting crowded out there. It's going to be a real mess with the intensity of this rain. 

O’Hara stays out, and with a quick look at the data I can tell you he’s slowing down considerably to keep the car on track. 

With a 2.2 second pit stop Logan Tremblay leads the way out of the pit lane, Winter and Potter on his tail. And isn't that brilliant? They're coming back right behind the nine cars being called to pit right now! 

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new race leader. 

The whole grid held out for eighteen laps in wet conditions, and despite the downpour, Logan managed to gain a considerable advantage over the others. Finn made his comeback to second place, overtaking car after car in almost zero visibility—a true racing masterclass that had sent a thrill up Leo's spine.

But Finn couldn't reach Logan, too far away, now engaged in navigating the infamous high-speed parabola just a few meters from the checkered flag. 

"Leo," Logan shouted into his ears. He could picture some kind of delirious grin on Logan's lips just from his voice.

And wasn't Leo delirious himself.

He stared, heart in his throat, as the GPS signal of Logan's car crossed the finish line. Only then did he realize what had just happened.

Leo didn't know what face he was making when Sirius clapped a strong hand on his back. His smile was euphoric, so wide it began to hurt a little in the corners. But he held himself still, enough to look composed if a camera caught him.

"Well done, Logan." He smiled into the mic. The radio message would certainly have been broadcast on tv. "A well-deserved win. You did a fantastic job today."

"I want you on the podium," was Logan's reply, a little breathless. Leo swore he could faint right then and there. "This one is yours as well." 

If this was a dream, Leo didn't want to wake up, ever .

Sirius had dragged him to the cool down room to wait for the top three drivers before the podium ceremony. He'd also insisted that Leo should be the team representative to accept the trophy for their victory. And as if that wasn't enough, Leo's mind was blown the second he spotted Logan and Finn walking together to their assigned posts, soaked from head to toe—their hair a complete mess from the helmets.

"Looks like I have a new nemesis," Finn greeted him with a teasing wink.

"Oh, you better be careful out there," Leo bit back, unable to stop himself from giggling when Logan rolled his eyes—a shade of green that stood out perfectly against his black racing suit.

"Not tonight," Logan said. "Tonight we're having fun."

"Yeah?" Finn sounded surprised. “What are you up to, Tremblay?”

Logan looked mischievously between them. "You're going to find out. Hey, Bliz," he turned to Kasey, who was busy chugging a bottle of water in one go. "You with us?"

"Sorry, guys," he panted a little, then smiled. "I promised a date to a fancy Italian restaurant."

"And you? What do you say?" Logan playfully shoved Leo. As if he could ever say no to something like that.

"Sounds fun." He crossed his arms over his chest, a mocking grin on his lips. "But wherever we're going, I am driving."

"No way," Finn and Logan chorused back, and a carefree laugh broke out of Leo's chest. He felt blissful.

And maybe it wasn't, but this all felt like a crazy dream.

[dema-heart]

Dance class

Hobie x goofy reader

Pole dancing

Slightly teasing from reader

Lightly edited sorry if it flows weird I was adding over months now lol

I did a private pole dancing class for my friends and me for my birthday back in August and had been sitting on this since then 😮‍💨 I just couldn't wrap it up so I kept putting it aside.

Anyways it was a lot of fun and definitely a work out!I'm thinking about going back for classes when I get a more normal work schedule. 10/10 would recommend as long as you're ready to be sore the next day that is 🤣.

Hobie stepped through your window to the sound of music playing. He came to a hault watching you walk in a seductive circle next to the arm of the couch before dropping with a little bounce using the couch arm as leverage.

"Well, now what do we 'ave here?" He gave a low whistle as his eye raked your form. You were in a crop top and shorts looking a little out of breath.

"Hobie!" You smiled, getting up only to proceed to jump on the man, knowing he could catch you. "Hey!" You said, wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his torso.

"Hey to you too, didn't except such a warm welcome... maybe i should go away for long times more often," he chuckles, his hands rested under your thighs to keep you steady.

He had a habit of coming and going as he pleased that you didn't mind. He reminded you of the stray cat you used to feed when you were younger. As long as he responded to your messages every so often or stopped in, you'd always welcome him. You guys had been in an unlabeled, sorta relationship. You didn't feel the need to pressure him into anything and vice versa. As long as you both were comfortable that's all you cared about.

