#charles stole the sweater

[grandprix-ao3]

pierre/charles + sweaters 🫶❤️ (bc pierre looked far too good in his latest AT line drop for our collective well-being)

"Charlito, have you seen my—" Pierre stops short as he's emerging from their bedroom, tongue newly heavy in his mouth. Charles is lounging on the sofa, wearing nothing but boxers and the stupid, black-and-white striped sweater Pierre is looking for, and it's—he looks stupid-good; in that he looks good, and it's making Pierre stupid.

Charles—in all his impish, tight-grinning glory—pulls the sleeves down a bit more over his palms, knees tucked up to his chest. "It is very soft," he says, like that's a fair defense. "And it's not my fault you left it on the floor, smelling like your stupid cologne."

[strawberrysainz]

holocene. charles leclerc

charles leclerc x fem!reader

“ a quiet last day in london with your boyfriend, except, you’re not leaving with him. ”

a warning — angsty, suggestive, use of profanity. NSFW: SMUT. don’t read/interact if you’re under 18!

word count: 3.1k

i am terribly sorry for how slightly devastating this is. i was listening to bon iver and holocene just made me start bawling and remember this day (it is not entirely fictitious, after all… the artist is true, except i’ve never had the honour of meeting him; though his art lights up nearly every home around my home town.)

The soft sounds of a nature show in the background made her eyes close sleepily while Charles held her; the mid morning light shone through the windows, and she had a sudden urge to stand up. He stared up at her as she stood there indecisively, staring off into space, a kind of stupid smile on his face.

“Let’s do something today. Let’s go get lunch.” She said with a nod, and he raised his eyebrows, casting a glance to his suitcases that stood there on the wooden floor. “Okay.”

He got up, holding her, kissing her cheek softly, and they stood there for a second. “What do you feel like? Where do you want to go?” His voice was hoarse, sleep still coating it from their lie-in, and she followed him to her bedroom.

“There’s a really cute little restaurant down the road that does such good burgers.” She said, slowly undressing to pull on other clothes, and he had that strike of desire he always did when he watched her embrace her most intimate state - and he bent down to meet her gaze in the mirror, leaning to kiss her neck softly.

“You look beautiful.” He said softly, and he meant it, watching her put on makeup.

She blushed, and leaned up to kiss him, slowly, passionately.

He smiled, eyes sparkling with something she had yet to memorise: “You’re making this very difficult for me, you know that?” giving her a long, slow kiss, hands on her hips.

She broke away, bashfully. “Oi. I want burgers,” and laughed when he pouted.

He laughed then, unable to stay pretend-mad at her for long. “Fine, fine.” His tongue slipped on the words, a normal occurrence due to English besting him at times. She giggled as she pulled on a sweater, patting down her hair. She swatted his ass as she found a purse from the depths of her cupboard, and he rolled his eyes playfully as they left her apartment, going down to her car.

She slid into the passenger seat, patting her well-worn leather of the Fiat. He followed, starting the engine and pulling out of the position on the street. “What do you want to do after? A movie?” He glanced over at her playfully.

“You’re in such a movie mood this weekend.” She giggled, and continued. “But there’s an exhibition at some gallery in town of an artist from my home town - could we have a quick look?” He shrugged. “Sure.” (He didn’t really care what they did; he just wanted to spend time with her in her element.)

She leaned over then to stroke his thigh, comfortably, and as he did an excellent parallel park that had her nodding, impressed - she gasped when he got out and pressed her against the car, kissing her quickly, and when he pulled back, he grinned with a hint of mischief.

She laughed, leading him to the front door of the restaurant. “You look lovely today, did I mention that?” He said cheekily, hand on her waist, and she told him to be quiet, blushing as the waitress greeted them.

They ordered burgers and chips, and she studied the decor while he stared at her, memorising her face. He slid a hand up her leg, looking at her cheekily when she narrowed her eyes. “Stooop.” She groaned, fighting back a smile.

Charles grinned and moved in closer. “I think you like it.” He teased, voice lowering, and her mouth dropped open - the waitress returned with their food - and she thanked her, trying not to flush at his rough voice.

He leaned over and stole a chip- she in turn stole one of his. They grinned at each other.

💌🎨☕️🎶

They were walking to the Tube station, trying to figure out the best way to get to this obscure gallery, and a few people stopped to ask for a picture with him, but he never stopped holding her hand (much to her embarrassment, but also, delight).

His hand gripped hers as they stood on the escalator, smiling at a fan who called over to them, and they waited for the next train, getting on and miraculously getting two seats open next to each other. They slid into the seats, and their legs brushed as he pulled her comfortably into him.

“Tell me more about this guy.” “The art,” he expanded as she gives him a confused look, and she nods. “So back home -“ she got that wistful look on her face like she always did when she spoke of her home country, much like he did -“There was this pretty famous artist who lived in the town where I went to school. I took you one day for lunch and that ice cream when we went to visit a few months ago?”

He pretended to know exactly what town she was talking about.

“Anyway, this exhibition is basically his whole life’s work. He’s just this old guy. But his paintings are so, so vibrant and colourful. They’re in a lot of my parents’ friends’ houses.” He thinks about the paintings when she speaks, nodding, and leans back against the wall. The lapse in conversation makes her take out her phone, carrying on reading.

He takes a peek at her screen, and watches her peaceful expression, and squeezes her hand still holding his lightly.

“What’re you reading?” He asks, thinking back to the stacks and stacks of books lining her apartment.

“It’s translated from French -” she smiles when he instantly becomes more interested - “And it’s about this woman who’s like, fascinated with funerals.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“It’s intriguing.” She says instead, and his lips try to say the same word, the sound of his heavy accent distorting the word, and she snorts, “She’s kind of on a quest to be constantly positive. She’s very likeable. I don’t know why she likes funerals so much yet though.”

He nods thoughtfully, his fingers still entwined with hers. “She’s trying to find purpose in something others find sad.” She stifles a giggle at his enthusiasm to try and engage. It’s sweet. “I’ll make a literary nerd of you yet.”

(Unbeknownst to them, the woman opposite is recording, and it will go viral on Twitter and TikTok later, but neither of them will care because they were so terribly happy in that moment.)

He giggled softly, his heart swelling with warmth, and gently strokes her hair, lost in the comforting silence and the harsh yet low light and the peaceful rhythm of their breaths.

She looked up to check when their stop is - not for another three - and contentedly pressed her lips to their joined hands while she continued to read. His eyes closed, breathing even, enjoying her touch. “It’s been a while since we had something like this,” he thought out loud, thinking of the preciousness of the moment. She nodded, thinking back to when last they were able to sit down and slow down in public, not for an hour or two and then him having to fly to another country - well, it kind of was - stealing hours away in their apartments.

“We could try and do it more often,” he said, but it was more of a wish. She looked up at him adoringly. “I know.”

He leaned down slightly, their faces close enough to feel each other’s breaths. His eyes locked onto hers as he spoke softly. “Just think of what else we could be doing in these quiet moments…”

She quietly gasped. “Charles!” He chuckled softly, unable to hide his amusement. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips trailing along her jawline softly. He leaned in even closer, sharing this moment with her.

