#Tab Ramos
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November 14, 2023
By Adam Elder
(BBC Sport) — On a Saturday evening in February 1990, many of the United States' finest footballers stepped on to A&M Studios' historic soundstage in Los Angeles.
A month before John Barnes would implore his England team-mates to "hold and give, but do it at the right time" in a studio in Berkshire, the United States team recorded their own rap - one they hoped would make the sport famous at home.
In a moment, some of Hollywood's biggest celebrities would walk through the door to join them.
The plan was to record a novelty music video for a star-studded jock jam called Victory. The track celebrated the United States' first trip to the World Cup in 40 years, long before any of these players were born.
Never mind fame, though. In 1990, making football a little less hated in the United States would have counted as a runaway success.
Americans mostly considered football a fringe concern - if they even considered it at all. Baseball, American football and basketball were the "real" American sports.
For most of the 20th century, football in the States was for "the others", to put it politely: expats, cab drivers, dishwashers, exchange students, leftists, intellectuals, Euro snobs and the like.
Still the US Soccer Federation was constantly thinking about how to grow the game.
Werner Fricker, the federation's stern but visionary president, had cannily realised Fifa's desire to wring American dollars out of the world's most popular sport. By 1988, he had guided the United States to victory over Brazil and Morocco to win the right to stage the 1994 World Cup.
But Fricker knew a World Cup in the States faced scepticism. He wanted to prove the hosts had a team good enough to qualify on merit.
He put up his own money to fund a push to qualify for the 1990 event. If the United States succeeded it would be the first time they had made the World Cup since Brazil 1950, where they earned their place via a second-place finish in a three-team pool.
"Werner refused to accept that qualification wasn't doable," said Kevin Payne, former director of marketing and national administrator for the Federation. "He knew what needed to be done, and that past attempts were amateurish."
Fricker made Bob Gansler the team's first full-time coach. A tough yet erudite German-Hungarian immigrant, Gansler's knowledge of American youth football ran deep.
The team picked by Gansler, many fresh out of college, had been raised during the North American Soccer League's Pele-led glory days and were a clean slate from past failures to reach the World Cup.
They had chips on their shoulders for all sorts of other reasons though.
Many of them were second-generation immigrants, their parents and family lives different from an 'apple pie' American ideal. They loved a sport that many around them reviled and yet there was no nationwide outdoor league for them to play in.
#USMNT#Trinidad and Tobago#World Cup#1990 FIFA World Cup#1994 FIFA World Cup#Bob Gansler#Paul Caligiuri#FIFA#CONCACAF#Tab Ramos#John Harkes#Tony Meola#Eric Wynalda#Czechoslovakia#Italy#Franco Baresi#Paolo Maldini#Roberto Baggio#Giuseppe Giannini#Gianluca Vialli#BBC Sport#BBC
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Okay so I SHOULD be working on the next chapter of my Miguel fic...and I promise I am. But I can't stop thinking about this post from @luxthestrange with my lovely man, Crocodile (also ignoring the fact that I'm behind on updating his fic by alot...) So here's a little something to get the writer vibes flowing
cw: none, blurb, one-sided pining, gn reader
Sir Crocodile x Ex-Secretary!Reader
You never thought that you'd end up having a WANTED poster, but you made some questionable choices as a youth which made entering the 'normal' world extremely hard and ultimately not worth it after awhile.
You did managed to get a desk job, but that didn't last long when it was revealed to have owed some money to a dangerous, business-smart pirate named Sir Crocodile. Amidst the raid, you were called out by said captain as it was your questioning of the numbers and certain other connections that brought some attention to what your then-boss was doing. (Oops). Either way, you expected to get interrogated then disposed of.
You got a handshake and job offer instead.
Now of course, you didn't immediately join Crocodile's side, but he noticed your attention to details and ease of conversing with even the seemingly shadiest of connects. Crocodile didn't think you were a pirate, but you certainly weren't a normal civilian either.
The secretary offer came after Crocodile witnessed you boldly standing up to one Warlord (Doffy) when he tried to barge into Crocodile's office while he was on a phone call. You were merely passing by. But you knew that Sir Crocodile didn't like to be interrupted, and the secretary then wasn't holding his place against the giant man.
Doflamingo was pissed. But Crocodile approved.
So then started the years of partnership and endless work where you kept tabs and details organized for Crocodile's use while you were rewarded in both finances and work benefits.
You enjoyed it, so you were a bit let down when things hit the fan and your boss in jail.
However, you were able to start an underground consulting business while hiding from the Marines. It was quite successful. When news came of Crocodile's escape, it was easy enough to track him down and send him a wealth of information ranging from old contacts to accounts that were still untouched. As a courtesy...
Sir Crocodile was quick to send over a bouquet of flowers and a beautiful invitation to welcome you back to working for him. You gracefully declined citing your new business adventure and gave warm wishes.
And so started a relentless array of attempts of winning you back. Several initial consultations for 'new clients' were just lunches of the man trying to convince you. Each time, you'd just sit and listen before taking the check for your time. Gifts of your favorite fragrances, coffees, pastries, and the like were always welcoming you either home or to your office. It did surprise you a bit how much the man knew about you. Your actual clients seemed to nervous to be caught between you both since Crocodile was trying to scare them off, and you were stern in getting your demands and continuing your work.
After some time though, it had been silent. You caught wind of Crocodile's new partners, and you felt some relief that others were able to take on and work with the man. Things would be easier now. You'd both cross paths maybe as partners or each other's clients in the future.
A knock at the door rattles your calm evening and tea. You stood from your living room and peek out your peephole. However, you didn't see anything. You were just about to walk away when you could've sworn you smelled a familiar robust smoke and opened the door.
You nearly gasped when you see Crocodile on his knees with the largest ramo of lilacs, Adam's needles, and roses you'd ever seen--although they were on the ground under his hand. He looked up at you with both desire, stress, and relief.
He puffed out his smoke before yanking out his cigar and pleading. "You are the most competent, skilled, and amazing person I know. I need you back in my life even more now. Please dear, come back to me."
~~~
Teehee
#one piece#one piece imagine#sir crocodile#crocodile#one piece x reader#one piece fanfiction#crocodile x reader#gn reader#gender neautral reader#ex secretary#pining au#mine#partyanimal167
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Character Name Ideas (Male)
So I've been browsing through BehindTheName (great resource!) recently and have compiled several name lists. Here are some names, A-Z, that I like.
NOTE: If you want to use any of these please verify sources, meanings etc, I just used BehindTheName to browse and find all of these. Under the cut:
A: Austin, Aiden, Adam, Alex, Angus, Anthony, Archie, Argo, Ari, Aric, Arno, Atlas, August, Aurelius, Alexei, Archer, Angelo, Adric, Acarius, Achilou, Alphard, Amelian, Archander
B: Bodhi, Bastian, Baz, Beau, Beck, Buck, Basil, Benny, Bentley, Blake, Bowie, Brad, Brady, Brody, Brennan, Brent, Brett, Brycen
C: Cab, Cal, Caden, Cáel, Caelan, Caleb, Cameron, Chase, Carlos, Cooper, Carter, Cas, Cash, Cassian, Castiel, Cedric, Cenric, Chance, Chandler, Chaz, Chad, Chester, Chet, Chip, Christian, Cillian, Claude, Cicero, Clint, Cody, Cory, Coy, Cole, Colt, Colton, Colin, Colorado, Colum, Conan, Conrad, Conway, Connor, Cornelius, Creed, Cyneric, Cynric, Cyrano, Cyril, Cyrus, Crestian, Ceric
D: Dallas, Damien, Daniel, Darach, Dash, Dax, Dayton, Denver, Derek, Des, Desmond, Devin, Dewey, Dexter, Dietrich, Dion, Dmitri, Dominic, Dorian, Douglas, Draco, Drake, Drew, Dudley, Dustin, Dusty, Dylan, Danièu
E: Eadric, Evan, Ethan, Easton, Eddie, Eddy, Einar, Eli, Eilas, Eiljah, Elliott, Elton, Emanuel, Emile, Emmett, Enzo, Erik, Evander, Everett, Ezio
F: Faolán, Faron, Ferlin, Felix, Fenrir, Fergus, Finley, Finlay, Finn, Finnian, Finnegan, Flint, Flip, Flynn, Florian, Forrest, Fritz
G: Gage, Gabe, Grady, Grant, Gray, Grayson, Gunnar, Gunther, Galahad
H: Hale, Harley, Harper, Harvey, Harry, Huey, Hugh, Hunter, Huxley
I: Ian, Ianto, Ike, Inigo, Isaac, Isaias, Ivan, Ísak
J: Jack, Jacob, Jake, Jason, Jasper, Jax, Jay, Jensen, Jed, Jeremy, Jeremiah, Jesse, Jett, Jimmie, Jonas, Jonas, Jonathan, Jordan, Josh, Julien, Jovian, Jun, Justin, Joseph, Joni,
K: Kaden, Kai, Kale, Kane, Kaz, Keane, Keaton, Keith, Kenji, Kenneth, Kent, Kevin, Kieran, Kip, Knox, Kris, Kristian, Kyle, Kay, Kristján, Kristófer
L: Lamont, Lance, Landon, Lane, Lars, László, Laurent, Layton, Leander, Leif, Leo, Leonidas, Leopold, Levi, Lewis, Louie, Liam, Liberty, Lincoln, Linc, Linus, Lionel, Logan, Loki, Lucas, Lucian, Lucio, Lucky, Luke, Luther, Lyall, Lycus, Lykos, Lyle, Lyndon, Llewellyn, Landri, Laurian, Lionç
M: Major, Manny, Manuel, Marcus, Mason, Matt, Matthew, Matthias, Maverick, Maxim, Memphis, Midas, Mikko, Miles, Mitch, Mordecai, Mordred, Morgan, Macari, Maïus, Maxenci, Micolau, Miro
N: Nate, Nathan, Nathaniel, Niall, Nico, Niels, Nik, Noah, Nolan, Niilo, Nikander, Novak,
O: Oakley, Octavian, Odin, Orlando, Orrick, Ǫrvar, Othello, Otis, Otto, Ovid, Owain, Owen, Øyvind, Ozzie, Ollie, Oliver, Onni
P: Paisley, Palmer, Percival, Percy, Perry, Peyton, Phelan, Phineas, Phoenix, Piers, Pierce, Porter, Presley, Preston, Pacian
Q: Quinn, Quincy, Quintin
R: Ragnar, Raiden, Ren, Rain, Rainier, Ramos, Ramsey, Ransom, Raul, Ray, Roy, Reagan, Redd, Reese, Rhys, Rhett, Reginald, Remiel, Remy, Ridge, Ridley, Ripley, Rigby, Riggs, Riley, River, Robert, Rocky, Rokas, Roman, Ronan, Ronin, Romeo, Rory, Ross, Ruairí, Rufus, Rusty, Ryder, Ryker, Rylan, Riku, Roni
S: Sammie, Sammy, Samuel, Samson, Sanford, Sawyer, Scout, Seán, Seth, Sebastian, Seymour, Shane, Shaun, Shawn, Sheldon, Shiloh, Shun, Sid, Sidney, Silas, Skip, Skipper, Skyler, Slade, Spencer, Spike, Stan, Stanford, Sterling, Stevie, Stijn, Suni, Sylvan, Sylvester
T: Tab, Tad, Tanner, Tate, Tennessee, Tero, Terrance, Tevin, Thatcher, Tierno, Tino, Titus, Tobias, Tony, Torin, Trace, Trent, Trenton, Trev, Trevor, Trey, Troy, Tripp, Tristan, Tucker, Turner, Tyler, Ty, Teemu
U: Ulric
V: Valerius, Valor, Van, Vernon, Vespasian, Vic, Victor, Vico, Vince, Vinny, Vincent
W: Wade, Walker, Wallis, Wally, Walt, Wardell, Warwick, Watson, Waylon, Wayne, Wes, Wesley, Weston, Whitley, Wilder, Wiley, William, Wolfe, Wolfgang, Woody, Wulfric, Wyatt, Wynn
X: Xander, Xavier
Z: Zachary, Zach, Zane, Zeb, Zebediah, Zed, Zeke, Zeph, Zaccai
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I'm reposting this in honor of malex's wedding anniversary ❤️
***
Michael woke with the strange feeling that he was forgetting something.
