#commercial vinyl wraps

[highstreetwraps]

Vehicle Wrap Design

Highstreet Wraps offers custom vehicle wrap design that transforms your car, truck, or van into a mobile billboard. Our expert designers craft eye-catching and professional wraps that reflect your brand and attract attention on the road. Whether you need a full wrap, partial wrap, or custom graphics, we ensure a flawless finish that enhances your vehicle’s appearance and maximizes your advertising impact.

[louisvillecustomsigns]

Vinyl vehicle wraps are not just about aesthetics; they’re a strategic investment. By turning vehicles into mobile billboards, a business can increase its brand’s exposure exponentially compared to traditional advertising methods. The continuous visibility to a diverse audience helps build a broader customer base, which, in turn, enhances brand recall and ultimately drives sales.

[omahasignscompany]

Types Of Vinyl Signs You Can Use For Your Business In Omaha

Bring your brand to life with high-quality vinyl sign printing. From showcasing your logo to displaying essential business information, our printing services at First Impression Signs & Graphics can transform your ideas into eye-catching visuals. With vibrant colors and crisp details, your vinyl signs will stand out and leave a lasting impression on passersby.

[elitecustomsigns]

Turn Heads on the Road with Elite Custom Signs' Truck Wraps in Raleigh, NC

Ready to make a statement with your fleet vehicles in Raleigh, NC? Trust Elite Custom Signs for eye-catching truck wraps that demand attention! Whether you have a single truck or a fleet of vehicles, our expert team specializes in designing and installing high-quality wraps that promote your brand and leave a lasting impression.

[carwrapshouston]

How Much is a Car Wrap in Texas?

The car wrapping industry in Texas, particularly in its bustling metropolis, Houston, has witnessed significant growth over recent years. Not only does a car wrap redefine aesthetics, but it's also an ingenious method for businesses to advertise. But, what's the damage to the wallet?

The Popularity of Houston Car Wraps

Driving through Houston, one can't help but notice the stunning array of wrapped vehicles—be it flashy advertisements on delivery vans or personalized design masterpieces on sports cars. The culture of vehicle wraps in Houston is more than a passing trend; it's an expression, a marketing tool, and a testament to the city's evolving car culture.

Factors Determining Car Wraps Houston Pricing

While many ask, "How much to wrap a car in Houston?" the answer isn't straightforward. Factors such as vehicle size, the intricacy of design, and especially the quality of materials (like the renowned 3m vinyl wrap Houston) play pivotal roles.

A Look into Car Wrap Cost

Diving deeper into the car wrap cost Houston reveals varying figures. And, while you may come across offers for a cheap car wrap in Houston, it's crucial to understand that sometimes, you get what you pay for.

Specialty Wraps: Trucks, Vans, and More

Truck wraps Houston, for instance, might come at a steeper price due to their sheer size. Similarly, a commercial auto wrap Houston for businesses could be pricier due to branding complexities and the need for long-lasting impressions.

The Convenience Factor: Finding a Car Wrap Near Me

Isn't it more convenient when what you're searching for is just around the corner? This is the advantage of a localized service. With options like Houston vehicle wrap, locals can easily find quality services in their vicinity.

Delving into the Details of Car Wrap Cost Houston

A mosaic of factors influences the cost. However, with renowned services like vinyl wrapping in houston, quality assurance is a given, even if it comes at a premium.

Custom Auto Wrapping Houston TX: A Unique Touch

For those wanting to stand out, custom auto wrapping Houston tx offers a personalized touch, ensuring your vehicle mirrors your personality, albeit at varying costs.

Saving with Deals and Financing

Pricey wrap? No worries. Platforms like Bayou Graphics offer financing options, ensuring your vehicle gets the makeover it deserves without burning a hole in your pocket.

Showcasing Excellence: A Gallery Peek

For inspiration or just plain admiration, the wrap gallery showcases some of the finest work in Houston, proving that when it comes to car wraps, the city is leagues ahead.

Maintaining Your Car Wrap

With an investment in aesthetics, maintenance is key. Gentle cleaning, avoiding harsh chemicals, and regular checks can prolong the life and look of your wrap.

Conclusion

Houston's vibrant car wrap scene isn't just about the glitz; it's a blend of art, advertising, and personal expression. While costs vary, quality assurance from reputed wrap shops ensures value for every penny spent.

FAQs

How long does a standard car wrap last?

Typically, a quality car wrap can last anywhere from 5 to 7 years with proper care.

Is it cheaper to wrap or paint a car?

While wrapping is generally more cost-effective initially, long-term maintenance costs should be considered.

Can I remove my car wrap?

Yes, car wraps are designed to be removable without damaging the original paint.

Does car wrapping offer any protection to the car's paint?