The sound of their stop being announced interrupted it, and there was a hint of sadness on her face as she looked up at him.

He reluctantly pulled back, and followed her, filled with longing to stay on this train for as long as they could. As they walked, he quietly declined photos this time, because he senses she’s a little upset. They walk up the stairs, up into the light, and she pulls out her maps app to find which way they should be going.

Charles walked beside her, his hand slipping into hers instinctively, offering reassurance.

💌🎨☕️🎶

At the gallery, they enter and the woman at the front has her accent too - presumably because of this exhibition - and she gasped with delight, leaving her heavy heart behind, letting go of his hand to hug her, and he watched them interact while some people stared at him curiously.

His smile brightened as she started rambling on about her connection to this guy. He couldn’t help but have a sense of warmth for how animated she became around her roots.

She pulled back then, and wished the woman a goodbye, starting to look at this man’s life, from beginning to end. Charles leaned in close, his arm brushing against hers as he studied the paintings. He couldn’t help but be drawn to the presence she currently exuded - the warmth, the joy to be there. She studied a particular piece and gasped. “We had a copy of this at school! It’s a famous street in town.” She pulled out her phone to take a picture, fondness coating her expression.

He listened intently, his eyes scanning the painting as she spoke. The image of her, taking in this same art as she did now, made him wish that he could’ve experienced this with her then too. She held on to his arm, feeling oddly emotional, and they continued on, laughing at some sculpture.

His gaze never left her, his touch comforting. He savoured this moment - holding on to her, this feeling of being completely at home.

She reached to clutch her chest as an old man with graying hair came up to them. She let out a little breath that Charles recognised as one of awe - it had to be the artist.

The man recognised her accent and they hugged for a moment, and he could see the emotion in her eyes as they fell into that language he heard snippets of every now and then, and he envies this guy for a moment, conversing with her in a language he was desperate to learn, to know to be closer to her, and he can tell she’s going on about how precious this all is. The artist reached out to shake Charles’ hand, and with a quick correction from his girlfriend he falls easily into English.

His heart beating a little faster, he accepted the handshake and held onto it for a moment more than he thought he would. He listened to their conversation, determined to learn more about what made them come alive in such a way that made him wildly jealous. She swats his arm so he offers to take a picture of them, eyebrow raised at her fangirl behaviours, and he captures the moment of sheer joy.

The artist moved away, to greet other patrons, and she looked up at him in delight, with unspoken love. He couldn’t help but feel terribly drawn to her in that moment, their connection deepening.

“I love you.” She says, not quite believing what’s she’s just said - for the first time - and his breath caught. He reached out to touch her, to hold her hand.

She looked back at him, a tentative little smile on her face. His heart raced. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers.

“I love you too,” he said huskily, filled with emotion.

She kissed him softly, briefly, trying not to draw attention. His eyes flutter closed as their lips met, tenderly, passionately. Despite her attempt to keep it short, he cradled her face with his free hand, and his heart pounded as they pulled apart.

💌🎨☕️🎶

On the way out, they’re gifted with a quick sketch on some scrap paper - an old ticket? - by the old man; it’s of them, holding closely on to each other, staring at a painting. Her hair cascading and his shoulders broad - and now she’s fighting back tears as they study it together.

He gently wraps his arms around her, kissing her forehead softly, eyes brimming with tears he tries desperately to keep in. They leave after thanking the artist graciously, holding on to that picture tightly. “It’s perfect,” he whispers as she snaps a picture of his fingertips holding on to it. He slips it into his pocket, love radiating from his every pore as he looks at her.

In her head she thinks, we could show our kids that one day, and that makes her burst into tears, and his heart aches for her, pulling her into his arms. “It’s okay, my love.”

“I don’t want you to go tonight.” She says pitifully, and he rubs his hand up and down her back. “It’s alright,” he soothes her. They find a bench in a nearby park, and she tries to calm herself down, but the impending idea of him leaving for two months makes her cry even harder.

He murmurs something comforting as he wipes away her tears with his thumbs, caressing her face. The tender expression on his face makes her still, staring into his big eyes. “Today was so lovely. But darling… I can’t stand not seeing you until the end of the year.” She sniffles.

His heart ached as he pulled her in tightly, holding her close. “But you’re always with me, my love.” He pats his heart, and her tears slowly stop.

“You know, when we met, I never thought that someone could come into my life and make me love her so much to the point where I would do anything for her. But now…” he says softly, “But now that you’re here I can’t imagine living without you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Stop being so fucking sweet. I’ll cry again.”

He laughs. “I can’t resist the opportunity.”

She scoffs and hugs him again. He held her tight, heart beating wildly with love and desire, and trailed kisses down her jawline. “Fuck. I miss you so much already.”

She bit her lip.

💌🎨☕️🎶

“You know what would make me feel better?” He says, as they walk into her apartment building’s lobby, tracing a circle on her hipbone, “If you just text me every day. Even if it’s just to say hi.”

“Of course I will!” She looks at him, indignant. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head.

“What time do you have to go?” She said softly, and he stared down at his watch as they walked into her apartment. “Two hours,” he said softly, and she stared up at him with an expression in her eyes that made him shiver.

She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him, languidly sliding her hands along his neck, lips parted as she pulled away.

A desire prompted her to slide off her jersey, and his eyes were dark as he moved to pull off his clothes. She slid off her top, standing just in her bra, and he let out a sigh as he traced her collarbone, kissing her easily.

He slid the sketch out of his pocket and left it on a side table as he was left in his underwear, and she was pulling off her skirt and tights so they stood there on the wooden floor, desire coating their faces.

The sight of her nipples pressing through her lacy bra made him groan, and he felt himself hardening as he kissed her neck, sucking it that made him satisfied to pull away from with the knowledge that his marks would still be left for the next few days.

She felt herself heat up, her thighs clenching as he pressed her down onto the couch. He kissed the valley between her breasts as he slid off her bra, and she whined deliciously as he sucked her sensitive nipple. Kissing down towards her stomach, he slid off her panties, exposing her wetness to him, staring up at her needy face, biting his lip and feeling terribly turned on.

He tentatively began to press his nose into her pussy as he began to lick her, and she was making sounds that had him a little shaky, his thumb tracing tiny, light circles on her clit while she moaned in pleasure.

She stared down at him, hands laced in his fluffy hair, and she could already feel how wet she was, rutting a little into his face which made him groan.

His desperate eyes made her nod, so she sat up while he took his aching cock out of his boxers, and her lips parted a little as she stared at the look of need on his face.

She leaned in to kiss him, his one hand pumping his cock and the other rubbing her nipple, and she arched into him as he pushed into her. Their eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and she began to ride him, them both letting out little moans, and as he began to hit certain spots inside her she was pleading for things she didn’t know, her head everywhere but no where, feeling herself edge closer.

“So fucking hot,” he breathed, and tried to kiss her but they both moaned loudly at one particular stroke, so they just kept going, him becoming faster and his fingers pressing at her clit; she felt deliciously warm and desperate to cum, so she rode him a little faster, their hips rolling in unison, and she let out little sighs as his fingers began to circle her roughly, clenching him so he moaned.