He reached out to Alex’s side of the bed to find it empty and sighed. He pushed himself up with the same nagging in the back of his mind. Was he worried about Alex’s sleepless night?
“Hey, honey,” Alex said casually from his usual spot at the kitchen island where he sat with his computer, too many tabs already open and a cup of coffee half-empty.
“Hey,” Michael murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sidling up to his side, thoughtlessly tugging on the hem of his husband’s Air Force shirt sleeve.
Alex glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I just . . .” he shook his head, “I have the weirdest feeling I’m forgetting something.”
“That is weird,” he dropped his hands. “I woke up with the same feeling.”
“Really?” he frowned. “Did we leave something on in the bunker?”
“No, I already thought of that,” Alex dismissed with a sigh, returning to his work on the computer. “And it’s nothing at Deep Sky either, Ramos got back to me about two hours ago.”
That wiped any other thought from Michael’s head. “Two hours? How long you been awake, Private?”
“A while,” he muttered, lips pursed. “Are those black spots actually on my screen, or have I just been staring at this thing too long?”
“Oh my God,” Michael shut the laptop, and turned Alex to face him, massaging his temples with his thumbs. “You need food. Sit still, and don’t work while I make us breakfast.”
“Mm,” Alex hummed, still looking like he was trying to remember what it was that they had both forgotten.
The nagging feeling followed them both the rest of the day. Michael glanced at Alex on their drive to Deep Sky, and frowned.
“Stop worrying about it,” he told him, taking his hand and kissing his fingers. “If it was that important, we wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding unconvinced. Michael couldn’t blame him. Despite his words, he felt like whatever they had forgotten was important, but for some reason it just wouldn’t come to either of them. Never before did they both have this kind of feeling, and Michael’s gut told him it was something that involved them both.
He let Alex out of the truck, and Alex came around to the driver’s side.
“If you figure out what it is,” he started, and Michael was already nodding.
“I’ll let you know right away.” He smirked. “I know how much you hate having questions.”
Alex pinched his cheek and pecked his lips. Michael watched him go with the usual heavy feeling, but something else alongside it. What were they forgetting?
“So,” Isobel nudged that day at lunch at the Crashdown, “what are your big plans for today?”
Michael frowned at his milkshake. “Uh. I was just gonna head back to the junkyard after this and finish my shift.”
She snickered, shoving his arm. “Right. Sure. Okay.”
Michael was about to ask why she was looking at him like that when Liz squeezed into the seat next to him, her smile wide.
“Congratulatioooooons!” she said in a singsong voice, hugging his arm. “I wanted to tell you in person! I didn’t mention it to Alex in case you’re planning to surprise him.”
“Surprise him,” he repeated, eyes narrowed. What was with everyone, why were they all acting so weird? He quickly confirmed the date in his head, but no. It definitely wasn’t Alex’s birthday, or the day he’d ended his enlistment. So . . . what were Isobel and Liz talking about?
“Hey!” Dallas called, and they looked up to greet him just as he slid in next to Isobel. “Congratulations on today, buddy, we all knew you could do it.”
Michael slumped in his seat. “Thanks,” was all he said. Whatever it was he’d forgotten was clearly important enough that everyone else knew about it, and he didn’t know what would happen if he admitted he had no idea what they were congratulating him for, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Did Alex really not know what was so important about today, or had he just been pretending for Michael’s sake?
“So what are your big plans?” Dallas asked, taking a sip of his tea.
“Uh—”
“It’s a surprise,” Liz said, smiling.
Yeah, Michael thought faintly. Such a surprise, in fact, that he had no idea what it was either.
Michael came into the kitchen that evening to find Alex cooking, and leaned against the doorframe to watch his husband as he worked. He was twisting the gold band on his finger, nervous and confused all at the same time.
“Manes.”
“Hm?”
He hesitated. “You definitely don’t know what today is, right?”
“What?” he looked at Michael over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “Does this have anything to do with why Kyle congratulated me at work today?”
His shoulders fell. “You, too?” He rubbed his face and groaned, then came up behind Alex and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Thank God, everyone was congratulating me, too, and asking what my big plans were—”
“Yeah, Kyle asked me the same thing!” he said, whirling around. “Even Eduardo was kind of looking at me funny.”
“Because of today?” Michael tilted his head.
“Weird, right?”
They both stood there in silence with nothing but the sound of thick soup bubbling on the stove as they searched their memories for what they could be forgetting.
Finally, unable to think of anything, Michael agreed, “Weird.”
Even as they lay on the couch that night, the mystery haunted them.
“God, this is bothering me,” Alex groaned, pushing himself up off from where he was lying on top of Michael. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “It’s like I can feel it right there, but I just can’t reach it,” he said through gritted teeth and huffed.
Michael nodded, sitting up only to rest his head on Alex’s shoulder, staring through the carpet. After a while, his brain turned to mush and he found himself unable to think of anything at all.
He scoffed. “I swear, I was so worried about forgetting something important that I had to make sure it wasn’t your birthday.”
Alex’s lips quirked wearily. “No, I knew it wasn’t your birthday. You’re my spring baby.”
Michael snickered. “And you’re my Halloween baby.” And then, just talking because he could, just to fill the silence, just because his brain had stopped working and he wasn’t keeping track of what he was saying, he muttered, “Good thing neither of us was born in September, it’s kind of a blah month, isn’t it?”
Alex started to chuckle, then straightened very suddenly and Michael almost fell off of him. “Wait a minute, September? What’s the exact date today?”
“Fifth,” Michael said thoughtlessly, then his eyes widened. Alex’s expression mirrored his own, and together, they blurted—
“Our wedding anniversary!” and then together again, they said, “Ohhhhhh!”
And they collapsed against each other in laughter.
“I—I can’t believe we . . .” Alex trailed off, unable to finish from how hard he was laughing.
“That makes so much sense now!” Michael held a fist to his lips, but he couldn’t stop cackling. His stomach hurt and tears came to his eyes.
“I mean,” Alex tried when he could finally breathe several minutes later, his face red, “I mean we couldn’t have done anything anyway, we were both working.”
Michael was still chuckling, and he pulled Alex in against him, laying them both back down as if they’d never gotten up. He put a hand in Alex’s hair, his other running up and down Alex’s back.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow,” he agreed, and giggled against Alex’s forehead. “Happy one year anniversary, baby.”
Alex snuggled against him and heaved a long, relieved sigh. “Happy anniversary, Guerin.”