"Like you don't already," you teased, rolling your eyes before placing a small peck on his lips and jumping down.

"Hm" He hummed shaking his head as he watched you started the music over, getting back into what he assumed was your starting position.

"So what's this about, then?" He took a seat on the ground,placing his guitar against the wall.

"Ah right! Remember how I told you iI wanted to start taking some sorta dance class?" You paused your music talking to him as you stretched. Bending over to reach as far as you could toward your toes, you looked up at him, seeing him nod.

"I decided to take pole dancing classes! They've been really fun! Everyone's super sweet and supportive, and I've never been in a space so body positive before! They accept female and male students at the classes too its really...Hobie? Love? Are you listening?" You stood up looking down at hobie, who seemed to be in a daze.

His mind was racing, the idea of you pole dancing, setting his thoughts...ablaze. The idea had never crossed his mind before. When you said you were thinking of taking a dance class he'd assumed it'd be something like zumba, maybe ballet , even a hip hop class but pole dancing...his eyes focused on your body starting from you thighs up. You were closer than before snapping to get his attention.

As his eyes made contact with your worried face, he Shaking his head to bring himself back to you. He hoped you wouldn't notice the heat burning his cheeks or the way he couldnt quite meet your eyes...and maybe anyone else might not have noticed. However, you always did pick up on these things.

Your hand came to rest on his forehead, checking if he had a temperature before cupping his cheeks and titling his head side to side gently, checking for any signs of injury.

"Are you okay, darling...I didn't even check on you like I normally do when you come back. I didn't see any visible damage so I just assumed..." You voice was sweet and so full of worry as you looked him over only making the heat and his embarrassment worsen as he realized he'd been caught.

"No uh I'm fine luv really just had a moment that's all" his hands came to rest on yours pulling them from his cheeks. His eyes couldn't meet yours as he tried to calm himself down. You looked him over, gaze calculating as you tried to figure out what's wrong or could have happened.

You didn't remember seeing anything major for spiderpunk recently and the sudden change was only after you told him...

oh so that's what it is. You smiled. A mischievous look in your eyes.

"Hobie~ don't tell me you're all flustered because I told you I took up pole dancing~" you teased. You felt his fingers twitch against yours as he still refused to look at you.

"Look at me,love" you laced your fingers with his giving them a squeeze. He gave an embarrassed chuckle before looking into your amused eyes.

"You're getting a kick out this ain't ya" He huffed, feigning annoyance, the sheepish grin on his face giving away his real feelings.

"That I am! You're just so cute like this!" You boop his nose causing him to scoff in mock offense.

"I knew me pole dancing would get a rise out of you but I didn't expect it to fluster you so much mr.cool guy" you snickered before deciding to back off, winking you stood up mentally taking a picture of the obviously ruffled punk.

"Anyway, as i was saying before somebody's mind wandered off on me. It's pretty fun a little bruising, and I've been sore for days now but fun none the less" you chuckled, pointing out your sore muscles as if he could magically see the nonvisble bruising.

"Now i'm gonna go back to practicing beacuse as you know im horrible at staying on beat, " chuckling, you once again restarted the music. Hobie nodded, giving you his full attention as he watched you get into position and start a routine. He watched as you walked in a slow seductive circle, the way your hips moved to the beat ,maybe your own beat, but he wasn't judging, when you swung them from side to side. You gave him a little wink over your shoulder as you bent at the waist, giving your ass a little shake that caused the heat to rush back up his neck, definitely just to his face. He coughed to trying to hide his surprise causing you to laugh before focusing on the next move. He watched the whole time in silence. Watching the way you moved and laughed as you just enjoyed yourself and immersed in the dancing. It was sexy yeah but it was also beautiful to see you so confident and happy in yourself. He could see the moments you'd stumble due to not having the pole, and he pondered in if he could build one for you before an idea hit him.

Your dance came to an end with you sitting back on your knees in front of him. Hobie clapped and whistled, yelling praises, causing you to laugh, grinning widely as you thanked him.

"So whatcha think! It's a bit weird for me. The pole isn't that big a part of the routines, but it's definitely important to it. I'll have to record myself at the next class so you can see the full thing...or maybe I should get one of those poles you can put in your house" You pondered aloud as hobie got up to help you up. You smiled up at him in thanks before continuing on talking about the poles you'd looked up online. You paused as hobie nodded along obviously not listening before he walked to the middle of your living room. He moved your coffee table to the side before looking up to the roof in thought.