“Cum for me,” he breathed, and she grinded against him, expression contorting to one of pure ecstasy as she began to reach the edge. He stopped for a second, becoming still, and she nearly screamed with protest, and with a smirk he let her continue. “Brat,” he whispered, and she let out a moan.

They breathily began to cum together, her breaths becoming erratic, his thumb making it nearly impossible to think.

As he came inside her, thick and warm, she came, shaking on his cock. “Fuck,” she whispered, and they were lying there, enjoying the pure pleasure of their bodies together.

💌🎨☕️🎶

“Goodbye, mon amour,” he breathed, and her messy hair and just her in a sweater of his made it so much worse. “Love you.” She said hoarsely. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly against him. He took a deep breath.

He pulled away slowly, gazing into her eyes. Her eyes followed him as he turned to leave. He took a last look at her, and stepped out the door.

💌🎨☕️🎶

liked by f1laura, twogirls1formula and 12,879 others

f1waglife charles and his new gf out in london today!

see all 387 comments

author’s note: let me know your thoughts. like, reblog, show me some love in the comments. love u. i’m glad to be back. 💋

[1donoow]

MCU FANFICS REC Pt.1

[Fanfics i've read]

edited

......

♡ - smut

Mostly fluff

......

Peter(pietro) maximoff

erik lehnsherr

warren worthington

alex summers

Scott summers

Kurt Wagner

Jean grey

Druig

Loki laufeyson

Bucky barnes

Peter parker

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

@weasvlys - NSFW headcannon

@takenbypeter - Is the big spoon when cuddling

- Gives the other “the look” when they crossed the line

- Spends WAY too much time in the snack aisle while grocery shopping

@chiefdirector - Being in a Polyamorous relationship with Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr would include...

@gangrenados - valentine's day with them

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Peter(pietro) maximoff

@quickiesgirl -the night the klepto stole your heart

@takenbypeter - text message emergency

- have no fear peter is here

- look me in my eyes

- peter w/ an s/o whos too nice

- snack shopping

@m0chaminx - Instagram au

@devilgenics - headcannon

@spilledkauffie - cuddling with them

@softie-rain - opposites attract

@quicksilverownsmysoul - ___

@damnnnelliot - sleeping with pietro maximoff would include

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

erik lehnsherr

@fanfic-galore-ig - headcannon

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

warren worthington

@absolutelyfizzing - angels and demons

@m0chaminx - Instagram au

@spilledkauffie - cuddling with them

- NSFW

@mrsarnasdelicious - first kiss

@tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik - fluff alphabet pt.2

@definitely-not-v - meeting and falling inlove with warren would include

@gangrenados - ___

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

alex summers

@starshipsofstarlord - summertime

@m0chaminx - Instagram au

@spilledkauffie - cuddling with them

- NSFW

@mayfieldss - dating alex summers would include

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Scott summers

@refiwrites - taking care of drunk scott summer

@m0chaminx - Instagram au

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Kurt Wagner

@definitely-not-v - Warm

@peachy-wolfhard - dating kurt wagner

@maximoffs-girl - having a family w/ kurt wagner

- dating kurt wagner would include

- arcade date with kurt

@refiwrites - is that my sweater?

@rubystarpoet - nightcrawler

@dem-obscure-imagines - nightcrawler and the princess

@gabrielsgoldengrace - being a burlesque dancer and kurt seeing a show would include

@thefandom-fanatic - drawing hearts

@spotofimagines - blue

@youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms - you can do this i believe in you

@fandom-------queen - headcannon

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Jean grey

@m0chaminx - Instagram au

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Druig

@sapphireplums - break time

@starsvck - somewhere only we know

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

Loki laufeyson

@weasleygirl7 -Glorious purpose

@bonky-n-steeb - the flower crown

@agentofkrypton - ___

- ___

@takenbypeter - you make it better

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

bucky barnes

@takenbypeter - keep your friends close

- b.b

·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·

peter parker

@parkersmaterialgirl - headcannon

@yesitsmewhataboutit - 1:10 am

@realtalkswithfinn - the spiderling(avenger!reader)

[gaslysgirl]

omg the recent charles photos🥵 What would it be like to photograph him or even model with him... I would die

Omg please I’d die in both scenarios 😩

When Charles introduced himself to you, your hands were already itching to place them on his strong shoulders, on his chest or loop your arms around him. All for the pictures, of course. His charming smile and his hand shaking yours firmly had caused the fire to pool in the pit of your stomach already. Dressed in fishnets, stiletto’s and a short, leather skirt with atop of that a knitted sweater, you got ready for your first shoot with Charles. He was instructed to sit down and you had to stand, next to that it was all up to the two of you.

Instead of putting you in awkward positions, you could find out yourself what you’d prefer and what not, making sure there would be chemistry and administration reflected in the pictures. And god, the chemistry was there. Charles grew warm under the touch of your hands on his shoulders as you effortlessly posed behind him, leaning on him, draping your arms around him to tug on his shirt. It was time for an outfit change not much later, and Charles was struggling to keep his eyes to the camera when you were wearing a cute dress now, Ferrari red coloured, your legs draped over his lap when you posed on the sofa.

He was blushing a little, his jaw clenching and you stole little looks from each other between the clicks of the camera. You dared to kiss his neck, leaving a lipstick print on his skin which the photographers loved. The shoot ended way too soon for your feeling, but luckily Charles showed up at your dressingroom to take you out for dinner 😌

[safetycar-restart]

hi shels! i'm back :) i'm so sorry for what happened, knowing how amazing you are as a person, your friend didn't deserve you. i hope you feel better :(

so soft christmas bunny!!!

i have this really strong feeling that bunny LOVES christmas and holidays in general. he loves how he can get so cozy with you and pierre, he loves baking xmas cookies and snack, watching xmas movies with you and most of all - decorating the xmas tree with you!

as soon as he woke up on december first, of course he has to shake the two of you awake, and just whisper-yell "mommy! pierre! it's december! we need to get the tree out!" with the biggest, cutest smile on his face. how could you resist him?!

you're rubbing your eyes with a smile on your face, stretching your hand to stroke pierre's hair and then to pull charles into a small kiss. "okay, chop chop, pear! you heard bunny, we have to get the tree out!" you say, climbing out of bed, with charles who is hopping up and down and squealing like a teenage girl over her highschool crush. charles runs right after you and pierre, on his way to be a helpful bunny and help you drag the tree out.