Absolutely! A wrap can act as a protective layer against minor scratches and UV rays.

How long does it take to wrap a car?

Depending on the vehicle size and wrap complexity, it can take anywhere from 1 to 5 days.

[visualsignsandgraphics]

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Design Stunning Commercial Vehicle Wrap in Orlando

Your commercial vehicle wrap will represent your brand. Therefore, it should be branded and use your logo, color scheme, and fonts. You don’t have to limit yourself to these design elements, but you want other elements you bring in to match. That way, you’ll get a more cohesive design. https://visualsignsandgraphics.com/tips-to-design-your-next-commercial-vehicle-wrap/

[affordablesignandgraphics]

Commercial Truck Wraps and Graphics

Wraps help display business information uniquely and appealingly. They are also easily replaceable and will not reduce the resale value of your truck. Get in touch with affordable signs and graphics to purchase your commercial truck wraps and graphics.

[woburnsigncompany]

Customize your boring trucks into mobile billboards with truck wraps and graphics from Middleton Sign Company in Middleton. We make trailer wraps, food truck wraps, truck graphics, and much more.

[rocketwrapssigns]

Basics Of Truck Wrapping

Any type of car may be wrapped with images, no matter its length or form specifics. This is why truck wraps have won quite a little recognition recently as a modern and sensible shape of cellular advertising.

Vehicle wraps are very large. They may be used to cowl the complete truck with an advertising and marketing message. The truck wrap, similar to the conventional vehicle wraps, is manufactured from excessive exceptional vinyl due to the fact this cloth can assure the durability of the product.

Vinyl does an awesome task of withstanding environmental impacts. It is extraordinarily sensible, as well. The cloth is water resistant, and because of this, the truck may be washed without negative images.

Vinyl images can even face up to the impact of environmental impacts like severe warmness or cold. Exposure to severe daylight will purpose little or no damage, and because of this the truck may be left withinside the outside for higher visibility of the ad.

The printing generation is extraordinarily superior and it may be applied to create any type of design. Fancy or simple - it's miles absolutely as much as you. You can integrate all types of colorations and images. Adding textual content to the advertising and marketing message is possible, as well. The truck wraps can encompass cartoons, practical photographs, illustrations, and diagrams. In the arena of vinyl printing, the sky's the restrict and almost something is possible.

Vehicle wraps will price everywhere between 2000 and 5000 bucks relying on the dimensions of the movie and the complexity of the design. Most printing groups can have a rate of 1`2 bucks in step with a rectangular foot.

The cloth comes with a self-adhesive facet that enables the software of the vinyl wrap. It is likewise prepared with air channels that lessen the threat of air bubbles forming under the floor and affecting the exceptional of the wrap.

Although the way wherein truck wraps are hooked up is just like the software of conventional vehicle wraps, human beings who've no expert enjoy withinside the region are cautioned to are searching for the help of an expert.

Truck wraps can be hard to put in due to their length and the specifics of the truck. A professional setup could be very crucial for the durability of the product. In addition, you've got got a risk to get it proper. Instead of risking a first-rate mistake, you need to accept it as true with a tuning expert who will do the setup for you.

Once the wrap is applied, you may discover the upkeep system to be alternatively simple. You will clearly wash the truck withinside the conventional way. There isn't any want to buy highly-priced cleansing substances or to comply with a particular approach for casting off stains and dust buildups.

The vinyl movie also can be eliminated without inflicting any damage. They may be taken down by non-expert without negative paint or the floor of the truck.

The buy of the proper truck wrap and the proper agency to provide it for you may decide your delight with the product. Each printing agency makes use of a sure type of vinyl and a particular printing generation. The truck wrap is particularly highly-priced and also you want to make certain that you have decided on the pleasant specialists for the project.

Truck wraps have demonstrated the capacity to supply an advertising and marketing message efficiently. They are crowd-pleasing due to the fact they remodel the uninteresting look of a truck. The truth that excessive exceptional substances are normally applied withinside the manner will increase the durability of the truck wrap, making the funding really well worth it.

Conclusion

Wrapping your truck can be a big money saver, and it's an easy job to do. In this article we will go over the steps you need to take in order to wrap your truck correctly, so that you can protect it from the elements and look great while doing it!

[fleckcmscott]

Pillow Talk

Summary: While Y/N spends some time away, she and Arthur find a way to play.

Words: 3,992

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: This story stems from a request made by @jokerownsmysoul​. I really hope I got it right. 😂 Please enjoy, everyone! And thank you for reading! 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N's happiness at attending the Atlantic Legal Society's conference had rubbed off on Arthur. Made her upcoming absence worth it.