"Hobie? Love? Did I lose you again? If I'm boring ya you could just say so..." You voiced your confusion sounding a bit hurt. It wasn't normal for Hobie to ignore you like this. Usually he was hanging onto your every word regardless of the topic but as you watched him stand in the middle of your living room, his brows pinched in thought you realized he definitely wasn't paying attention to your words.

"I'm gonna go get a water then....did you want anything?" At his silence you walked past him toward your kitchen,grabbing a water bottle you leaned against the fridge a clear view of hobie who was still just staring between your roof and the floor in thought.

You huffed, taking a gulp of water only to almost choke when hobie shot his webbing at your ceiling. He continued connecting muiple webs between the ceiling and floor. You watched ,stunned, not sure what was happening.

Your eyes widened as he stood back, nodding with a grin before he jumped at the webbing, using his arms to hold him up as he span around it before letting go landing in front of you.

Your shocked expression quickly became one of laughter as hobie stood up, turning to you with clear pride and accomplishment on his face.

"What...whats so funny,huh?" He grinned coming to stand in front of you. Laughter shook your body as his hands reached for yours wanting to guide you to his masterpiece.

You took his hand finally calming down. Hobie guided you to the webbing in your livingroom excited to show what he'd done.

"Nothing nothing it's just not everyday you see the hobie brown stand in silence only to do parkour in the middle of your livingroom" You teased a few giggles still escaping.

"Well, it's not every day the hobie brown comes up with amazing ideas..actually scratch that my ideas are usually this amazing so you're welcome" He said in a false haughty tone, smiling as you rolled your eyes playfully before looking the webbing over.

"Alright, what's this amazing idea have to do with you webbing my living room. Hm? I hope that comes off without ruining the walls?" You raised an eyebrow at him glaring playfully. This definitely wasn't the first time webbing had made its way into your place but the large amount concerned you a bit.

"I made you a pole! It's sturdy, holds any weight, and is definitely softer on the body than any pole you'd buy. And don't worry I'll get you the dissolvent when you need it. You wont even notice it was there" his grin was wide, he was obviously very pleased with himself and was waiting for you to be too.

"Hmm" You hummed in exaggerated agreement. Placing a hand out you gripped the so called pole surprised by the firmness. It really did feel similar enough to the poles you'd been working with at the class. You leaned against it content as it didn't shift or move against your weight. Nodding in approval you peaked at hobie to see him pretending not to care about your examination.

You walked around it looking it over from top to bottom. The top and bottom were thick and flared wide against your roof and floor boards. As you looked it over you realized he had made it similar to the pole you rambled about earlier.

'Guess he was listening...' You think to yourself a small smile on your face as you look over to him. He was still watching you face relaxed. He gave off an air of nonchalance but you knew better than to fall for his poker face.

"Hobie~and here i thought you were ignoring me earlier!" you said his name in a sing-song voice causing him to crack a smile immediately. He shook his head in amusement as you walked over the smile never dropping.

"So what do you think?" His hands came to rest on your waist as you placed yours on his cheeks, squishing slightly.

"Its amazing hobs. Thank you for making it for me. I'm sure it's better than any I'd have bought especially since my favorite boy made it for me~" you wink at him at the end. You might not see it but his skin warming under your hands and the way his eyes flicker across your face before coming back to meet yours tells you he's flustered once more.

"You'll have to give my thanks to spiderpunk" you tease laughing as you lean up and give him a quick peck before pulling away, excited to try out the pole and put on a hopefully better show for him. You hear him huff, muttering something about tease under his breath.

"Come on I wanna do the dance for you properly now!! At least, to the best of my abilities!" You laugh as you run over to start the music back up. Hobie smiles going to sit down on the couch you'd been using earlier glad to see he was able to make you so happy.

"Alright, let's see it then. You'll have to teach me a few moves, yeah?" He watched you nod eagerly, excited to share your current pastime with him.

[petit-papillion]

FP1:

Several drivers already cutting it very close to the barriers and ripping off advertising.

ZHO ripped off more than that and lost his end plate.

Which Charles promptly drove over and then got it stuck under his car, before a red flag could be called to clean up the debris.

Pierre was having PU issues and ended up being able to put in only a handful of laps

P1: HAM | P2: PIA | P3: RUS

FP2: Charles was 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 !!