(charles definitely prefers actual, natural trees instead of artificial ones, so the three of you already picked out a tree few days prior.)

bunny got the ornaments out, all ready to decorate in the soft sweater he stole from pierre and his sweats. while pierre was adjusting the tree, you decided to get on top of charles on the floor and tickle him, he was the reason you felt so energetic today. you straightened up as he put his hands on your thighs, and you decided to put on a reindeer headband of him and take a quick polaroid of him smiling widely undernesth you, having the time of his life. pierre, of course, loved it, and the photo quickly ended up in your phonecase.

pierre got the xmas tree ready, and bunny wasted no time in getting started with decorating. he actually takes it very seriously, he takes his time and is very organized, he likes the tree to look good, not like you just threw some random red balls on it and said "merry christmas!"

you and pierre were basically his helpers, his elves, handing him ornaments as you gave up trying to put them up because bunny would just place them somewhere else. but as long as he was happy, you didn't mind.

few minutes later, bunny calls pierre over, just says "pierre! i need to put up the star, come here!" which was pierre's sign to lift charles up enough so he'd be able to put up the star. the tree was tall, so you couldn't fight him on it. pierre lifted him up on his shoulder and charles put up the star, clapping and giggling to himself at the final product.

when pierre put him down, charles wrapped him into a hug and kissed him, before running over to you on the couch to do the same. you kissed his cheek, praising him. "good job, bunny! the tree looks so good!" and he just smiled, knowing it was true.

the three of you cuddled in front of the tree and under the xmas lights in the living room for the rest of the night, under a big fuzzy blanket and sweet xmas cookies made by chef charles himself. he's truly never felt happier and merrier.

- 📓

Oh my god this is next level cute?? I love how we’ve all independently decided that bunny loves Christmas. This is just so adorable I love this so much thank you so much 📓 anon!!

Firstly, of course charles loves the holidays!! They’re always so warm and cosy and he can gather everyone he loves together and it’s just the best. I also think he loves Christmas because he loves giving? He gets more pleasure out of watching others open their gifts from him than he does from actually getting gifts himself.

He just loves any excuse to bundle up his loved ones and keep them close for a few days (omega Charles has been known to herd pack members into nests and not let them leave).

And of course he loves decorating the tree!! He loves anything to do with spending time with his two favourite people, and Christmas trees are so pretty!! (You guys absolutely go look at Christmas lights together by the way, it’s one of Charles’s favourite holiday activities)

So the moment it’s December first…. It’s Christmas tree time!! Usually getting Charles out of bed early is near impossible, but when it’s time to decorate the tree then he’s the one waking you guys.

He always wakes you first actually, even if he’s in Pierre’s arms, he’ll wriggle out and wake you first. Cause you’re his mommy! There’s no way you could ever be mad at him being needy, and sometimes he worries that Pierre will be upset if he wakes him (it’s a stupid worry, but a worry nevertheless).

So he wakes you and you smile and give him a forehead kiss and tell him to wake Pierre. Then he can absolutely wake Pierre because now he has mommy’s permission!! Pierre can’t be mad now, he’s doing what mommy said!!

Pierre puts on a whole show of acting like having to get up is so terrible but he’s smiling the whole time so you know he’s just being a little shit. And Charles knows too. He laughs and pushes Pierre out of bed, mumbling about how Pierre must get up immediately for Christmas tree decorating or else Charles won’t kiss him for a whole day!! (It’s a bluff of course, all of you know that).

So you’re all up and in comfy clothes, with mugs of tea (you ans Charles) and coffee (Pierre), to start decorating the tree.

You and Pierre used to try and help Charles actually put the decorations on, but you quickly gave up with that because Charles is VERY particular about where the decorations must go. You and Pierre have tried very hard to understand his methods and neither of you can work out how he chooses what to do put where.

So instead you hand him ornaments and provide him with forehead kisses and tickles. And yes, this is undoubtedly a job that doesn’t need three people, but none of you are gonna miss out, and Charles won’t do it if you all aren’t there? If you’re away, then he’ll wait until you’re back because his mommy AND his Pierre must be there to decorate the tree.

And of course Pierre must lift bunny to put the star on the tree!! Yes there is a step ladder downstairs that they could use but that’s not nearly as fun, and bunny always wants to be carried by Pierre anyway.

You watch you two boys from the couch, watching Charles ask to be lifted and how Pierre kisses his cheeks before doing as he asks. They’re both smiling to wide, giggling as Charles has to stretch to get the star on the tree. And then Pierre is quickly lowering Charles for kisses.

Charles comes bouncing over to you, eager to hear what you think of the final product and squealing when you say it’s pretty and tell him he’s done a good job. He jumps on your lap, squirming and smiling and kissing your cheeks and jaw because he’s just so happy!!! Pierre joins you on the couch, kissing you properly and then joining you in petting the bunny on your lap.

You eventually relocate to the fluffy rug under the Christmas tree, looking at the ornaments and sharing Christmas stories from your childhoods and cuddling up together.

Bunny is truly so happy.

[thepavementsings]

k my beloved 🥺❤️ you know im only good for piarles BUT for a little holiday hc™ to make you smile: i think pear and sharl would elope during the christmas/holiday season 🫶 although it's partially (see: mostly) because they're both kind of a mess when it comes to christmas (terrible at gift giving ideas even though the end result is always good, constantly clashing w their interior decoration ideas, neither can cook, etc etc) so it gives them one (1) year of reprieve before having to return to real life. they compromise on location: charles wins in that they tie the knot in monza, pierre wins in that they exchange vows in a teeny tiny church on the outskirts of town, and no one is there but them. (they're gonna hear it from pascale and pascale later but it's fine, they'll do something big and gaudy eventually) <33 they exchange rings the day before christmas eve and charles insists on spending their first real married day™ walking around in ugly sweaters ("i can't believe i agreed to this." - pierre "you're the one who married me 🥰" - charles) and then stay up all night until christmas day dawns. and pierre says something devastatingly catholic but still so romantic as day breaks on their little hotel room sanctuary, and charles tucks their ring-clad fingers together (ALL the rings. it's kind of a wild image) and kisses pierre's knuckles and just crushes the breath right out of him. the little fake tree they stole from the hotel lobby the day they arrived catches the light perfectly. they're husbands now. on the holiest day of the year.

of course, it works out horribly in the long run bc anniversary + christmas is HELL on gifting ideas, especially bc they're both a lil stupid, but it's ok because they're corny and would be all over that shit anyway.

(ily bestie 🥺❤️🫶💖)

"pierre says something devastatingly catholic but still so romantic" you GET IT. you get it.

In a teeny church on the outskirts of monza... you can see breath between them when they're laughing... and you KNOW they get back for new years and the Pascales can tell immediately what's happened.

oh this made me smile!!! thank you phoebe 🥰

[professorxsmokesweed]

do you think Raven has ever stolen Charles' cardigans?

okay so as an older sibling myself i can answer this in complete confidence and say yes. i have never know a group of siblings that have not stolen each others shit at some point in life!!! unlike me tho, charles is simultaneously luckier(?) and unluckier(?) in that raven’s style does not match his so when she steals his clothes it is not for fashion/going out purposes and instead when its too cold in their flat, or when shes doing something and doesnt wanna get her own clothes dirty. winter time he has to keep an eye on his stuff cause otherwise raven will steal it when she’s going sledding and bring it back completely soaked through and in desperate need of a wash

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[study-coffee-chicago]

One Chicago thoughts tonight:

Med:

-WILL YOU DUMBASS IT WAS NATALIE WHO STOLE THE DRUGS AND IF HE GETS FIRED I’M THROWING HANDS (But, Torrey’s leaving, so I’m assuming she tells Goodwin)

-If Will leaves I will probably stop watching med oops

-I need Crockett saying “oh honey c’mere” as a sound bc I never knew I needed Crockett’s soothing voice until now

-April missed her interview, so she doesn’t get the nurse practitioner position at Med and that’s how they end up writing her out

-CHOI GETS SHOT NEXT EP???? WE DEALT WITH THIS WITH DR. CHARLES IN S2. GIVE US A BREAK AND MED NEEDS BETTER SECURITY FOR S7.