#alex manes#michael guerin#malex#malex fic#roswell new mexico#roswell nm#tyler blackburn#michael vlamis
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(Southern Vangard)
Episode 383 - Southern Vangard Radio
BANG! @southernvangard #radio Ep383! We’re in full holiday motion as of this week, Vangardians - if you missed the live Twitch stream on Sunday this week, you might want to go back and check it out for the festive decor and holiday look alone, not to mention the Doe and Meeks trash talk insanity. The Q4 onslaught of new joints continues, so we’ve got lots of that, including a WORLD EXCLUSIVE from Everliven Sound, a group comprised of Cymarshall Law & Blackbelt Poemz - big up Dan Shores for the connect. So ho-ho-ho yourself on over to this new ep on your favorite platform, say THAAAAANK YA real quick like ‘cause YOU WAAAAALCOME!!!!! Last but not least - ***HOLIDAY ALERT*** “SMITHSONIAN GRADE: The Story of Southern Vangard Radio” is available now for ya little holiday gift giving - a cool $20 gets you a book, print, sticker! Hit SOUTHERNVANGARD.BANDCAMP.COM now and beat the holiday rush! #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard #YouWaaaaalcome // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on all platforms #undergroundhiphop #boombap #DJ #mixshow #interview #podcast #ATL #WORLDWIDE #RIPCOMBATJACK
Recorded live December 3, 2023 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA
southernvangard.com
@southernvangard on all platforms
#SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard
twitter/IG: @southernvangard @jondoeatl @cappuccinomeeks
Pre-Game Beats - Denny Laflare
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Reintroduction" - AZ (prod. Buckwild)
"7 Grand" - Stallone & Weathers (Precyce Politix & K-Hill)
"Snake Oil Package" - Mondo Slade ft. Josiah The Gift & DJ Jon Doe
"Victory Lap" - Tesla's Ghost & Purpose ft. Estee Nack
"Nod Ya Head" - DJ Robert Smith & BambuDeAsiatic
"Live From Czarnegie Hall" - Czarface ft. Kool Keith
"Pavement Drop" - Crotona P & Noam Chopski ft. DJ Optimus Prime
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Go Time" - AZ ft. Pharoahe Monche
"Loony Bin" - Isaac Castor & Hir-O
"Marvel at That (Road Trip)" - Czarface
"RAMO" - J57
"50 Years of Hip Hop" - J. Sands ft. Masta Ace, RJ Payne & The World Famous Brucie B
"Oh My" - The Doppelgangaz
"Bring The Real Back" - Everliven Sound (Cymarshall Law & Blackbelt Poemz (prod. Slimline Mutha) **WORLD EXCLUSIVE**
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Pinky Ring" - Wino Willy ft. Mondo Slade & FOHDH Matthew
"Long Chain" - MidaZ The BEAST ft. TzariZM
"Possessed" - Elzhi & Oh No
"Acid Tab Communion" - Chubs & Farmabeats
"Skummy Szn" - Reek Osama & Circa 97 ft. Snotty
"Montagna" - Conway the Machine & Wun Two
"Tears From An Angel" - Chubs & Farmabeats ft. Bub Styles
"Zabaione" - Pounds & Spittzwell ft. Estee Nack
"Brick by Brick" - Conway the Machine & Wun Two
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
** TWITCH ONLY SET **
DJ Jon Doe Beats / Exclusives
SOUNDCLOUD
https://soundcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-383-southern-vangard-radio/
https://on.soundcloud.com/xBhqQ (SHORT LINK)
APPLE PODCASTS
https://itun.es/us/QyyX9.c/
SPOTIFY PODCASTS
http://bit.ly/svrspotifypodcasts
YOUTUBE
https://youtu.be/eJl-6CNI6uc
GOOGLE PODCASTS
http://bit.ly/svrgooglepodcasts
TWITCH
http://twitch.tv/southernvangard
MIXCLOUD
https://www.mixcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-383-southern-vangard-radio/
#SouthernVangard #DJJonDoe #EddieMeeks #DennyLaflare #TobyT #AZ #Buckwild #StalloneWeathers #PrecycePolitix #KHill #MondoSlade #JosiahTheGift #TeslasGhost #Purpose #EsteeNack #DJRobertSmith #BambuDeAsiatic #Czarface #KoolKeith #CrotonaP #NoamChopski #DJOptimusPrime #PharoaheMonche #IsaacCastor #HirO #J57 #JSands #MastaAce #RJPayne #BrucieB #TheDoppelgangaz #EverlivenSound #CymarshallLaw #BlackbeltPoemz #SlimlineMutha #WinoWilly #MondoSlade #FOHDHMatthew #MidaZTheBEAST #TzariZM #Elzhi #OhNo #Chubs Farmabeats #ReekOsama #Circa97 #Snotty #ConwayTheMachine #WunTwo #BubStyles #Pounds #Spittzwell #EsteeNack
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(Southern Vangard)
Episode 383 - Southern Vangard Radio
BANG! @southernvangard #radio Ep383! We’re in full holiday motion as of this week, Vangardians - if you missed the live Twitch stream on Sunday this week, you might want to go back and check it out for the festive decor and holiday look alone, not to mention the Doe and Meeks trash talk insanity. The Q4 onslaught of new joints continues, so we’ve got lots of that, including a WORLD EXCLUSIVE from Everliven Sound, a group comprised of Cymarshall Law & Blackbelt Poemz - big up Dan Shores for the connect. So ho-ho-ho yourself on over to this new ep on your favorite platform, say THAAAAANK YA real quick like ‘cause YOU WAAAAALCOME!!!!! Last but not least - ***HOLIDAY ALERT*** “SMITHSONIAN GRADE: The Story of Southern Vangard Radio” is available now for ya little holiday gift giving - a cool $20 gets you a book, print, sticker! Hit SOUTHERNVANGARD.BANDCAMP.COM now and beat the holiday rush! #SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard #YouWaaaaalcome // southernvangard.com // @southernvangard on all platforms #undergroundhiphop #boombap #DJ #mixshow #interview #podcast #ATL #WORLDWIDE #RIPCOMBATJACK
Recorded live December 3, 2023 @ Dirty Blanket Studios, Marietta, GA
southernvangard.com
@southernvangard on all platforms
#SmithsonianGrade #WeAreTheGard
twitter/IG: @southernvangard @jondoeatl @cappuccinomeeks
Pre-Game Beats - Denny Laflare
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Reintroduction" - AZ (prod. Buckwild)
"7 Grand" - Stallone & Weathers (Precyce Politix & K-Hill)
"Snake Oil Package" - Mondo Slade ft. Josiah The Gift & DJ Jon Doe
"Victory Lap" - Tesla's Ghost & Purpose ft. Estee Nack
"Nod Ya Head" - DJ Robert Smith & BambuDeAsiatic
"Live From Czarnegie Hall" - Czarface ft. Kool Keith
"Pavement Drop" - Crotona P & Noam Chopski ft. DJ Optimus Prime
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Go Time" - AZ ft. Pharoahe Monche
"Loony Bin" - Isaac Castor & Hir-O
"Marvel at That (Road Trip)" - Czarface
"RAMO" - J57
"50 Years of Hip Hop" - J. Sands ft. Masta Ace, RJ Payne & The World Famous Brucie B
"Oh My" - The Doppelgangaz
"Bring The Real Back" - Everliven Sound (Cymarshall Law & Blackbelt Poemz (prod. Slimline Mutha) **WORLD EXCLUSIVE**
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
"Pinky Ring" - Wino Willy ft. Mondo Slade & FOHDH Matthew
"Long Chain" - MidaZ The BEAST ft. TzariZM
"Possessed" - Elzhi & Oh No
"Acid Tab Communion" - Chubs & Farmabeats
"Skummy Szn" - Reek Osama & Circa 97 ft. Snotty
"Montagna" - Conway the Machine & Wun Two
"Tears From An Angel" - Chubs & Farmabeats ft. Bub Styles
"Zabaione" - Pounds & Spittzwell ft. Estee Nack
"Brick by Brick" - Conway the Machine & Wun Two
Chrimmus Talk Break Inst. - Toby T.
** TWITCH ONLY SET **
DJ Jon Doe Beats / Exclusives
SOUNDCLOUD
https://soundcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-383-southern-vangard-radio/
https://on.soundcloud.com/xBhqQ (SHORT LINK)
APPLE PODCASTS
https://itun.es/us/QyyX9.c/
SPOTIFY PODCASTS
http://bit.ly/svrspotifypodcasts
YOUTUBE
https://youtu.be/eJl-6CNI6uc
GOOGLE PODCASTS
http://bit.ly/svrgooglepodcasts
TWITCH
http://twitch.tv/southernvangard
MIXCLOUD
https://www.mixcloud.com/southernvangard/episode-383-southern-vangard-radio/
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Momento Mundial: Diego Armando Maradona y la 'Mano de Dios'
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De acordo com o manual de regras do futebol, a marcação do pênalti é correta. Um tiro livre direto (falta, em um termo mais usado) será concedido se um jogador cometer algumas infrações, entre elas "arremessar um objeto na direção da bola, de um adversário ou de um membro da equipe de arbitragem".
Foi exatamente esse o movimento feito por Barreto, ao chutar uma segunda bola em direção à primeira, que estava em jogo, de maneira proposital para atrapalhar o lance do ataque do Flamengo.
No entanto, o árbitro também tinha a possibilidade de paralisar o jogo caso entendesse que a segunda bola estivesse interferindo no andamento da partida. Neste cenário, até mesmo o VAR poderia chamar caso entendesse que o lance deveria ser revisto.
A arbitragem de vídeo, porém, preferiu manter a decisão de campo. Maguielson Lima Barbosa estava em cima da jogada e assinalou a penalidade, para irritação dos jogadores do Criciúma e felicidade de Gabigol, que comentou ao fim do jogo.
O jogo só acaba quando termina!
Por: Fred Borges
Quando utilizamos a frase ou expressão: " O jogo só acaba quando termina" queremos dizer que o jogo só termina quando uma pessoa pensa em desistir de alguma coisa, antes da finalização.
Maior que uma penalidade marcada por um juiz, a penalidade de desistir, de se entregar, é a opção dos covardes.
Ultimamente há de se questionar quem está jogando o jogo.Os jogadores de fora ou os atletas do gramado?
Os jogadores de fora não são e nunca serão atletas, pois atletas de verdade são competidores e dominam a expressão: "Fair Play" ( Jogo Justo).
Até hoje me lembro de lances polêmicos do futebol internacional em Copas do Mundo; La Mano de Dios foi um gol histórico marcado por Diego Maradona no jogo da Seleção Argentina contra a Inglaterra, válido pelas quartas-de-final da Copa do Mundo FIFA de 1986 e em outro momento emblemático no dia 4 de julho de 1994, a Seleção Brasileira vencia os Estados Unidos, por 1 a 0, em jogo válido pelas oitavas de final da Copa do Mundo, acontece a cotovelada do então lateral Leonardo no meia americano Tab Ramos.
Após o lance, Leonardo foi expulso, deixando a Seleção com apenas dez jogadores em campo ainda aos 43 minutos do primeiro tempo.
A imparcialidade e o legalismo devem estar em primeiro lugar em qualquer julgamento, do contrário a exceção vira a regra, perde-se a credibilidade e junto com a credibilidade a integridade, a honra, a dignidade, a verdade, a liberdade, e a evidência ou a prova irrefutável do fato.
Os jogadores de fora tem a real dimensão do que, como, quando, quem, porquê, estão fazendo ou agindo, logo devem assumir as consequências dos seus atos para o bem ou para o mal.
Quando a politicagem ou a corrupção utiliza-se do futebol para manipular resultados de partidas é rápido o diagnóstico do câncer e sua metástase para outros órgãos. A entropia já está instalada em qualquer organização pela ineficiência, ineficácia ou inefetividade, assim como o crescimento orgânico por ações opostas ou em contraposição.
Ao atleta cabe muito mais hoje em dia que jogar e receber quantias que não se comparam em volume a maioria dos trabalhadores brasileiros, a carreira de jogador é meteórica, estrelas brilham e se apagam tão rapidamente quanto e como acenderam e ascenderam.É preciso medir cada jogada dentro e fora do campo, a estratégia e tática deve ser incorporada a gestão da carreira de qualquer profissional, inclusive de um atleta,é preciso gerir, não basta ter, tem que manter, e a pergunta recorrente sempre será quando chegar o momento, como atleta profissional, poderei manter o padrão que hoje possuo num futuro bem próximo?
Nossa vida é feita de apostas, uns apostam alto, outros apostam baixo,o mais moderado faz pequenas e sábias apostas,estudam, planejam,sentem o gramado,o campo "minado", a bola, a sua calibragem, seu tipo, seus adversários, a forma de jogar de cada oponente, examinam,diagnosticam o time adversário, todos apostam, mas infelizmente tem uns que já sabem o resultado de suas apostas e esses ganham muito em pouco tempo, mas o que vem fácil, vai fácil e tem gente que se diz gente apostando com o dinheiro dos outros, com o dinheiro do clube, com o dinheiro ou erário público, logo apostam um país, uma nação, o país e a nação de futuras gerações e fazem recém nascidos já virem ao mundo devendo, herdando o passivo ou a massa falida.