P1: LEC / P2: HAM / P3: ALO

FP3:

Charles was again on fire and finished at the top of the list. I honestly can't recall anything else happening!

P1: LEC / P2: VER / P3: HAM

Quali:

In Q1 plastic from advertising had wrapped around Charles's front wing end plate, messing up the aerodynamics and leading to much slower laps than anticipated.

Shock exit for PER as he placed P18 with only the Saubers behind him.

GAS managed to make it to Q3 much to Pierre's delight as he was shouting on the radio when told he was P5 in Q2. Teammate OCO ended in P11.

Bad luck seemed to follow Charles again as he reported something moved in the pedals, but he still took provisional pole.

Another super lap in the final stages of Q3 gave Charles his third pole in Monaco with an incredible 1:10:27.

Haas drivers HUL and MAG qualified P12 and P15 respectively, but ended up getting disqualified because they changed their wing and did no measure the height correctly. This meant a pit lane start for both of them.

Petit's Race Notes:

Ah, where to begin? Oh, I know!

CHARLES LECLERC WINS THE 2024 MONACO GRAND PRIX!!!!!!

Fingers and toes crossed at the start, but Charles was quick off the line. But behind him chaos unfolded...

Carlos bumped into Oscar and got himself a puncture which led to a yellow flag.

Next Checo and Kevin collided as K-Mag tried to squeeze through and Perez did not give him any space. PER hit the wall, got hit by MAG again, and then HUL also got hit for good measure.

The end result was that PER's car was reduced to the survival cell, debris was scattered all over the race track, both Haas's were out, and we had a 45-minute red flag for clean up and barrier repairs.

Meanwhile elsewhere on track OCO drove into GAS launching himself in the air and damaging both Alpines in the process. Gasly's car was repairable, but Ocon was out. He also received a 5-place grid penalty for Montreal and 2 points on his license. And Alpine is even rumoured to be considering having him sit out the next race...

With the red flag thrown before all cars entered sector 2, the order was reset for a second start.

Which meant Carlos (who'd been able to make it back to the garage) started again in P4, and Charles had to have another good start to keep his position.

This time all went well, and we were in for 75 laps of anxiety (Charles fans) / boredom (everyone else).

George (in mediums) backed up the pack, so it was 🔴🟡🔴🟡 at the front (McLarens in their special yellow Senna livery).

ALO led his usual DRS train - under the assumption he was P10 (found out after the finish that he was actually P11).

The remaining 16 (!!!) cars all made it to the finish line without further incidents.

Pierre Gasly scored his first point of the season.

There were only 6 pit stops the entire race.

After much nail biting and some lovely team radio sound bites, Charles came across the finish line and FINALLY won his home Grand Prix! 🙌

Not a dry eye in the house at the podium celebrations! The royal family was elated, with Prince Albert II crying, Charles's football buddies pumping their fists in the air, and the Prince also getting in on the champagne spraying.

Oscar was the only non-Ferrari man on the podium, but having been recently "adopted" by Charles, he was part of the family!

Watching on below the podium: girlfriend Alex, Mum Pascale, brothers Lorenzo (with girlfriend Charlotte) and Arthur, Joris, John Elkann, Andrea, Nicolas Todt, and the entire Ferrari team, with Ale lifting the P1 sign over his head! The Monaco/Italy anthem combo hadn't sounded like this since Monza 2019! 😍

Charles has already told Bryan over team radio that he wanted everyone to stay for celebrations, and celebrate they did - well into the night!

Fred and Charles also made good on their agreement to jump into the harbour (originally from 2018 when it was about scoring points).

Charles continues his streak of top 4 finishes this season, and is now only 31 points behind Max in the WDC.

Top 3: P1: LEC | P2: PIA | P3: SAI

Fastest lap: Lewis Hamilton

Driver of the Day: Charles Leclerc

Fastest pit stop: Red Bull/Max Verstappen (2:10)

📷 Scuderia Ferrari, F1

[camillasgirl]

The Anointing Screen

The Anointing Screen has been designed and produced for use at the most sacred moment of the Coronation, the Anointing of His Majesty The King. The screen combines traditional and contemporary sustainable embroidery practices to produce a design which speaks to His Majesty The King’s deep affection for the Commonwealth. The screen has been gifted for the occasion by the City of London Corporation and City Livery Companies.