Fire:

-KELLY PROPOSED WITH A RAGING FIRE BEHIND HIM AND I FUCKING CRIED. GOD I LOVE STELLARIDE

-CASEY FINALLY TOLD BRETT HE’S IN LOVE IN WITH HER. NO MORE DANCING AROUND FEELINGS HALLELUJAH

-IF BODEN LEAVES 51 I WILL BE A TRAINWRECK NEXT WEEK

Who am I kidding? I’ll be a trainwreck anyway bc Natalie and April are leaving Med, so I’ll cry during both med and Fire next week

PD:

-First off, Voight looked really old in this ep, just saying.

-MILLER DON’T YOU DARE BRING UP JUSTIN

-Thank God Kevin told Darrell to shut up when he did

-Random but I really want Hailey’s teal sweater. It looks comfy af

-SHE’S 14

-DARRELL TRIED TO SAVE HER SO FUCKING FIND HIM YOU GUYS

-It’s snowing in the ep so I think this is the ep they were filming when Jesse posted that Instagram story when he said “Bring a light spring jacket they said” and it was snowing

-NOOOOO DARRELL

-Sergeant Jay vibes with team alpha

-KIMMMMMM

-TO BE CONTINUED GOD DAMMITTTTTT

-Worried! Adam next ep

-BUT YOU WRITERS EXPECT ME TO WAIT A WEEK???? YOU COULDN’T HAVE JUST GIVEN US A TWO HOUR EP FUCKING HELL

[bwoahtastic]

hey quags !! got any headcanons about which omega make the what type of nests and which betas/alphas like to lie in them??

I do, here goes nothing 👀👀

Max: makes very soft, extra fluffy nests with a lot of padding, and a lot of blankets to cuddle under as normally a lot of people cuddle up with him. Most frequently he has Dan, the rbr boys and Lando in his nest, but also Charles will sneak in there sometimes hshs

Kevin: very neat, with firm borders and pretty colours🥺 will somehow have personalised pillows and blankets for the others so everyone can be as comfortable as possible 🥺 He can spend hours on perfecting nests and won't allow anyone near before he deems it perfect. Pretty much everyone wants to use his nests, but for sure Nico and Romain are always on the short list jsjs

Lando: messy little nests with random items like towels and sweaters he stole from other people's rooms nsjs. He isn't very clean with making the nests but they are soft all the same and always smell good. The nests are often really small so it's mostly just for Lando, but he's known to someone shove Alex and George or Max and Dan in there too if he's needy jsjs

Sebastian: the most perfect little nests ever, he'll literally do laundry with special fabric softener before even starting his nests. The nests are massive and he just builds around the others so they all have perfect little spaces in there jsjs. Charles definitely will dive into his nests as soon as he can, and all the young drivers love to cuddle with Seb and get some comforting words from him🥺

Lewis: very colourful nests, uses sweaters and blankets from pretty much every team. Will also wheel tv screens over so all the youngsters can watch TV or play videogames. His nests attract a lot of people but mostly the British rookies, they always want spooning from the honorary pack dad👀

Charles: messy as hell, literally just throws blankets on a heap and yeets himself in there like a dog in a pile of leaves jsjs. He means well though, and he would be eager to please so definitely Seb, Max and some of the others will lay with him when he makes a nest - which Is already rare.

George: makes amazing pillow forts, that are structurally sound and everything. Definitely hangs fairy lights too and just makes a whole show out of it. Who wants to be in his nest? The question is who doesn't they would just spend pack nights in the nest hehe

Pierre: fluffy little nests he's a bit shy about. Definitely arranges and rearranged everything constantly to try and make an impressive nest. Everyone loves his nests though, they are comfortable and safe and Dany sitting in it or nearby it like a bodyguard is added safety (and when Dany plays guitar it helps even more). So dany would definitely be in the nest, as well as the rbr guys and Charles.

Yuki: little nest leech, only really sleeps in other people's nests jsjs. In the rare occasion he makes a nest its just him rolling himself in a blanket like a burrito. Literally everyone will cuddle up close to him tho, so many parental instincts over such a soft little Omega who talks nonstop

Antonio: uses a lot of luxury fabrics like silk and 100% cotton in his nests, and sprays a bit of perfume on there. Definitely keeps a lot of snacks close, which attract the other PackMates. He would often make nests for Kimi to fuss over the Pack Alpha a bit, and a lot of the younger pups love snuggling him because he is the best at scratching their hair 🥺🥺

Might have missed some but sorry!

[outoftimewriting]

Imagine (inspired by the incomplete fanfic Son of Underworld) (1/5) (Son of Hades!Percy AU)

Hey! Check the masterpost after reading this - there's a whole collection after :))

TW: Racism, anxiety, social isolation

Percy is a son of Hades

His mother was charmed by both Hades and Persephone, so he has the goddess' blessing.

Percy has deep black hair, and dark skin that's darker than the night. His eyes are like looking at the abysm - even so, a hint of green appears beyond his irises, the shade of Persephone showing itself slightly.

Every year, they don't go to Montauk: They go to a subterranean little house in the middle of the woods that Percy has no clue how his mother has money to afford renting.

His mother reads him the Hobbit - its a hole in the ground, with a little round door. He is sure he is a Hobbit.

Weird things happen to Percy. His eyes go all black one day and his mom freaks out. He explodes a bus. Once, he makes a mess of the Egyptian section of the museum he is in - he has no clue how.

People don't like touching Percy. Only his mom hugs him, and sometimes, Percy feels so alone he thinks he will someday merge with the shadows around him.

His ADHD gets worse every year, but misteriously, he can read anything if it's related to history. He is the best at history and geography and math.

He does math instinctively. He know earth, he feels the dirt in his fingertips and knows, he just knows.

He feels history being whispered in his ears by people that aren't there.

Percy goes to Yancy Academy. He is not a irredeemable case. No. He gets a scholarship on math. He never got a grade bigger than a E+ in English bc of his dyslexia, and he will never get more than a C- in Science, but he is good in math.

Pre-algebra is easy, and his teacher is kind. It's the first teacher that passes her hand in his head and say "Here, honey" when he misses home.

Professor Brunner is cool, but he feels uneasy at his presence. Like the man is just waiting for Percy to do something, and it doesn't help that, weirdly, Percy is not awful at Latin.

Nancy Bobofit picks on him once. She touches his skin, but it feels like touching something dead. She never looks at him again.

Grover is a good roommate. He is a good guy, a good friend, and they spend lots of time together. He doesn't creep Grover, no. They share a love for flowers.

He doesn't touch Grover. He is afraid that if he does, he won't have a friend anymore. Percy gets used to sweaters and gloves, all blue.