Entregar um jogo, um país, uma nação nas mãos de um corrupto é tornar um país em uma Cleptocracia, o contrário seria uma Noocracia, o que temos seria uma aludida ou iludida democracia, teríamos democracia se todos tivessem acesso em qualidade a saúde, educação, segurança, trabalho digno e novamente em qualidade, não somente ou exclusivamente em quantidade.
Logo somos o que somos aos 45 minutos do segundo tempo, aguardando a derrota por WO( walkover*) ou aguardando o juiz dar o tempo de bola fora do jogo, das faltas que se alongaram, das mil e uma táticas para atrasar o jogo, dos vícios, das faltas " fabricadas" de "La Mano de Dios", "Lo Codazo de Leonardo en el Mundial",nosso AVAR não vai TAPAR o VATAPÁ,e sentimos que dentro e fora do jogo, atletas e jogadores, muitos viciados na jogatina, aliam-se a conveniência, a covardia,a parcialidade,a passividade, a omissa vaidade da estrela que se acende, ascende e se apaga e cai, cai no esquecimento de um país sem memória ou de memórias manipuladas, apagadas, lavadas,ganhos de lavada,de " chocolate" da Gabriela, aquela do " nasci assim,eu sou mesmo assim, do conformismo, sempre da Gabriella á Marighella,do sanduiche de mortadella, da mostarda da Callábria ou Caserta amarella,do amarellou, mas o jogo só acaba quando termina, e ainda não terminou, não é mesmo bravo povo brasileiro?
*Em 05 de Junho de 1938 A Áustria jogaria nas oitavas de final contra a Suécia, o problema é que a Áustria havia sido anexada pela Alemanha Nazista e deixou de ser um país independente. Por isso, seus jogadores foram incorporados pela Seleção Alemã e não pôde se apresentar contra a Suécia, em decorrência disso, a Suécia venceu por WO.
Alienados,aliciados ou corrompidos, a curto ou longo prazo, são sempre derrotados os países ou nações cujos povos elegem representantes corruptos ou ladrões e são assim derrotados por WO.Não há nenhuma glória em vencer por WO.
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trying to search items in mc with the italian language enabled like. i need a stick... bacchetto. no. ermm... ramo? no. sigh.... crafting ingredients tab; scroll down; bastone 😑
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sino ba si Angela Valdez. pinag-iipunan talaga siya nina Manang Aida at ng mga Panganay.
masyado siyang Puti na may Color Black nga. pang-view ng Persecution pala yung bodycon. puro blackhead lahat.
taong may Bao daw yan.
nangingitim siya for the first time????
Contact & Tab
Review & Rating
* School ID : 300273 * School Name : Angela Valdez Ramos National High School * School Name w/ Add : Angela Valdez Ramos National High School, Asingan, Pangasinan * Short Name : AVRNHS * Previous Name : Asingan Community High School * Address : Macalong * Municipality : Asingan * Region : Region I * Province : Pangasinan * Division : Pangasinan II, Binalonan * Legistative District : 6th District * Curricular Class : Junior High School with Senior High School * Date of Operation : Sunday, January 01, 1967 * Sub-Classification : DepED Managed * School Type : School with no Annexes * Class Organization : Monograde * Telephone : 0755634638/563-4637 * Fax Number : n/a
kasi tinirhan niya yung bahay ko sa Cubao O.O
eh yun nga yung lugar ng The Virgin Suicides O.O
Miranda na Miranda siya masyado pala.
nakita talaga namin sa krus ay Miranda Cosgrove O.O
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Dicas para poupar tempo e dinheiro na compra e envio de flores
As flores estão presentes em muitas fases da nossa vida, são oferecidas em dias especiais, decoram casamentos, baptizados e outros eventos, são usadas em demonstrações de afecto entre amantes, família e amigos, expressam condolências em funerais e são usadas para decorar e perfumar casas, espaços e eventos.
A presença de flores é uma contribuição garantida para a geração de bem-estar e elevação de ânimo e espírito ao seu redor.
Oferecer ou comprar flores é um acto cada vez mais frequente, seja por impulso, seja por cumprir a querida tradição em certas datas ou eventos. Pelo que é pertinente avaliarmos o que implica em termos de investimento de tempo e dinheiro.
As vantagens da compra e envio de flores online
Ir a uma florista presencial é uma experiência muito agradável, afinal nada supera um atendimento cuidado e personalizado. No entanto, para uma escolha sensata, deveríamos visitar várias floristas, não só para comparar a estética dos seus ramos como também os seus preços.
Isso significa procurar onde estão localizadas e deslocarmo-nos até lá, voltando depois aquela que nos parece ser a melhor opção. Isto requer muito tempo, despesas de deslocação e ainda o trabalho de tirar notas, escritas ou mentais, para não nos esquecermos dos ramos de flores diferenciadores, que tenham a melhor relação qualidade vs preço.
As floristas online permitem-nos desde logo poupar muito tempo e custos de deslocação, facilitando o processo de exploração de flores, dos seus preços, custos e condições de envio.
Além da conveniência da selecção e compra a partir do conforto da nossa casa, no horário que mais nos convenha, outra vantagem é que a pessoa de destino irá receber as flores em sua casa, local de trabalho, ou onde quer que se encontre, poupando-nos mais essa deslocação e o risco de estragar uma surpresa ao tentar combinar um encontro atempado, que não coloque em causa a frescura das flores.
Podemos compensar o facto de não fazermos uma entrega directa em mãos, juntando um amoroso cartão dedicado que expresse o nosso sentimento, diremos o que mais queiramos na chamada emocionada que certamente iremos receber em agradecimento ao gesto.
Como comparar floristas online
Existem floristas online locais e regionais, que só fazem entregas em determinadas zonas, e floristas online que actuam em todo o território nacional, sendo importante analisar em detalhe quais as condições e custos de entrega de cada uma, cujas diferenças podem chegar a uma mão cheia de euros.
Além dos custos de entrega, para evitar perda de tempo por só descobrirmos informação importante no momento de pagar, há que validar, prévia e atentamente, quais os meios de pagamento aceites e os dias em que são feitas as entregas.
Há quem não faça entregas ao fim de semana, há quem faça entregas no próprio dia, há quem ofereça as dedicatórias, etc.
Também os preços variam muito, por vezes para arranjos de flores muito similares, pelo que é essencial comparar ramos e preços para poder poupar consideravelmente sem diminuir a qualidade da sua compra.
Não menos importante é perceber como funciona a sua política de anulação ou reclamação em caso de algum extravio ou problema com a oferta entregue. Além do exposto no site de cada florista averigue o Portal da Queixa online para perceber com que frequência acontecem anomalias e como as resolvem.
Conheça o projecto flores-online.pt
Apesar de útil, a comparação da oferta online acaba por também consumir tempo e dar algum trabalho, obrigando a ter vários tabs do navegador de internet aberto, ou gerir produtos favoritos em sites diferentes.
Para acelerar ainda mais todo o processo de selecção, compra e envio de flores, facilitando a percepção das diferenças de custos, foi lançado recentemente o projecto flores-online.pt que se propõe a ser um portal agregador da melhor oferta no mercado de venda de flores online, tendo sido desenhado para ajudar ao máximo o utilizador, no encontrar das opções que mais se adequam ao que procura e ao seu orçamento.
Não só permite uma rápida comparação de floristas online como coloca todos os seus produtos lado a lado, evidenciando a diferença de preços por florista. Tem vários estilos de organização dos ramos de flores permitindo que sejam explorados por florista, ocasião, tipo ou intervalo de valores.
É um projecto bastante útil e interessante que poderá ser mais uma ferramenta a utilizar com vista à poupança do seu tempo e dinheiro.
Esperamos que estas dicas lhe sejam úteis para a sua próxima escolha e compra de flores, arte floral decorativa, centros de mesa, cestas de arranjos florais, flores secas e preservadas, packs surpresa e afins.
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Maybe you can write something about how Alex and Michael celebrate their first anniversary? Thank you.
***
Michael woke with the strange feeling that he was forgetting something.
He reached out to Alex’s side of the bed to find it empty and sighed. He pushed himself up with the same nagging in the back of his mind. Was he worried about Alex’s sleepless night?
“Hey, honey,” Alex said casually from his usual spot at the kitchen island where he sat with his computer, too many tabs already open and a cup of coffee half-empty.
“Hey,” Michael murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sidling up to his side, thoughtlessly tugging on the hem of his husband’s Air Force shirt sleeve.
Alex glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I just . . .” he shook his head, “I have the weirdest feeling I’m forgetting something.”
“That is weird,” he dropped his hands. “I woke up with the same feeling.”
“Really?” he frowned. “Did we leave something on in the bunker?”
“No, I already thought of that,” Alex dismissed with a sigh, returning to his work on the computer. “And it’s nothing at Deep Sky either, Ramos got back to me about two hours ago.”
That wiped any other thought from Michael’s head. “Two hours? How long you been awake, Private?”
“A while,” he muttered, lips pursed. “Are those black spots actually on my screen, or have I just been staring at this thing too long?”
“Oh my God,” Michael shut the laptop, and turned Alex to face him, massaging his temples with his thumbs. “You need food. Sit still, and don’t work while I make us breakfast.”
“Mm,” Alex hummed, still looking like he was trying to remember what it was that they had both forgotten.
The nagging feeling followed them both the rest of the day. Michael glanced at Alex on their drive to Deep Sky, and frowned.
“Stop worrying about it,” he told him, taking his hand and kissing his fingers. “If it was that important, we wouldn’t have forgotten.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding unconvinced. Michael couldn’t blame him. Despite his words, he felt like whatever they had forgotten was important, but for some reason it just wouldn’t come to either of them. Never before did they both have this kind of feeling, and Michael’s gut told him it was something that involved them both.
He let Alex out of the truck, and Alex came around to the driver’s side.
“If you figure out what it is,” he started, and Michael was already nodding.
“I’ll let you know right away.” He smirked. “I know how much you hate having questions.”
Alex pinched his cheek and pecked his lips. Michael watched him go with the usual heavy feeling, but something else alongside it. What were they forgetting?
“So,” Isobel nudged that day at lunch at the Crashdown, “what are your big plans for today?”
Michael frowned at his milkshake. “Uh. I was just gonna head back to the junkyard after this and finish my shift.”
She snickered, shoving his arm. “Right. Sure. Okay.”
Michael was about to ask why she was looking at him like that when Liz squeezed into the seat next to him, her smile wide.
“Congratulatioooooons!” she said in a singsong voice, hugging his arm. “I wanted to tell you in person! I didn’t mention it to Alex in case you’re planning to surprise him.”
“Surprise him,” he repeated, eyes narrowed. What was with everyone, why were they all acting so weird? He quickly confirmed the date in his head, but no. It definitely wasn’t Alex’s birthday, or the day he’d ended his enlistment. So . . . what were Isobel and Liz talking about?