The Anointing takes place before the investiture and crowning of His Majesty. The Dean of Westminster pours holy oil from the Ampulla into the Coronation Spoon, and the Archbishop of Canterbury anoints the Sovereign on the hands, chest and head. It has historically been regarded as a moment between the Sovereign and God, with a screen or canopy in place given the sanctity of the Anointing.

The Anointing Screen was designed by iconographer Aidan Hart and brought to life through both hand and digital embroidery, managed by the Royal School of Needlework. The central design takes the form of a tree which includes 56 representing the 56 member countries of the Commonwealth. The King’s cypher is positioned at the base of the tree, representing the Sovereign as servant of their people. The design has been selected personally by The King and is inspired by the stained-glass Sanctuary Window in the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace, which was gifted by the Livery Companies to mark the Golden Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II in 2002.

The Anointing Screen is supported by a wooden pole framework, designed and created by Nick Gutfreund of the Worshipful Company of Carpenters. The oak wooden poles are made from a windblown tree from the Windsor Estate, which was originally planted by The Duke of Northumberland in 1765. The wooden poles have been limed and waxed, combining traditional craft skills with a contemporary finish.

At the top of the wooden poles are mounted two eagles, cast in bronze and gilded in gold leaf, giving the screens a total height of 2.6 metres and width of 2.2 metres. The form of an eagle has longstanding associations with Coronations. Eagles have appeared on previous Coronation Canopies, including the canopy used by Queen Elizabeth II in 1953. Equally, the Ampulla, which carries the Chrism oil used for anointing, is cast in the shape of an eagle.

The screen is three-sided, with the open side to face the High Altar in Westminster Abbey. The two sides of the screen feature a much simpler design with maroon fabric and a gold, blue and red cross inspired by the colours and patterning of the Cosmati Pavement at Westminster Abbey where the Anointing will take place. The crosses were also embroidered by the Royal School of Needlework’s studio team.

At the Coronation Service, the Anointing Screen will be held by service personnel from Regiments of the Household Division holding the Freedom of the City of London. The three sides of the screen will be borne by a Trooper and Guardsman from each of The Life Guards, Grenadier Guards, Coldstream Guards, Scots Guards, Irish Guards, and Welsh Guards.

The screen has been gifted for the Coronation by the City of London Corporation and participating Livery Companies, the City’s ancient and modern trade guilds. His Majesty The King is a keen advocate and supporter of the preservation of heritage craft skills, and the Anointing Screen project has been a collaboration of these specialists in traditional crafts, from those early in their careers to artisans with many years of experience.

The individual leaves have been embroidered by staff and students from the Royal School of Needlework, as well as members of the Worshipful Company of Broderers, Drapers and Weavers.

As well as heritage craft, contemporary skills and techniques have formed part of this unique collaboration. The outline of the tree has been created using digital machine embroidery by Digitek Embroidery. This machine embroidery was completed with sustainable thread, Madeira Sensa, made from 100% lyocell fibres.

The threads used by the Royal School of Needlework are from their famous ‘Wall of Wool’ and existing supplies that have been collated over the years through past projects and donations. The materials used to create the Anointing Screen have also been sourced sustainably from across the UK and other Commonwealth nations. The cloth is made of wool from Australia and New Zealand, woven and finished in UK mills.

The script used for the names of each Commonwealth country has been designed as modern and classical, inspired by both the Roman Trojan column letters and the work of Welsh calligrapher David Jones.

Also forming part of the Commonwealth tree are The King’s Cypher, decorative roses, angels and a scroll, which features the quote from Julian of Norwich (c. 1343-1416): ‘All shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well’.

This design has again been inspired by the Sanctuary Window in the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace, created for Queen Elizabeth II’s Golden Jubilee in 2002. At the top of the screen is the sun, representing God, and birds including the dove of peace, which have all been hand embroidered by the Royal School of Needlework.

The dedication and blessing of the Anointing Screen took place earlier this week at the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace, where it was officially received and blessed by the Sub-Dean and Domestic Chaplain to The King, Paul Wright, on behalf of The Royal Household.

[mariacallous]

The 2024 presidential election may be one of the closest in modern U.S. history, so it should come as no surprise that both Kamala Harris and Donald Trump are looking to gain the attention and support of a multigenerational Central and East European electorate—especially Americans of Polish descent living in Rust Belt swing states.