Because Percy may be a child of Hades. But he loves blue and soft tones of pink. He has soft sunset fluffy sweaters and loose washed-out jeans.

Percy is twelve when a guy in his class turns out to have only one eye and a javelin. His algebra teacher saves him with a black sword.

Mrs. Dodds, or Alecto, tells him everything. Or everything she can. She tells him he is in danger. She tells him there are powerful beings in the world. She tells him he is the son of one of them, but more than that and he would be at risk.

He sits through his finals earlier at her urging. Grover does too, and Grover sticks with him.

Grover is, perhaps, his only friend, and Percy is desolated to discover that Grover wasn't really his friend - he was just a guy, a satyr, tasked to protect him. Grover insists that they are truly friends, but his fatal flaw this time is holding grudges, and it takes a part of his heart.

He doesn't turn his back to Grover though. He is bitter, and he wants to punch him. But it still is everything he has.

Apart from his Mom. So they go talk to his Mom and get his things, and she cries at his shoulder and insists on going with them until the borders.

It goes badly. Sally "dies" in a flash that looks like thunder, by the hands of a Minotaur. Grover says Hades is sending his monsters after them - But Percy knows where thunder comes from.

Percy doesn't break one of the monster's horns - he breaks both, and carries Grover through the barrier, doing his best to not touch the satyr.

Nectar tastes like his mom's blue cookies. He cries after Grover leaves the room.

Mr. Brunner is Chiron. Alecto is a Fury. The greek gods are the powerful beings she was talking about.

Mr. D looks at him once, and for a second, pity flashes in his eyes. Most people forget that before he was Dionysus, he was Zagreus.

They play in silence. Percy doesn't make difficult questions. The blonde girl looks at him once, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she just closes it with a conflicted expression.

People look at him weirdly. Some regard the horns he stuck at his belt, some look at his skin with disgust (he heard it all before, the slurs). Some regard his soft appearance, and names are thrown, Demeter and Aphrodite and Persephone and Eros, and Percy want to scream and melt into the shadows.

He has a mother. No one knows his father.

He meets Luke. Luke is everything he aims to be - he shines with warmth, like a beacon. Percy doesn't touch him. He is afraid he'll drain him empty of light.

Annabeth and he are cold towards one another - the girl doesn't like his aura, he doesn't like her snobbish behavior.

He settles at Cabin 11. He doesn't mix up with the Ares children, he steers clear of Clarisse. He spends his time studying greek, listening to whispers in his ears, and trying new things.

Percy isn't very good with a sword - not one of them is well balanced to him. He is good with daggers - but horrible at close contact because he doesn't get very physical. He is okay with a bow, but it still isn't his thing.

He tries the spear - definitely no. The javelin? No. Mace? Too close combat, not enough balance.

Turns out his weapon of choice is a giant Warhammer, and sometimes a fierce-looking ax on the other hand, and everyone starts looking at him again, questioning and questioning.

Canoeing is not for Percy. Two minutes, and he got water sick. They are in a river for gods' sake!

Pegasi hate Percy. He doesn't try again.

He likes running with the dryads, and they like him. He likes the strawberry vines, he can make them look shinier, flowers bloom, even though he can't raise vines or produce anything.

He tries to deal with metal. He is good at it. The metal feels like water under his hands: he can do anything with it. Metal, stone, gems. He ignores the shadows curling at his feet, the flecks of green in the midst of the red fire.

Hephaestus, they say. He is not muscled like some of the other Cabin 9 children, but again, he is probably a legacy of Persephone or Demeter or some minor harvest god. He looks a little like Charles - it's not only the skin.

Everyone is willfully blind. Percy Jackson must be a child of Hephaestus. He deals with metal and fire, he put Clarisse on the floor with his Warhammer last week, and the girl was impressed instead of pissed. What if he likes the shadows a little?

Charles takes him under his wing, almost part of the cabin.

Percy uses a long-sleeved orange shirt under his camp shirt, being the sun, or rain.

He doesn't touch people, and everyone is used with each other's little quirks, so no one questions him.

Some Apollo and Demeter children steer clear of him like the plague, the ones who work in the infirmary, the ones that tend to the gardens and create life.

Some Apollo and Demeter children stick to him like glue, the ones that can sing someone to madness and induce sickness, the ones that destroy and kill.

Some children in his cabin still give him glances. Alabaster, Ethan, Clovis. They feel in him what's inside of them.

Luke is glued to his side. Luke basks on the power.

He burns food. To Hermes, for letting him sleep in the corner of the floor. To Dionysus, he is doing what he can, so far away from his dominion.

He doesn't burn food to his father. He burns it to Hephaestus.

He makes a silent prayer that he won't be an unclaimed child. He wants a family, he wants someone, anyone to come and be and love him because the only family he had is gone now.

In his dreams, he sees a somber man with a crown of bones, skin just like his. He sees a dryad so beautiful, she must be a goddess, with her pale green skin and hair like a thousand vines, flowers sprouting beneath her barefoot feet.

He confides in Luke about Alecto. The boy looks ready to explode of happiness, but Percy doesn't understand.

Percy stays unclaimed a month. Then Capture the Flag happens.

It's not a hellhound - this time? It's a sea serpent. A Cerastes.

They get the flag. Percy gets a helm of darkness over his head, a dark glow around it.

Luke thinks he is the only one who saw the sweet green glow behind it, the soft smell of pomegranates. He is wrong.

'Hades,' said Chiron. 'Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Underworld God'

Percy does not have a family. He does not have a cabin. Percy has nothing, and he is alone.

Not much changes. People steer clear of him. The only people he talks to are Annabeth, reluctantly on his part (even though she seems equal parts resignated and scared, like it somehow affects her), Luke, Charles, Alabaster and Ethan.

Some children of Apollo, Demeter and Hermes look at him curiously. Pollux and Castor spend more time in his vicinity.

A lot of gods are connected to the Underworld one way or another. Ares can call upon skeletons. Athena can drawn upon years of forgotten history. Aphrodite has a son in the second coming of Eros, so she knows - she knows - that before he was his son, he was a son of what is under even the Underworld.

Percy is afraid. He doesn't know his powers, what can he even do? Can he make the earth tremble, can he raise the dead, can he kill people with a touch? Or does his powers relies solely in metal?

He doesn't touch anyone. Not even through gloves - he has a jacket now.

Dionysus calls to him and offer to transform him in a pomegranate tree - but his mom is somewhere, and if he is capable of raising the dead, he wants her back.

The prophecy is the same, and their journey is not that different.

He doesn't think his father stole anything. But he might - who is Percy to know? The man has never once spoke with him. He doesn't know who his father is, and no one is giving him good impressions.

Their bus is exploded by hyperboreans, who, in the end, like all creatures who have ice in their hearts, answer to Poseidon.

They kill the Medusa. Percy sends the head to Olympus. They follow a poodle, but this time, the attack of the Echidna is not in an Arch. Is in the Chalk Pyramids in Kansas, and Percy falls off a cliff only for the earth to welcome him with open arms, as he raises an army of skeletons to do his bidding.

They still meet Ares. Percy swarms the aquatic park with skeletons - and it's the first time he tries shadow travelling. It works - but they end up, all three of them, in Wyoming.