Often he'd tag along, see the sights while she worked. Check out clubs, sign up for open mics where no one would ever see him again. Low-risk refinement. But this week's jobs were too good to pass up, and Amusement Mile's opening day meant lots of families and plenty of tips.

He could hold down the apartment. Hell, maybe he'd even enjoy it. Pour condensed milk over frozen strawberries, smoke as much as he wanted, catch a movie on Gothamvision. (When their rabbit ears had required aluminum foil to get a TV signal, he'd convinced her cable was a dire need.)

He wrapped an apple in a paper towel, tore a banana from the bunch, and stuck both in her purse. A breakfast that'd tide her over for the three-hour ride to Baltimore. Stirring milk into her coffee, he side-eyed the oven clock. When the java was halfway cold, he made his way to the bathroom.

Toes flexed in annoyance, Y/N grumbled around her toothbrush. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You'll get there," he said, and took the hairbrush from the shelf. "Here, let me." He drew horsehair bristles through her untamed mane.

"Thanks." The foam in her mouth made it sound more like fankhs. She spat into the sink, rinsed and spat again. "I don't want to buy another ticket."

A soft scowl crossed his brow. "You shouldn't've had to buy the first."

"Well, you know my boss. He didn't think it was necessary, which is silly with the WARN act being passed. That kind of ridiculousness makes me want Phil to come out of retirement." She hung her robe on the door hook and jogged to the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. "At least they're paying me!"

Minutes later Y/N emerged, frazzled around the edges but smart. She straightened a ruffle at her collar, tugged the corner of her blazer. She wore her age and era with pride. She guzzled her coffee like an engine on empty, poured herself another and skipped the dairy. "I'll regret this on the train."

They dashed to the elevator, vinyl suitcase in his grasp, her hand hooked at his elbow. As the steel doors parted, he made a show of holding them open with his foot. A beam to rival the rising sun crossed her face. 

"Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied. The gesture made him want to lift her, spin around. They were running late - and she'd still taken a spare second to be playful.

God, how he loved her.

At this early hour, only a handful of Gothamites rode the subway. A guy sat in a corner seat. Sixty, gray stubble, wearing a flat leather cap. His outstretched arm held a wrinkled centerfold. Ms. December, judging by the Santa Hat, the sole fabric in the photo. A familiar friend that must've been in his pocket for a while.  

Y/N grasped the stanchion at the other end of the car. Arthur moved to stand behind her, a protective arm at her waist.

At every stop she inched towards him. Her round bottom nudged his thighs, her back grazed his chest. She smelled good, like the strawberries he'd eat tonight. He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, filled his veins with her scent.

A scarlet stripe bloomed from collarbone to temple, her ear a crimson shell. The corner of her mouth threatened to curl. Pink tongue darting to wet satin lips.

He squeezed her hip. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she said. An obvious untruth given how her neck tightened.

Suspicion slanted his stare. But he let it lie. For now.

Wayne Central Station was a Beaux-Arts beauty smack dab in the middle of modernization and commercialization. And it had far too many flights of stairs. After the ups and downs of finding the right track, they landed on thirty-seven, the platform for the commuter line.

"You know," Y/N said, steps slowing to an amble. "I bet there are clown conferences. You could learn to juggle."

His days of working with other clowns were long behind him. But the suggestion was sweet, so he smiled. "My hands are already busy. You're a handful."

She stopped at a concrete column and riffled through her purse. "I'll call you when I check-in and give you the room number. There'll be a direct line." Then her riffling escalated to a frantic search. Patting her coat, the inner breast pocket. Checking her bag one more time. Taking advantage of her distraction, Arthur reached into his jacket. Anticipation tickled his shoulders into a shrug.

"Oh no," she said. "I could've sworn I put my ticket with my credit card."

He reached as if to tuck her hair back. Pulled a green card from behind her ear. "Is this it?" A relieved huff as she snatched her prize. She swatted his chest, wound her arms about his neck.

The squeal of metal on metal bounced off tile walls, announcing the oncoming train. A gust of wind whirled her silvery brown locks. Despite the mundanity of it all, the thousands of people about to step onto public transportation, the moment felt like a movie. A bona fide blockbuster. The ordinary suddenly extraordinary.