The Democrats were first to address Polish Americans when Harris challenged Trump during their September debate to explain to 800,000 Polish American voters in Pennsylvania what his position would be in the event that Russia’s war in Ukraine expands into countries like Poland. Democrats followed up with an organizing call that highlighted, “If Trump returns to power, he will sell out Ukraine and put the rest of Europe, starting with Poland, at risk.”

But Trump is making a comeback that could cost Harris votes in several battleground counties. In mid-October, he called to tell attendees gathered at the 80th anniversary event of the Polish American Congress (PAC) that Poles are courageous people and “Poland will always be safe as long as I’m president, that I can tell you. And Russia never would have invaded Ukraine if I was president.” He’s also appealing to important conservative values, saying that he will defend God, religion, family, and freedom from Harris policies that his campaign is billing as “socialist” or “communist.”

Simply alleging that Trump would abandon Poland and Ukraine, as Harris has argued, will not be enough. In order to convince voters in Michigan and Pennsylvania, she needs to address several of the Biden administration’s flawed policies, which have cost thousands of Ukrainian lives, and provide a compelling case that she will act differently.

Michigan’s Macomb County, north of Detroit, has long been seen as a barometer of U.S. elections due to its historically white working-class population with strong union membership stemming from the area’s ties to the auto industry. Based on 2023 estimates from the U.S. Census Bureau’s American Community Survey, 113,181 people living in the county claim Polish heritage, which is about 15 percent of Michigan’s total Polish population; some even still speak Polish at home. In November 2020, Donald Trump beat Joe Biden in Macomb by 39,911 votes, but lost Michigan by 154,188 votes.

By focusing on foreign policy and security issues with these voters, Democrats are looking to shift attention away from key domestic issues, including the economy and immigration, as well as controversial progressive policies like abortion rights—a sound strategy given several findings from a recent study on Polish Americans.

According to a 2020 survey from the Piast Institute, more Polish Americans identify as conservative than liberal; they overwhelmingly state that religion is important in their lives (most are Roman Catholic); and a majority of them are in favor of abortion but only under certain circumstances. This voter profile may seem perfect for Trump, who, in 2016, carried the Polish American electorate in places like Macomb County. But the same survey showed that for 72 percent of respondents, U.S. involvement in NATO is either extremely or very important. That means the vote in counties like Macomb may be decided less by domestic issues than by foreign-policy ones—and Democrats must press their advantage if they don’t want to lose this key demographic.

Both Republicans and Democrats know what messages resonate with Polish American voters based on initiatives that mobilized the community in the past. For Polish Americans, World War I marked their arrival on the electoral scene, when they lobbied the Woodrow Wilson administration for the interests of their ancestral homeland. During World War II, they shifted their focus from humanitarian relief efforts to political lobbying under the auspices of large umbrella organizations such as the PAC, which was created in 1944. The PAC became an advocate of Polish war refugees. The Displaced Persons Act of 1948 resulted in the admission of 395,000 immigrants to the United States, of which more than 200,000 were Poles. Of these, around 38,000 settled in Michigan, including in areas in Macomb County.

These émigrés brought with them a deep distrust of communists and a hatred for the Soviet Union and Russian imperialism. The GOP painted Democrats as the “party of Yalta,” and Dwight D. Eisenhower lured them by promising a policy of liberation and rollback—checking Soviet influence and communism in Europe. To their dismay, the next few decades were marked by containment and detente.

Polish American votes helped Jimmy Carter when the Georgia governor snatched the East European ethnic narrative from President Gerald Ford during their 1976 debate, following Ford’s gaffe, which contributed to the Democrats securing the White House. “There is no Soviet domination of Eastern Europe,” Ford said during the debate. “I don’t believe that the Poles consider themselves to be dominated by the Soviet Union.” Although most Poles voted for Nixon in 1972, they switched to Carter by a 60-40 margin. Key states with Polish American populations flipped from red to blue by small margins—0.2 percent in Ohio, 1.6 percent in Wisconsin, and 2.6 percent in Pennsylvania. Later, many of these immigrants became Reagan Democrats.

Today, over 8.2 million people in the United States claim Polish ancestry. While election analysis tends, at times, to not separate some voter categories (including “white”), how white ethnic groups vote is often key. Although the Polish American community is not as cohesive as it was in the past, its strength should not be underestimated as merely being a mirage.