At least now they can prove Wyoming is real.

He ignores the televisions. He ignores the stories. He ignores Gabe - because if there is someone he wouldn't mind strangling with his bare hands, it's Gabe.

Ares meet them there - their ride this time is an abusive circus caravan, and Percy sleeps the whole day of the travel, he doesn't even remember Ares or the suspicious backpacks. They free the animals and flee in Las Vegas.

The Lotus Hotel is much harder to resist this time around, seeing Percy sleeps what looks like two hours but feel like two days, but someone touches Percy, he freaks out and gets the three of them out of there (without shadowtravelling this time).

They pass Procrustes. They go to D.O.A. Percy insists - he has to do this alone. It's his father, his home turf.

Grover and Annabeth became loyal friends. They won't let him go alone.

They pass Charon easily. Percy keeps producing money everywhere - and Charon folds. Cerberus wants to play, and Percy plays with him. It's just a doggy. Percy vows to come back. Annabeth doesn't cry alone.

Luke's shoes betray him. He thinks that's the last betrayal of this mission, because it hurts somewhere deep in him.

The confrontation with his father is the worst. Hades has no regard for him. Calls him a liar, a cheater. Says he shouldn't ever have claimed him. That he stole Zeus' bolt for hubris, and his Helm for vengeance.

Alecto looks at him sadly. She knows he didn't do anything.

"You know nothing about me"

Percy shadow travels away with his friends. Its easier, in the underworld.

He fights Ares in the Mojave Desert instead of the beach. The god bleeds gold, and the helm is his.

"Tell my... my father, to expect my visit"

Alecto looks apologetic. He, although, is not.

He makes a sob story for the police. Is difficult, because people look at his skin and see a delinquent. They look at his skin and sneer, but Annabeth is just tanned, and Grover is a ginger.

Percy gives back the Master Bolt. Zeus looks like he would be better as a puddle on the floor - Percy disagrees.

Poseidon looks less - less angry, less probable of smothering him on the floor. He claps a hand on his shoulder, and it sounds like an apology (or the best he is going to get).

He feels tired. He goes back to camp for the last bonfire - but he isn't sure he is coming back next summer. Some people like him - but he hated being looked at and proded. He wants to see the Underworld. He wants to find his place.

He hates the Cabin 11. It's humiliating. It's degrading. Nemesis turns the tides of wars. Hecate controls the Mist. Morpheus can drive someone crazy - they aren't gods, they are feelings, things above nature, sons and daughters of Nyx.

He feels detached. Luke asks him to a walk.

Perseus hate some of the gods. Perseus hates Zeus, who took his mother. Perseus hates his father, who called him a liar and tried to deny Percy's place. Perseus hates that they don't have more cabins. Perseus hates that they have cabins for gods who don't have children.

But Perseus loves Annabeth, and Grover, and Charles. He has dreams - dreams of Persephone that mingle with his dreams about Kronos. He wants to meet her, even if she hates him.

He doesn't go with Luke, no. But he doesn't say no. He teethers the line this time - half his friends at one side and half at the other, and he wants to scream.

Alabaster and Ethan leave, and he doesn't blame them. Luke doesn't poison him, and doesn't blame him for staying. He probably thinks Percy is going to sway Annabeth, and he can't fault him.

He leaves a golden drachma in his hand - for him to call when he makes a decision.

And Percy truly doesn't know what it will be.

Zeus gives back his mother and Gabe is now a statue at Persephone's garden - but he holds a grudge.

Perseus is only twelve, when he discovers he is Percy only to his mother, Annie, Charles, Grover and Luke. To the world, he is Perseus, the one who destroys.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“2 Years For Robber ‘Got Only 75 Cents’,” Toronto Star. April 1, 1939. Page 2. ---- Glen Shafer Sent to Reformatory as Third Offender --- ‘WAS ON PROBATION’ --- (No. 1 Police Court at City Hall, Magistrate Gullen.) ‘You have had you chance before, and now you will go to the reformatory for two years less a day,’ said Magistrate Gullen to Glen Shafer. He pleaded guilty to a charge of house-breaking. ‘I have a job to go to,’ said Shafer. ‘I only go three shin-plasters.’

‘He has a record and was paced on probation twice in 1935 for house-breaking,’ declared Crown Attorney Fred Malone.

Detective William Simpson saw Patrick Flynn with 10 sweaters under his coat. Flunn, who had a record, admitted he stole them and was given two months in jail.

Wilfred O’Connell, convicted of receiving a stolen rifle, was given two months.

Pleading guilty of stealing 300 pounds of coal from a freight car, George Mitchell was sent down for 30 days.

William Valliere of 247 Rhodes Ave., is not the William A. Valliere mentioned in police court news yesterday.

“$10 For Assault,” Toronto Star. April 1, 1939. Page 2. ---- (No. 2 Police Court at City Hall, Magistrate Browne.) When William Thomas and Charles Dorland appeared for sentence on a charge of assaulting Terry Mazaris, Magistrate Browne fined both $10 and costs or 14 days in jail. Mazarais, who had also been held as a material witness, was discharged.

“Fined for Speeding,” Toronto Star. April 1, 1939. Page 2. --- (No. 4 Police Court at City Hall, Magistrate Prentice.) Batwell Ross was fined $15 and costs or 15 days for speeding.

John Campbell pleaded guilty to having liquor in the Club Esquire, and was fined $10 or 30 days.

Arthur Brash was fined $100 and costs or three months for having liquor in an illegal place.

“Cut Corners -- Fined,”  Toronto Star. April 1, 1939. Page 2. --- (County Police Court at County Buildings, Magistrate Keith.) Charged with being drunk in charge of a car and with reckless driving, L. J. White, was remanded until April 12 for judgement. Bail was set at $1,000. For cutting corners too sharply, Harvey Lee, 19, was fined $10 and costs for reckless driving. George Elliott and Herbert Isdall of Windsor, charged with having housebreaking tools in their possession, were remanded a week on bail of $3,000.

[tabloidtoc]

People, January 4, 2021

Cover: HGTV’s Ben and Erin Napier 

Page 3: Chatter -- Taylor Swift on teasing information about her life in her music, Carrie Underwood on the holiday gift from her husband Mike Fisher, Viola Davis on her 10-year-old daughter asking for an iPhone and camera for Christmas, Amal Clooney joking about how her writing a book affected her relationship with husband George Clooney, Halle Berry on refusing to go out with a friend’s past romantic partner, Tina Fey advising people not to go kayaking in the New York/New Jersey river 

Page 4: 5 Things We’re Talking About This Week -- Prince Harry and Meghan Markle start podcasts, Lily James and Sebastian Stan will play Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee, Rick Astley is never gonna give up his snacks, LeAnn Rimes wins The Masked Singer, a Whitney Houston biopic finds its diva 

Page 6: Contents 

Page 8: StarTracks -- following tradition members of the royal family have released their annual holiday cards and Prince William and Princess Kate’s three kids Prince George and Prince Louis and Princess Charlotte stole the show this year with the family posed on a bale of hay and matched in cozy sweaters for the shot which was taken in the fall at the family’s country home in Norfolk, England 