“Hey!” Dallas called, and they looked up to greet him just as he slid in next to Isobel. “Congratulations on today, buddy, we all knew you could do it.”
Michael slumped in his seat. “Thanks,” was all he said. Whatever it was he’d forgotten was clearly important enough that everyone else knew about it, and he didn’t know what would happen if he admitted he had no idea what they were congratulating him for, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Did Alex really not know what was so important about today, or had he just been pretending for Michael’s sake?
“So what are your big plans?” Dallas asked, taking a sip of his tea.
“Uh—”
“It’s a surprise,” Liz said, smiling.
Yeah, Michael thought faintly. Such a surprise, in fact, that he had no idea what it was either.
Michael came into the kitchen that evening to find Alex cooking, and leaned against the doorframe to watch his husband as he worked. He was twisting the gold band on his finger, nervous and confused all at the same time.
“Manes.”
“Hm?”
He hesitated. “You definitely don’t know what today is, right?”
“What?” he looked at Michael over his shoulder, brows furrowed. “Does this have anything to do with why Kyle congratulated me at work today?”
His shoulders fell. “You, too?” He rubbed his face and groaned, then came up behind Alex and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Thank God, everyone was congratulating me, too, and asking what my big plans were—”
“Yeah, Kyle asked me the same thing!” he said, whirling around. “Even Eduardo was kind of looking at me funny.”
“Because of today?” Michael tilted his head.
“Weird, right?”
They both stood there in silence with nothing but the sound of thick soup bubbling on the stove as they searched their memories for what they could be forgetting.
Finally, unable to think of anything, Michael agreed, “Weird.”
Even as they lay on the couch that night, the mystery haunted them.
“God, this is bothering me,” Alex groaned, pushing himself up off from where he was lying on top of Michael. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “It’s like I can feel it right there, but I just can’t reach it,” he said through gritted teeth and huffed.
Michael nodded, sitting up only to rest his head on Alex’s shoulder, staring through the carpet. After a while, his brain turned to mush and he found himself unable to think of anything at all.
He scoffed. “I swear, I was so worried about forgetting something important that I had to make sure it wasn’t your birthday.”
Alex’s lips quirked wearily. “No, I knew it wasn’t your birthday. You’re my spring baby.”
Michael snickered. “And you’re my Halloween baby.” And then, just talking because he could, just to fill the silence, just because his brain had stopped working and he wasn’t keeping track of what he was saying, he muttered, “Good thing neither of us was born in September, it’s kind of a blah month, isn’t it?”
Alex started to chuckle, then straightened very suddenly and Michael almost fell off of him. “Wait a minute, September? What’s the exact date today?”
“Fifth,” Michael said thoughtlessly, then his eyes widened. Alex’s expression mirrored his own, and together, they blurted—
“Our wedding anniversary!” and then together again, they said, “Ohhhhhh!”
And they collapsed against each other in laughter.
“I—I can’t believe we . . .” Alex trailed off, unable to finish from how hard he was laughing.
“That makes so much sense now!” Michael held a fist to his lips, but he couldn’t stop cackling. His stomach hurt and tears came to his eyes.
“I mean,” Alex tried when he could finally breathe several minutes later, his face red, “I mean we couldn’t have done anything anyway, we were both working.”
Michael was still chuckling, and he pulled Alex in against him, laying them both back down as if they’d never gotten up. He put a hand in Alex’s hair, his other running up and down Alex’s back.
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow,” he agreed, and giggled against Alex’s forehead. “Happy one year anniversary, baby.”
Alex snuggled against him and heaved a long, relieved sigh. “Happy anniversary, Guerin.”
***
This one was a hoot. Happy Malex Monday ❤
#alex manes#michael guerin#malex#malex fic#roswell new mexico#roswell nm#tyler blackburn#michael vlamis
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Some days are good days and other days you remember Tab Ramos is no longer in charge of our U20s
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Tab Ramos thanking Jurgen Klinsmann in his farewell is the ultimate insider eff you to all of USSF
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Till Death Do Us Part: Chapter 3
Masterlist
This story would not be possible without @limp-wrist-max who inspired me to write this in the first place and @acollectionofficsandshit who helped me come up with the storyline and is the best beta a girl could ask for, thanks you two!
Word Count: 8.8k
Recommended song:
WARNINGS: Mentions of drugs, some violence (not really graphic)
As it so happened Pierre wasn't even needed at the cabin, what with Nix and Soren returning home hours later bearing gifts in the form of buckets of information.
A series of raps on the door has him instantly awake and sliding out from under your arm, hand instinctively flying to the drawer of his nightstand before his foggy brain registers the cadence of the knock.
A glance at the glowing numbers on the clock tells him it's just past three am. He winces when he stands, the stitches pulling at the flesh around his sore wound.
Pierre doesn't bother grabbing a shirt before he slips into the hall and is met by his second and third. "Well? I'm assuming he sang like a canary if you're already back at this ungodly hour."
"Turns out he was the main supplier for the Wolf Suns." Nix continues picking at her nails like she hadn't dropped that nuclear fucking bomb so casually. "Of course, we only figured that out after we'd slit his throat. I believe his last words were 'Ramos will find you' or some shit like that. So we'll have to keep an eye on that."
"Not fucking good." The Wolf Suns were barely a blip on Pierre's radar, a ragtag group that called themselves a club but had no real foothold, at least nothing that had concerned him up to this point. But their head honcho was a different story entirely.
Ramos was one blood thirsty son of a bitch. He was known to start feuds over petty shit like someone fucking up his order at a restaurant and wasn't afraid to cheat, steal or kill to get what he wanted. That's not to say Pierre didn't cheat, steal or kill to get where he was, in fact it was the opposite, but that didn't mean he was stupid enough downplay the threat the other man posed. He had things to protect: the club, his associates, and most importantly you.
Pierre tended to steer clear of Ramos and his gang because they dealt in drugs. They smuggled, transported and sold to thousands with no regard for the lives they were ruining. All Ramos saw were dollar signs in his victims eyes even as the light bled out of them.
If the Daggers had taken out someone that supplied the Suns, let alone their main supplier, there would be hell to pay.
"What do we know about him," Pierre demands, subtly leaning against the door frame for support, still a touch dizzy from the blood loss.
"He's got a foothold in the west end," Nix starts. "Pretty much any and all dealers in the city that we haven't wiped out are his eyes and ears. He's got tabs on everyone and to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if he's kept a file on you even before all this went down."
Pierre waves a hand. "I've got one on him too. Doesn’t have any significant romantic relationships; has a new girl every week. Never graduated high school, dropped out and raised his younger sister after his parents died in the crossfire of a drug deal gone bad." When he thought about it, the irony was delicious. A man whose parents both died because of an illegal substance trade Ramos himself now controlled? He had interesting motivations, that was for certain.
"His kid sister is Layla." Soren crosses his arms over his chest, settling in for what was no doubt a long winded retelling of whatever he had already managed to discover. Pierre notes the way Nix's eyes eat up the other man's every move, the look on her face reminiscent of the one you usually had before you shoved Pierre against the wall and wrapped your hand around his throat. Come to think of it, Pierre hadn't been dominated in awhile-
"Are you paying attention?"
Soren gapes at Nix, the latter quirking a brow at Pierre. "If you're too busy dreaming up fantasies-"
"Shut the fuck up," Pierre growls, in no mood for his second's shit at this hour. Just because she was right doesn't mean he had to tell her that. He wants to get back to bed, maybe tease you awake with a few soft kisses and go for a little romp in the silk sheets before falling back asleep cocooned in you. "Give me the cliff notes."
"He's extremely protective of his sister, keeps her out of sight and out of state. Rumor has it she's married and popped out a couple of kids, but nothing has been confirmed."
"Get me eyes on wherever the fuck she is." White hot pain lances through his side when Pierre shifts on his feet. His limbs felt ten times heavier than they had moments ago and it was becoming a monumental effort to remain standing. Ever the observer, Nix's gaze falls to the carefully bandaged gash before narrowing her eyes.
Pathetic. He needed to spend more time in the sparring ring if he was this affected by a toothpick scratch. "I want leverage. And I want additional-"
"I've already bumped up border patrols." Pierre allows the interruption, if only because he was aware Soren was eager to please and personally, it was in his best interest to get the two of them out as soon as possible. "Nothing yet, but we aren't sure they're aware of what happened."
"They're gonna want payback. At the very least they'll want to show that they don't appreciate us encroaching on their deals." Pierre scrubs a hand over his face, gears struggling to chug along. "I won't let them take an inch of our territory and I'm not giving them a penny. Be proactive and send a message to Ramos and tell him that. I don't compromise."
Pierre slips back inside as quietly as he can, mindful of the squeaky hinges and tip toeing around the floorboards that creak. He pauses midstep, the sight of you sleeping peacefully with the moonlight highlighting the expanse of your cheekbones hitting him like a blow to the chest. A citrus scented breeze ruffles the gauzy curtains of your hair and you remain blissfully unaware of the stray strands drifting across the pillows. He lets himself study the half parted curve of your lips, taking a moment to imprint you in his mind until he's sure he can recall this moment at will.
You stir when he slips back under the covers, you hand instinctively searching for him across the vast sea that you insisted on calling a bed. Situating himself towards the middle, he manages to shove one arm under your shoulder and wrap the other around your waist and pull you flush to his chest. Your hands curl over his heart as you snuggle into his warmth.
Mind too full to sleep, Pierre resigns himself to stroking a hand over your hair and staring out the window, piecing together the bones of an attack plan.
**********
"Stop squirming."
"Maybe if you would be gentler-"
"I'm being as gentle as I can!"
Pierre hisses when you remove the final stitch, his glare carrying no heat as you patch him up. You still hadn't let him forget what you thought about his little excursion with Nix and Verstappen, having thoroughly chewed him out thrice now for the mysterious but reliable Dutchman's involvement.
"At least you'll get a sexy scar out of it." You run your fingers over the skin surrounding the puckered flesh. The tattooed crow was ruined; thankfully it wasn't one he had been particularly fond of. "Mhm, yeah. Very sexy."
Both of your heads snap up when Soren lets himself in, looking a little worse for the wear. His dark hair was unusually unkempt and his shirt wrinkled, evidence of how he had spent the past few days staking out Ramos' club and its members attempting to determine anything of interest.
Pierre rests a hand just above the curve of your ass, unable to resist the pull of your gravity. It hadn’t taken him long to learn it was pointless to try. He often attempted to shut you out when he was too furious to form words but always wound up coming right back to grovel at your feet a few minutes later. You always let him, welcoming him back with a sly smile or a swish of your hips. You held the knowledge over his head and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the game at least a little bit.