According to American Community Survey estimates, the largest concentrations of Polish Americans are in Illinois (761,948) and New York (740,795), but there are almost as many in Michigan (720,372), Pennsylvania (695,604), and Wisconsin (441,057). Whereas Illinois and New York are not swing states, Michigan, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin are up for grabs. All 3 have been won by margins significantly smaller than the ethnic Polish population in recent years. If the Democratic Party wants to win in November, it cannot neglect the white ethnic vote.

Harris was first to target the Polish Americans and got off to a good start. She referenced the threat from Russia as she appealed to the Polish Americans voters in Pennsylvania during the debate, then, a super PAC-funded spot referenced the trumpeter of Krakow and invaders from the east, with a headline that read: “Putin & Trump: Threat to Freedom.” For some time, it seemed that the Trump campaign may have missed its chance to seize the Central and East European narrative and gain their favor.

The former president was scheduled to visit the National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa, where Ronald Reagan stopped during his 1984 campaign. After Trump didn’t appear at the September event, it was suggested that he canceled his visit to instead meet with Qatari leaders at Mar-a-Lago in Florida. In Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where the shrine is located, Trump lost to Biden in 2020 by a small marging of 17,345 votes (4.37 percent), while the difference in the state overall was just 1.17 percent.

Although Trump missed an opportunity to appear before those Polish American constituents, in October—which happens to be Polish American Heritage Month in the United States—he has been making up lost ground. In his greeting to Polish Americans on the occasion of the Pulaski Day Parade, Trump stated, “We love the Polish people, and there’s nobody better. They’re great, they’re strong, they’re smart.”

He also gave an interview to a conservative television station in Poland, which enumerated the achievements of his last term, including being tough on the Nord Stream 2 pipeline, increasing the number of U.S. troops stationed in Poland, helping Poland diversify its energy with American LNG, and forcing NATO countries to spend more on defense. The former president repeated that Putin would not have initiated the full-scale invasion of Ukraine if he was in the White House and that the war “threatens Poland because as the expression goes, ‘You’re next.’ You can’t have that.”

To many Polish Americans, this is a solid track record, and it has left many doubting whether Trump would really abandon Ukraine if elected in November. In an interview for the Washington Post, Trump stated that he’ll give Ukraine more aid than they have ever received if Putin does not agree to a peace deal. Even the foreign minister of Poland’s current liberal government pointed out that before the invasion began, Trump provided Ukraine with Javelin missiles that might have saved Kyiv. This was a policy that the Obama administration opposed.

So where does this leave Kamala Harris? As she struggles with convincing Arab American voters, who have abandoned the Democrats due to Biden administration’s Gaza policy, in states like Michigan, outreach to Polish Americans could counterbalance this loss.

However, if campaign strategists want to win the Polish American vote, they need to provide a plan for lasting peace in Eastern Europe, which will only happen if Russia is severely exhausted economically and militarily. This means that the vice president has to go beyond criticizing Trump and look at her administration’s mistakes.

The Biden team was slow to provide Ukraine with critical military aid, such as ATACMS long-range missiles, F-16 fighter jets, M1 Abrams tanks, Patriot missile defense systems, Gray Eagle and Reaper drones, and cluster munitions. The administration’s approach can be best described as not letting Ukraine lose but also not giving it enough to win.

While Russia systematically destroyed civilian targets, including children’s hospitals, the Biden administration denied Kyiv’s requests to use U.S.-made long-range missiles to strike military infrastructure in Russia. The White House has also been slow on the issue of transferring frozen Russian assets to Ukraine, which could have been used for reconstruction and war efforts.

It is true that Biden kept Ukraine afloat, but now Harris needs to go beyond policies of damage control. She’s started by saying that, under her watch, no peace talks would be handled without Ukraine at the table. While providing more military aid may be tricky, maintaining sanctions and levying additional ones would continue to raise Russia’s war costs. Harris also needs to make it clear that Putin apologists like Tucker Carlson or isolationists like Tulsi Gabbard may influence Trump administration policy decisions, especially when it comes to future relations with Russia and European partners.

While Trump focuses on the past and repeats that the invasion would not have started on his watch, Harris needs to focus on the future by saying how the United States will help Ukraine end the war on terms acceptable to its people. If Harris wants Polish Americans who question her positions on important everyday issues like the economy and abortion to focus on foreign policy and elect her instead of Trump, then she needs to present a clear vision for Ukraine’s victory that will keep Poland from becoming the next target on Russia’s list.