Page 9: For their card Prince Charles and Duchess Camilla picked a colorful shot taken in the lush garden on Birkhall which is the prince’s Scottish home 

Page 10: Carter Rubin won season 19 of The Voice marking Gwen Stefani’s first victory as a coach, First Look at Denzel Washington and Rami Malek and Jared Leto in The Little Things 

Page 11: Kate Hudson filmed a scene for Truth Be Told, Rachael Leigh Cook reprising her role as Laney Boggs in He’s All That with Addison Rae playing her daughter, Princess Charlotte of Monaco debuted a half-hawk hairstyle at the Monaco Palace’s traditional Christmas tree ceremony, Nick Cannon helped the Hollywood Food Coalition hand out 2000 meal boxes to people in need 

Page 12: Stars’ Furry & Feathered Friends -- Yolanda Hadid with some goats and a deer, Nick Jonas and Priyanka Chopra Jonas cuddled up by their Christmas tree with their dog Diana, Harrison Ford walking a dog in Los Angeles, Salma Hayek and her pet owl Kering 

Page 17: Scoop: Why Tom Cruise lost his cool 

Page 18: Little People Big World’s Jacob Roloff says he was sexually abused as a child by a former producer who worked on his family’s TLC series 

Page 20: Heart Monitor -- Tyler Perry and Gelila Bekele it’s over, Katie Holmes and Emilio Vitolo getting serious, Lana Del Rey and Clayton Johnson engaged, Gillian Anderson and Peter Morgan split 

Page 21: Felicity Jones on making a space epic while pregnant 

Page 22: Ryan Seacrest counts down to 2021

* Lizzo gets real about her body 

Page 25: America Ferrera’s laid-back holiday 

* How Sandra Lee is moving on 

Page 27: Passages, Why I Care -- Rainn Wilson wants people to know how global warming is affecting the Arctic and the world 

Page 28: Stories to make you smile -- a stroll back through history with cats, bringing holiday cheer to U.S. troops stationed abroad 

Page 31: People Picks -- Wonder Woman 1984 

Page 32: Dickinson, Wolfwalkers 

Page 33: Safety, Paul McCartney -- McCartney III, Q&A -- Questlove 

Page 34: On Pointe, Greenland 

Page 35: Promising Young Woman

Page 37: The year’s best books for kids 

Page 38: Cover Story -- HGTV’s Ben and Erin Napier -- family means everything to us -- they never aspired to be famous but now they’re HGTV’s biggest stars; how the Home Town couple stay grounded despite the spotlight 

Page 44: 25 Years Later -- Princess Diana’s Panorama Interview Web of Deceit -- forged documents and manipulation and paranoia: inside the stunning new inquiry into Diana’s famous TV sit-down 

Page 48: The COVID-19 Vaccines -- what you need to know -- the long-awaited vaccines are finally here; will they return our lives to normal? 

Page 50: Richie Sambora -- a rock star’s second act -- the Bon Jovi guitarist opens up about his really unpopular decision to leave the band and how he finally found joy in the love of his daughter Ava 

Page 54: Mystery and Heartbreak at a Texas U.S. Army Post -- Death at Fort Hood -- in 2020 dozens of soldiers at the nation’s largest active-duty armored military installation died by homicide, accident, suicide or unknown causes -- officials and grieving families wants answers 

Page 60: Isla Fisher -- my funny fairy-tale life -- the Godmothered star talks about movies, motherhood and how laughter keeps her marriage to Sacha Baron Cohen strong 

Page 63: Sabrina Bryan -- my baby girl is a warrior -- the former Cheetah Girls star opens up about her daughter’s terrifying battle with meningitis 

Page 66: Double Talk -- Kristen Wiig and Gal Gadot -- Wonder Women -- now playing super-rivals in Wonder Woman 1984, the stars chat about parenting during the pandemic and what they love about the 1990s 

Page 71: Paul Hogan -- Crocodile Dundee’s Wild Ride -- his hit 1986 movie made him a global sensation and now 81 the rugged Aussie looks back on the stardom he never expected 

Page 75: Winter TV Preview -- Elizabeth Olsen on WandaVision 

Page 76: Gina Torres on 9-1-1: Lone Star 

Page 77: Freddie Prinze Jr. on Punky Brewster 

Page 78: Ted Danson on Mr. Mayor 

Page 81: Beauty -- Feel-Good Beauty Finds -- start the new year on a high note with these pick-me-ups 

Page 87: Second Look -- hosts Julianne Hough and Tituss Burgess on Disney Parks Magical Christmas Celebration 

Page 88: One Last Thing -- Jon Hamm 

[anniee]

I was tagged by @formulola and @quiiinsblog (Thank you girls 🧡) to anwser 30 questions and then tag 20 blogs!

1. Name/ nickname: Annie

2. Gender: Female

3. Star sign: pisces

4. Height: 1. 53 (don't @ me I know I'm tiny as fuck)

5. Time: 10:42 am

6. Birthday: February 20th

7. Favourite band/group: Little Mix and one direction back in the days

8. Favourite solo artist: no one in particular. I like many artists

9. Song stuck in your head: no scrubs by TLC

10. Last movie: spotlight

11. Last show: Bridgerton

12. When did I create this blog: I don't actually remember. I know I have created the blog years ago but never actually used it. I started posting and stuff back in April 2019 I think.

13. What do I post: Mostly F1, F2 and F3 sometimes some motogp and football. But not that much.

14. Last thing I googled: the English title for the movie 🙈 for some reason they like to change the names of the movies here 😬

15. Other blogs: nope

16. Do I get asks: sometimes. I'd like to receive more cause I'd like to talk to more of you but I guess I'm not that funny 😂

17. Why I chose my url: it's just my name. I have no fantasy for such things. Basically I'm boriiiing 😅

18. Following: just 80? Really Annie? 🤦‍♀️ I have no clue why I follow just eighty people. I'm dumb. Apologies I love so many of you!! 🧡

19. Followers: 343 🧡

20. Average hours of sleep: can I skip this one? I have troubles sleeping so I guess when I'm lucky I manage to sleep 6-8 hours when I'm not I sleep for 4-5 and I'm acting like a zombie.

21. Lucky number: 3

22. Instrument: I'll use Charles' 1 (one) brain cell and say the triangle 😅

23. What am I wearing: red sweater I stole from my brother, black pants and boots.

24. Dream Job: working in a bookshop. 100%

25. Dream trip: I'd like to go back to London. Visit properly Brasil and not just stay at my aunt's place and I guess America, maybe Hawaii.

26. Favourite food: pasta, pizza (I wouldn't be a good Italian otherwise) a good feijoada and some other Brazilian food.

27. Nationality: Half Italian, half Brazilian

28. Favourite song: I don't know 😬

29. Last book I read: last book I finished is shatter me but I'm currently reading the wicked king

30. Top three fictional worlds: Harry Potter, Marvel and shadowhunters

This was super fun thank you girls for tagging me.

Tag: @helmetswap @limp-wrist-max @formulinosgirl @sadmonegasque @albonoo

Feel free to ignore 🧡