He'd also be lying if he said the gesture wasn't the tiniest bit born of the possessiveness that simmered in his gut whenever someone else was around. He had a hand on you constantly, never shying away from reminding anyone that you belonged to him and that no one else was allowed to have you.
"Why don't you wait upstairs for me, my love? I'll be up shortly and you can continue feeding my ego."
You roll your eyes and rise to your feet to jab a finger at Soren's chest. "Make sure he doesn't get caught up with plans again like last night."
"I'll be an hour tops." Pierre doesn't bother restraining the urge to smack your ass once you've turned to leave. Anyone allowed under this roof knew the consequences of speaking out about his very public displays of affection. They could talk all they wanted behind closed doors but the reality was that this was the one place he could let his guard down and just appreciate you in all your glory.
In the public eye he was expected to be an emotionless hardass. Most of the time it was better not to feel anyway. But here, in his castle? He could let a shadow of the old Pierre rise to the surface, the one he had isolated after years of tragedy and that only a handpicked few knew existed.
“Alright,” Pierre sighs, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Lay it on me."
"Ramos finally responded. He wants a quarter million and rights to sell in half the east end."
Pierre barks a startled laugh. "He's delusional if he thinks he can get anything from me. Ramos barely has a foothold in this city and he thinks he can make demands of me?"
Soren lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. "Apparently. The Wolf Suns are a small outfit, one we should be able to beat into submission quickly and easily. It shouldn't take much effort on our part, not when they've barely been around for a year and their boss doesn't exactly inspire loyalty with how often he offs his own guys. It's more of a survival of the fittest over there."
"How is that different from the Blood Daggers?" Pierre lifts a manicured brow in challenge. "You all swore an oath to give me your lives. It's mine to do with as I please."
"And none of us would deny you the right," Soren says immediately, passing Pierre's test with flying colors. "We're a family here. It's not just about money or territory. We look out for each other because we want to, not because we'd be tossed in the river otherwise."
That was the type of loyalty Pierre valued. He didn't want his people hanging around because they feared him. His mentor had taught him well in the few years they’d had together, instilling the importance of raising a flock who’s members wouldn’t hesitate to jump in front of a bullet for their boss.
Leading through fear cultivated suspicions and left the door open for undercutting the boss to rise a few rungs up the ladder. Keeping people motivated with drugs didn’t exactly help matters either, if the Suns were any example to go by.
No, Pierre much preferred the dynamic he had built. Nix and Soren would do anything to protect him and in turn he trusted him with his life and his club, but nothing more. That was the bare minimum they required to put him on a pedestal and thus that was all he would give. Neither of them knew a lick about his background other than what was strictly need to know- which was almost nothing.
"What are we looking at?" Pierre leans forward to sweep the papers littered over his desk to the side, revealing a blown up map of the city. Color coded splotches indicate who controlled what, the purple of the Wolf Suns dwarfed by the orange outlining the Daggers territory, which was well over half the cramped metropolis.
Hastily drawn dots mark out locations of his clubs and warehouses, all places Pierre kept tabs on in order to keep on the up and up. A star marks the Paragon, his official place of business in the heart of the seediest district in the city, surrounded by strip clubs, run down apartments and sticky bars. Most decent people shied away from those ten or so blocks, deterred by the high crime and frequent violence. But what others ran from Pierre ran towards, determined to make a name for himself and make stacks of money while he was at it.
Like most things in his life, it hadn't taken him long to climb to the top of the food chain.
"They're poking around here," Soren says, jabbing a finger at a rarely used safehouse a few miles west of the Paragon. It conveniently bordered the Suns territory, making it a prime target for their supposed expansion. "One of the bartenders noticed someone with their ink brooding in a corner a few nights ago, and again last night."
"They're sure it was a Sun?" Their insignia was unique and prominently displayed, a tribal style head of a wolf with open jaws chasing after a spiraled sun on the member's forearm.
"I checked the security footage. There's no doubt. The question is, what are we going to do about it?"
Pierre leans back and folds a leg over his knee. "What do you suggest?"
"We've already made it clear that they're not welcome," Soren starts, brows knitting together as he hunches over the map. "They haven't listened. Our best bet would be to cripple them before things get out of hand. Nix and I can grab one of them when they try getting into the club tonight, which I'm positive they will, and send him back with a message that Ramos won't soon forget."
Pierre hadn't been sure about Soren when the man had been recommended to him by his financial advisor. Initial impressions indicated a soft spoken, reserved man and that wasn't the sort that usually survived more than a few months. Soren had pleasantly surprised him though, quickly earning praises from Pierre's inner circle and netting him a spot further up the chain of command in no time.
"You're turning out to be quite the strategist. I'll accompany the two of you tonight. You've got until dark to iron out any kinks in your plan and get Nix up to speed on the operation. Until then, don't bother me."
Without another word, Soren snaps a picture of the map and leaves. Pierre's mind churns with the information he has been given. The Suns sniffing around his clearly defined and defended territory threw a wrench in his plans; he couldn't focus on eradicating drug dealers from his territory if they were knocking at his door.
If only his mother could see him now. She wanted him to be a lawyer of all things. Instead, it had taken him years to build up a hefty portfolio of owed favors that allowed him to carve out a sliver of the arms trade.
The Paragon had been his by the time he was twenty two. His success skyrocketed once he closed his first deal with the Irish, to the point that now ninety percent of guns on the street had ties back to him. The other ten percent belonged to those who would like to usurp his throne and steal his fortune for themselves.
Pierre's feet carry him to you on autopilot, the door to your shared room swinging on squeaky hinges before he realizes where he stands.
The melody of your voice carries in the large space. "That didn't take long."
"Soren knows what he's doing." Pierre flops on the bed face first, his still healing wound protesting with the soft impact. "He and Nix are taking care of our little problem."
You pop your head in from the bathroom, your freshly washed hair dripping on the marble. "Are you free to grab lunch with me then? I wanna do some shopping after but we can drive separately if you want."
"I'll go with you," he answers, sitting at attention. Having to flake on you last night bothered him and he wanted to make it up to you. "Why don't you come here so I can have my appetizer?"
Eyes rolling, you disappear back into the bathroom to finish getting ready. "I took the liberty of picking something out for you on the off chance you decided to join me. It's hanging in the closet."
Pierre purses his lips but says nothing as he pads to the closet and slips into the carefully selected outfit of tight light gray slacks and an equally fitted black button down. He rolls the sleeves past his elbow and leaves the top button undone because the combination of the two drives you crazy, essentially guaranteeing that you would pounce as soon as you saw him. His eyes snag on the array of jewelry situated on the shelf above your shoes. Fingers dancing over his choices, he plucks up a thinner gold chain and clasps it around his neck.
He rubs a hand over his jaw. There was no time to shave his too-long stubble unless he wanted to incur your wrath for making you late for whatever place you had undoubtedly reserved for lunch.
"Can you help me with this baby?"
"Help you with whhh-” Words fail him when you step into the closet in a skintight black dress, the fabric flowing over your curves like the liquified night sky and stopping mid thigh. Threads of silver catch the light, making you shine brighter than a diamond. Gifted red bottomed heels click across the hardwood, a purely selfish indulgence on his end; he had seen them in a window a few weeks ago and ordered three pairs for you immediately. He would have you in those heels- nothing but those heels- by the end of your little lunch date.
Too ensnared in drinking in every inch of you, he nearly misses your huff of annoyance. "Don't even think about telling me to stay home."
"What if I bribe you?"
"Not a chance." You place your hands on your hips, widening your stance. The weight of your gaze paired with the finality of your tone makes him feel like the prey in this little arrangement, the newborn rabbit being stalked by the far more experienced hunter. If anyone else was standing before him, making him feel small and insignificant, he would strike like a cornered cobra. But with you… relinquishing control was normal, expected even.
He had long since stopped caring, giving in to the bliss of this back and forth game you played. He pretended he held the power and you would promptly snap back with something that put him right back in his place.
"Y'know, I'm amazed that I'm capable of doing this."
"Doing what?" God, he could scarcely think around the urge to pin you to the bed and yank that dress up around your middle and simply have you whatever way he wanted. You wouldn't complain- except for the fact that you'd miss your lunch.
"How I can make one of the most powerful men in the world..." He can only stare as you saunter towards him, every step slower than the last until there's mere inches separating your chest from his heaving one. You leave him hanging there long enough that he forgets that you had been speaking, his focus wholly on the closeness of your bodies and restraining the urge to close the gap.
Your mouth twitches upwards. "To the sort of man that would do anything I asked of him, up to and including getting on his knees for me."
He's not sure if you intended it to be a command or not but he follows through anyway, knees sinking into the plush carpet. He doesn't stop to think about what it means that he's willing to do it without hesitation- he's already in deep enough. He gave up the last bit of his resolve when he asked you to marry him a month ago.
You hum in approval, threading your fingers in his hair and tipping his head back so your eyes meet.
You tap your fingers under his chin after a few moments. "As much as I love seeing you like this, we have plans."
"Fucking tease," he mutters, rising and motioning for you to spin so he can help you zip the sinful dress. He was already painfully hard and the knowledge that you'd drag this out as long as you can doesn't help matters.
"Figured I had to take advantage, seeing as you've been so busy lately. Play your cards right and I might even let you have a little fun when we get home."
Gripping your hip with his free hand and molding himself against you, Pierre's completely shameless about admitting how something so simple has him so off kilter. Pierre’s fingers linger at the nape of your neck once it's zipped, snaking around the front to encircle your throat and guide your head back until it rests on his shoulder. You wait patiently, staring up at him with blatant trust and adoration, submitting yourself to him as he had done to you moments earlier.
What he wouldn't do to kiss you stupid until your lips swelled under his teeth. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, mon amour.”
“Who says I don’t intend to follow up?” Accentuating your point, your feather-light hand slides up his inner thigh.
“Keep this game up in the car and see where it gets you.”
“Well then, are you going to escort me or do I have to do it myself?”
Pierre glides a hand over the swell of your ass before he offers you his elbow. You offer a mock curtsey before your slender hand grips his bicep with an appreciative squeeze. When in his presence you never have to touch a doorknob and today is no exception as he guides you to where the Acura awaits. His hand is back on yours the second his racing harness is buckled, moving your coupled hands to the gear shift.
The engine rumbles to life behind your heads as he pushes the start button. "Care to share where we're eating?"
"Tony's," you say simply, putting it in first. "Get moving pumpkin, our reservation is in an hour."
**********
The rosy blush that settles on your cheeks is only partly due to the heart-pounding speeds Pierre had reached in order to get the two of you into the heart of the city on time, and more so due to the fact that he had a hand between your legs for the majority of the ride.
By the time he parks at the curb, the waitstaff that aren't scrambling to prepare a table for the two of you open doors and follow the barked orders of the restaurant’s owner.
Tony’s was one of the few restaurants Pierre felt comfortable enough at to take you to on a somewhat regular basis. The owner’s daughter had been saved by Pierre in a manner similar to how he had saved you, minus the falling in love bit. Tony was forever thankful to the Frenchman and made sure to keep any prying eyes away whenever he came by for a visit.
The intimacy of the low lighting and warm glow of the lit candles was one of the things Pierre knew you loved about the place. The music was one of his favorites. Soft notes ring out from where the pianist sat playing pieces from the carefully selected library of sheet music Pierre himself had set aside to be brought out when he visited. Each one brought to mind a specific memory he had with you, from the time you'd kicked his ass at Playstation to the first vacation you'd taken as an official couple.
What could he say? He was a sap when it came to shit like that, because it never failed to make your eyes light up when you recognized the tune.
A vase of tiny blue flowers add a splash of color against the white walls and plain tablecloth, two glasses of a deep red vintage poured and waiting. Everything was just as he expected, props to Tony for that.
"Our usual," Pierre says to a passing server who nods and hurries off to the kitchen. Pierre doesn't miss the way your eyes linger on his throat when he speaks.
"Where's your mind wandered off to?"
"Hm? Oh, nowhere it hasn't been before." You take a sip from your glass and slide your bare foot up Pierre's leg. You had made a promise after all and it would seem you intended to keep it, not that he was complaining. "I'm more interested in where yours has been the past few days. I've hardly seen you."
"Just some minor shit going on around the club," he offers by way of explanation. "Nothing I can't handle. Soon enough I'll have it swept under the rug and I can get back to sweeping you off your feet."
"You already do that every day."
"Flatterer," he murmurs, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. "Your necklace is stunning, by the way. Wherever did you find it?"
"Oh this old thing?" You skirt your fingers over the diamonds lying at the hollow of your throat. Pierre had bought it for you while he was on business in Ireland, having seen it in a window display and immediately purchased it. He hadn't even looked at the price because it didn't matter, he knew it would compliment you perfectly and it would mark you as his. "A mysterious man gifted it to me. He sure was handsome. Shame that he was engaged."
This little game you played drove him mad. He loved when you toyed with him, flirting like the two of you were no more than college kids at a bar hunting for a quick lay. "Hmm, smart man to recognize you as something special. Something… striking."
"I never did get his name," you muse, forcing your foot between Pierre's knees. "But boy, what a fucking catch."
"Please, do tell me more about this generous stranger."
You hum, resting your chin in your hand. "It was his eyes that drew me in. Bluer than a frosty winter morning and hotter than a flame. And his jaw?" You let out a low whistle. "Ugh. Rough cut and dusted with a soft stubble that I couldn't help but imagine scratching between my thighs." By now your toes were pressed lightly to his half hard cock, only serving to feed his desire.
"Did you ever find out how it felt?" Pierre brings your hand to his jaw and drags your knuckles along it. "Because I would be more than happy to show you."
"Come to think of it, he did kinda look like you."
He was so fucking close to snapping and launching himself across the table to brand your skin with his lips. He holds himself completely rigid because if he moved an inch, he would be on you, would crash his mouth to yours and slide a hand between your legs and wouldn’t give a shit about scandalizing anyone else in the room. Somehow he managed to keep the cap on his lust tightly sealed but god, all it would take was a word to unleash him. "I'd be more than happy to be a stand in."
"That would be great." You tip your head to the side, your hair falling forward over a shoulder. "One question though, how are you in bed?"
"Oh mon amour," he purrs, dragging out the r, "I don't let up until you're screaming my name like it's the only thing that'll save you. I'll show you heights of pleasure you didn't think possible, guide you to highs that leave your legs shaking while you gasp for air and beg me to let you catch your breath. Which I won't, of course, instead I'll dive back between your thighs until you're screaming my name like it's the only word left in that pretty head of yours."
Your tongue flicks over your lips, leaving them glossy and perfectly biteable. "That's quite the statement. Are you confident you can live up to that hype?"
"I'm not done." Pierre would serenade you all afternoon just because he fucking could. Let someone try to interrupt him; he'd send them on a one way trip to the middle of the ocean.
He rolls his tongue between his teeth, taking his time letting his gaze slide over your body. Your dress left nothing to the imagination, painted on and taunting him to leave it in a shredded pile at your feet.
"Are you gonna stare or are you gonna make your point?" Your words are punctuated by rolling your ankle, brushing your toes over his cock. A muscle in his jaw ticks, the only indication to the outside world of how worked up he was.
"Anxious, are we?"
"Did i mention i'm not wearing anything under-"
That did it.
Pierre clamps a hand around your calf, pinning you in place. "I'm not sweet and slow. I don't make love. I'll have you on your fucking knees for me in front of all these people, my cock in your mouth until your eyes are watering and you're begging for me to be inside you. I fuck, sweetheart, and I don't stop until I get what I want."
"Why don't you take what you want?"
And he would have, he really fucking would have bent you over that tiny table right there in front of everyone and blown everything out of the water, concequences be damned- if it weren't for the phone ringing in his pocket and shattering the spell.
Pierre was going to throttle whoever was unfortunate enough to be on the other line.
You sigh, dropping your foot and taking a long sip of your wine. You flourish your hand, a silent command that he answer.
Pierre digs his phone out and gives your knuckles one last apologetic kiss. "What?"
"Jenny got jumped," Soren starts. Pierre has to wrack his brain until the name strikes a cord. Jenny was one of the bartenders who worked the Paragon, a nice enough girl that didn't ask too many questions.
"She was leaving the Paragon last night and a couple Suns cornered her on her way home and got her good. Waited on the steps all night until the openers came by an hour ago and found her. She's shaken and bruised but overall okay."
"Jesus." Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and leans back heavily. Alright, that's how Ramos wanted to play this. That was fine, Pierre was perfectly capable of fighting dirty. He wouldn’t let the attack on an innocent bystander, guilty only by association, be the victim that paid the piper for his own fucked up crimes.
"They left her with a message." Soren pauses and there's a shuffling on the other end. "Hand over the territory east of the river and produce a quarter million worth of product for Ramos or next time they'll leave a trail of bodies."
"He won't get a fucking cent," Pierre growls before he can catch himself. You set down your fork and reach for his hand, simply wanting to offer the comfort of your touch. Pierre pulls away, earning him a sour look.
Ramos needed to stay in his fucking lane. Who was he to think that he could come to Pierre's city and make any sort of demands of him? Pierre had crawled his way out from the sewers and earned what was his. It would be a cold day in hell before he handed over an inch to some nobody who simply killed his way to the top with no regard for the consequences, regardless of whether or not Pierre had accidentally taken out one of his dealers.
They were a dime a dozen anyway, it wasn't like it required any training at all to pick a corner and sell drugs. Ramos had likely already replaced the man Pierre had killed, so this wasn't truly about recouping losses. This was an attempt by Ramos to gain the upper hand, exert himself over Pierre and slowly chip away at him until the Blood Daggers were weak enough to be taken out by a final death blow.
Good thing he had already seen one club delve into drug-induced chaos. Pierre didn't intend to let it happen to his own.
"We almost grabbed one of them though-"
"Yeah. I'll find them." Pierre snaps the phone shut and shoves it back in his pocket before fishing out his wallet and leaving a thick stack of bills on the table.
You remain seated, stubbornly refusing to stand when he does. "Everything okay?"
"Non," Pierre says sharply, the single French syllable betraying him. "Come on, I'm taking you home.”
Where I can be sure you're safe, he doesn't dare add out loud. Because if a bartender in his employ had been fair game, who was to say you weren't? This restaurant was too public, contained too many variables out of his control. Any one of these people seated around you could have ties to Ramos. Neither of you had been particularly discreet, obviously flirting and stealing touches over your wine. A kindergartener could put the pieces together and determine how much you meant to him from the past five minutes alone.
Fucking stupid of him to have brought you here when a shitstorm was brewing.
"We haven't eaten-"
Disobedience in any other circumstances was something he tolerated from you. But now, when the blood boiled in his veins and his mind was dreaming up scenarios of you screaming for him not in pleasure, but in pain as someone held you down and took a knife to your skin in search of information? No, it was intolerable.
"For once just listen to me," he says, exasperated. His accent grows thicker with every word, tipping you off to the fanged beast slowly gnawing at his insides.
You cross your arms, stoic in your determination to fight side by side with him against whatever was gunning for his heart. "Stay and have lunch with me. Let's work through whatever it was Sor or Nix said that's clearly caught you off guard."
"I said let's go."
You blink rapidly, like each of his words were a pebble striking you between your eyes. He recognizes the look, remembers seeing a shadow of it on your face those first few weeks he knew you. Almost immediately guilt flashes through him. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, taking a moment to rein himself in. "Please just get in the car. Don’t fight me on this."
"Okay," you say finally, tentatively accepting his outstretched hand. Yours is cool and soft where his is hot and rough and it's all he can do to keep from tucking you against him to shield from any prying eyes.
He hates the rapidity with which he's losing control over the situation. The voice in the back of his head nags at him to apologize to you for simply trying to help but he's too focused on the task at hand and keeps his mouth firmly shut.
Pierre can feel your stare burning into his skull as he leads you out as fast as he can without drawing too much attention and helps you into the passenger side of the Acura. After a split second of hesitation, Pierre leans down to press his lips to your temple.
The way he lingers a heartbeat too long undoubtedly gives you further insight into his head space. Pierre didn't care. You needed to know that he would protect you. He'd do everything in his power to prevent you from succumbing to the same fate as so many others that had implanted themselves in his life.
He'd get it right this time.
"No one touches you but me," he rasps absently, a hand cupping your jaw. "No one fucking touches you."
"Pierre?” His name is a low whisper on your tongue, nearly carried away on the muggy summer wind. Your voice shakes- fucking shakes- when you gather the nerve to continue. “Baby, you're scaring me."
"Everything will be fine, I promise. I just have some shit to take care of, alright?" He smooths a hand over your hair, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. "Je t'aime, mon amour."
Your fingers fist in his shirt, drawing him closer until your foreheads touch, the gesture one of forgiveness for his earlier behavior. "I love you too."
Ramos had better enjoy his last few days on earth, because Pierre was coming for his head.
**********
Ramos really needed to teach his cronies basic combat skills. For the second time in as many weeks, Pierre had plucked one of his guys right off the street with barely a scratch to show for it. They made it too easy to find them with the swaggery way they flashed their tattoos and blood money. It took the fun out of it.
Soren tugs on the metal chain tied around the nameless Sun’s wrists, leaving him dangling a few inches off the ground. They had been down here for hours already trying to drag a confession from the man. Turning it up a notch was required if he hoped to have this over with any time soon.
A swift right hook to the man's jaw leaves Pierre's knuckles buzzing. "You sure you don't wanna tell me where your boss is holed up?"
The man spits blood in Pierre's face but Pierre doesn't flinch. "Fuck you, pretty boy."
Dramatics would do nothing to help the man's situation. "Right, thank you for that insight. Simply lovely."
Pierre wipes his hands on his shirt. It was already ruined beyond saving anyway and you were probably already asleep, which meant he could slip upstairs and change before you noticed the blood.
"Soren, show him how the Daggers treat our guests. Give him the star treatment."
"You got it." Soren pulls a cart topped with a number of blades and weapons towards him. Never let it be said Pierre didn't provide his people with an orchard of options.
Pierre spins on his heel and heads for the stairs. Soren would get the information he desired and in four short minutes Pierre would be clean and have you tucked in his arms, protected and none the wiser to what had progressed a few floors below.
"Ramos knows about her," the man taunts, halting Pierre's ascent. "He knows what she is to you. He'll take what's yours, it's only a matter of time."
Thank fuck for the years of experience Pierre had at repressing his emotions and keeping his face blank. In that moment it was the only thing that kept him from stumbling at the man's words. He was bluffing. He had to be.
Pierre forces a bemused look onto his features. "Knows about who?"
The man half laughs, half wheezes. "Your little fiancée. The cars you lot drive don't exactly blend in. Makes it too fucking easy to follow you. Everyone knows about your little lady, no matter how slick you think you are."
Fiancée.
The world drops out from under him at the word, sending him into a fiery tailspin. It was bad enough if Ramos knew of your existence but if he knew you were to be his wife? It was as good as hanging a blazing neon sign around your neck.
Kidnap me and infamous gun runner Pierre Gasly will hand over the keys to the kingdom!
"So? Why does your boss care who I sleep around with?" There was no point in denying it, not with the rock on your finger that would only serve to confirm the story. His only hope was that he could downplay how much you meant to him.
“Because it will get Ramos what he’s after. He takes what’s yours and you’ll give up what he really wants to get it back.”
Ice settles in Pierre’s veins. He should have been more careful, played his cards closer to his chest because he knew this would happen eventually. He couldn’t keep you locked up like a princess in a tower and he had been okay with that when he had no reason to worry. But now, when your name was uttered in the same breath as an implied threat? Un-fucking-acceptable.
Pierre crosses the dim space and selects the dullest blade from the tray, examining it under the yellowed fluorescent bulbs. "Ramos wants what's mine, does he?"
"Give him the money and this all goes away." Pierre had to give the man credit. At least he seemed to possess a shadow of bravery. Not everyone he stared down could keep their voice from quivering.
"All goes away," Pierre repeats, turning the blade over in his hands. "Doesn't that sound like fucking rainbows and sunshine."
A voice- your voice- echoes in Pierre's head. Quickest way to a man's heart? Between the fourth and fifth ribs.
He would not fail you. He would not attend another funeral and watch someone else he loved be lowered into the damp, dusty earth.
His hands move of their own accord, jamming the blade home. Blood pours over his fingers in red rivers but he keeps hold of the shaft. The man's mouth hangs open, the light slowly ebbing for his eyes.
Pierre leans in, making sure his voice was the last the man would ever hear. "Ramos can't have her."
He waits until the last ragged, wet breath passes the man's lips to step away.
Pierre hated the feeling of blood on his hands. The slickness of it made his stomach churn; it felt far too natural and right.
"Clean this up," Pierre orders, lethally calm. Fuck Ramos. Fuck himself for starting this shit in the first place, for having an honorable streak and trying to do the right thing for once by killing that fucking prick of a drug dealer. He should have known it would come back to bite him in the ass sooner or later.
Pierre doesn't wait for a response before climbing the spiraling stairs from the basement to the second floor, stealing down the hall and creeping into your shared room. The door clicks shut behind him and he turns to find you staring at him.
So much for sneaking in unnoticed.
"You didn't have to wait up for me." The moon was already high in the sky, the waxing crescent casting shadows around the room.
"Yes I did." Your eyes fall to the dark stains on his clothing, the color draining from your face. "Is that-"
"Not mine."
"Thank god," you whisper, setting aside your novel and crossing the space separating you to throw your arms around his neck. Straining on your tiptoes, you attempt to kiss him but he turns his cheek. You drop your arms like his skin singed you.
"I don't want that bastard's blood on you." It was half true at least. He needed time to think. "Let me clean up and I'll take care of you."
“I can help,” you offer, deft fingers already working at the button at the collar of his shirt. Pierre steps back, hating himself for the way your face drops. “Fine, I’ll wait here.”
Your eyes follow him until he rounds the corner and your line of sight is broken. Slick fingers made unbuttoning his shirt far more complicated than it needed to be. Figuring it was ruined anyway, Pierre rips it and sends buttons flying. The hand he drags through his hair leaves red streaks behind.
He manages to wait until the shower is started to let his facade crack. “Fuck,” he whispers, staring at his shaking hands. God, what was wrong with him? He had watched the life bleed out of countless people and he hadn’t batted an eye. But what was simmering in him now wasn’t rage, it was born of something rougher and more possessive. It coated his tongue with slime and made acid rise in his throat.
Fear.
Pierre needed you and yes, he was fully aware of how weak it sounded to finally acknowledge it. Without each other, it wouldn’t be right. Like a bird without wings or a car with no tires, there would be no point trying to exist without you at his side. No amount of money could fill the void that would be left behind in your absence.
The longer he stares at himself in the steamed-up mirror the more he comes to realize how fucked he is. He had brought you into this, made you love him and wormed his way into your life in such a way that made it impossible for one of you to live without the other. The lifestyle he lived was one steeped in danger, one that meant you were always in the line of fire.
Pierre had promised you forever but that meant risking your life every single day. People would jump at the chance to use you as leverage, just as Ramos apparently intended to. He wouldn't let it happen. He would keep you under house arrest if he had to, anything to ensure your safety.
“Pierre?” There’s a note of caution in the way you say his name, something he is grossly unaccustomed to. “You’ve been in there awhile, are you okay?”
“Fine,” he calls back, not trusting his voice to remain stable if he utters more than a single syllable.
The pause before you speak is heavy and unsure. “Do you need me?”
The irony of it makes a laugh bubble in his gut. “No.” The lie drips from his lips with startling ease.
“I love you,” you say softly, and Pierre can hear the question in it, recognizing his reluctance to be truthful but allowing it to slip by. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Pierre takes his time stripping out of his slacks, depositing the ruined clothes in the trash and stepping into the shower. The hot water works at the flakes of blood clinging adamantly to his golden skin, wedging its way under the crescents of his nails and stubbornly refusing to be washed away. He scrubs at his hands until the skin is tender and pink and no trace of his interrogation remains.
Even when every inch of him is clean and dry, he still feels filthy as he wraps a towel around his hips. He exits the bathroom to find you waiting with a fresh pair of joggers folded in your hands. You sink to your knees and wordlessly help him into the warmed fabric, kissing your way up his thigh until you meet his hip.
“Come lay with me,” you murmur, and Pierre isn't at all surprised that you knew exactly what he needed. He pulls you to your feet and you automatically rise on your tiptoes to kiss him. He lets you this time, doesn't pull away or hesitate, instead surrendering himself to you.
Guiding you onto the bed, he hovers over you but never once breaks the kiss. There aren't enough words in any of the languages he speaks to tell you what you meant to him, so he did his best to show you. He slips a hand under the hem of your shirt, calloused hands scraping over your skin.
“You don’t have to,” you say with the same softness from earlier. “We can just lay here, that’s okay with me.”
“Please,” he murmurs, “I need-” He breaks off, resting his head on your shoulder so you can't read his expression. His actions seem to tell you enough though, your hand coming up to cradle his head so gently that he almost breaks.
“Okay. Okay, baby. Whatever you need.”
Your understanding leaves him in near shambles. He hides it with another searing kiss, hungry and searching as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. The kiss is a claim, a brand, and a promise all wrapped into one. A claim to convince himself you wanted him, a brand to mark you as his, and a promise to never let anything happen to you.
“I trust you,” you murmur when his lips trace along your jaw. The words are a blessing, setting the caged beast in his chest free.
A thought intrudes on his dedication to unravelling you. Is sex really love? Is it enough to prove to you what you meant to him?
Pierre forces the questions from his head because what else would there be? How else could he possibly communicate that you held his life in your hands and he would give anything to keep it that way? Saying it wasn’t enough; words had never been sufficient in portraying what he needed them to. He had always found actions to carry far more weight and to require incredible effort to twist from the truth.
Red marks bloom along your shoulder where he nips and sucks at the fragile skin. The breath stutters in your chest when his teeth graze your collarbone, his fingers tightening on your hip in response.
What if she leaves you too?
Pierre can’t bring himself to breach the line in the sand drawn by the collar of your shirt. It seems wrong to push for sex when his mind is battling itself like this, struggling to determine what was truth and what was a lie.
You clock his hesitation in a heartbeat. “What’s bothering you? And don’t say nothing.”
Refusing to defile the place you slept with talk of what was happening two stories below, he lets his eyes slide shut. Turning his head, he rests his cheek on your chest and wraps his arms around your middle.
Having you in the cage of his arms, your body shielded by his above, served to remind him that you were safe and whole. Pierre despised vulnerability, sought it out within his club and ripped it out by the roots when he caught the merest whiff of it. The love he felt for you was the only vulnerability he allowed himself, the singular indulgence he granted his blackened heart.
Love led to trust, trust led to acceptance, and acceptance led to laying one’s secrets bare for another to judge and depending on the other person to not turn those secrets into arrows in an arsenal of truths. Pierre had bled every last drop of dependency out of himself after losing everything he cared about in the space of two years. He wasn’t keen on the way it had since seeded itself in him once more.
The hand stroking his hair is his only tether to reality. Pierre clings to it, hauls himself above the writhing ocean and seething foam threatening to drown him and follows the sound of your heartbeat back to the present.
A soft humming reaches his ears once he's grounded himself. It takes him a startlingly long time to place the familiarity of it- a nursery rhyme from his childhood. One of the few good things to stem from the earliest years of his life. You stumble over the French his mother used to so eloquently sing, botching the pronunciations until the only way he recognizes it is to dredge the lyrics up from the depths of his memory.
His mother was the only one who ever got it right.
He's wide awake when your breathing evens out and your hands have stilled. His mind still runs a mile a minute. He thinks about you and the physical need to keep you from harm. He thinks about Ramos, with his bloody hands and powdered sugar nose. He thinks about his mothers smile and warm banana bread fresh from the oven.
Pascale would hate the man her son had grown up to be.
Pierre gives up on pretending to sleep.
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