Fingers brushing his, she took her bag, speaking between kisses. "I love you. We'll talk soon."

~~~~~

The McKeldin Exhibition Center seemed a blunt, bulky building for the Atlantic Legal Society's twenty-fifth conference, a number Y/N would've considered celebratory. Four stories of concrete, cold steel, muscular exterior. A once modern design that now represented an idea of the future that, if the first five months of 1990 were to go by, wasn't bound to happen.

The registration attendants were friendly and professional. But Y/N wasn't a member of the guild, so she was directed to a line at the other end of a vast, airy hall. The additional hundred dollars she'd paid to attend included extra exercise. A gilded stripe ran along the top of her name tag, like she was a flake of gold to pan for, from which extract a membership fee.

Goodie bags contained the usual swag. A pen with the organization's logo, two legal pads, a folder to hold her notes. At the bottom were a blue stress ball and a gavel pinback button, which she'd pin on Sylvia back at the office. The young intern had received so little recognition in her short life that it'd thrill her.

White tablecloths and serving trays covered the tables in the reception area. Y/N maneuvered to a buffet to the right, snapped a napkin, two cheese and pepperoni skewers, and a paper cup of goldfish crackers. Munching away, she took the temperature of the room.

Lawyers and attorneys general, magistrates and judges swarmed, chatting and laughing, giving handshakes and back slaps. Legal secretaries and paralegals circled up to chat amongst themselves. Judging by overheard introductions, their origins stretched from the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Chicago.

Y/N recognized a former Gotham District Attorney, a lawyer from one of Shaw & Associates' satellite offices. The passing years had salt and peppered his hair, too. The city's newest criminal court judge was on the premises, one Henry Jake. An upset after an affair with one of his legal aides, his promotion from magistrate had been splashed on all the front pages.

He appeared eager to continue the scandal, proceeding to flirt in the way of men who like to wield their authority. A palm on the forearm here, an unwanted compliment there. It made Y/N want to chuck a stress ball at his head.

She stirred powdered creamer and irritation into a styrofoam cup of coffee, noted the restroom sign on the left wall. A woman in a floral shower curtain of a dress approached with tiny steps. Said she'd never been to a big city before, took a sip of Lipton and pushed her plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm Flossie Barteux, but all my friends call me Flo." The red stripe on her nametag denoted her as a fresh recruit.

"Nice to meet you, Flossie." Though maintaining distance, Y/N spoke with warmth. "I moved from the Ozarks to Gotham ten years ago. The lobby has some brochures. I think there's an aquarium on the waterfront, a couple museums, too. You should take advantage while you're in town." Then she gave a friendly nod and excused herself to the Industry Auditorium to sign up for presentations.

Whistleblower protections sounded interesting, considering past capers; she made a note to review Gotham's statutes for the next. Tips for wage and hour investigations filled an entire notebook. The presenter droned on in one agonizingly long sentence. It was impossible to keep up, even in shorthand. Y/N's fingers grew so fatigued she dropped her pen. It took several tries to regain the ability to make a fist.

When the conference broke for the evening, Flossie hopped in the same revolving door as Y/N and suggested dinner at a chain steakhouse across the street. A good number of attendees already stood in line.

To be honest, she could've used a break from the whole thing. But she didn't want to hurt the woman who sorely needed a work friend. She put their names on the waitlist and browsed chalkboard specials. Listened to Flossie's story of how going through probate for custody of her granddaughter had led her to the legal profession.

By the time Y/N stumbled back to her hotel, she could've dozed upright. At the bar, she ordered a variation on a Sidecar, a little number called Between the Sheets. She didn't ask for permission to take it to her room. She dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar and turned towards the lobby.

It was well equipped, a fax machine and pay phone in one corner, a stand with free chocolate chip cookies to the right. In the center of the far wall stood a bookshelf, flanked by overstuffed aqua chairs. A sign was propped on the coffee table: "Please read and return!" A set worthy of Donahue's photo studio.

She stepped onto the woven rug to browse the plethora of outdated bestsellers. Self-helps with mountains on the covers, charlatans offering poor financial advice. Children's books were piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. And right in the middle was an entire row of romance novels, the ones in which every heroine's bosom heaved and bodice ripped. Ragged covers told the tale of how popular they were, spines split from overuse. As a pre-teen, Mabel had caught her reading a few. ("Why's your face red, Y/N? Are you sick?") Amused, Y/N took the one with the deepest seams.

Forbidden Seas was a terrible if fitting title, given the coverhunk's puffy shirt. He was alarmingly muscular, as though a bee had stung him, and he desperately needed an ice bag. Long, blonde tresses brushed the careening cleavage of the woman bent over his knee. Arthur's wiry frame held a hidden strength, cleaved her tightly whenever they danced, but that position would've ended with her on the floor.

Cackling, she returned the paperback to its place, betting the hunk would be at full mast by chapter four.

When she reached her room, she stretched her arms over her head, pushed herself to her tiptoes, released a short squeal. The conference center's folding chairs had next to no padding. Soreness nagged at her tailbone, a deep-seated throb ached her rear. She could really use a bath. She checked her watch. Arthur would be calling in about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the restroom had a phone.

Pantyhose rolled down her legs, a nail caught on the reinforced toe. The star-patterned vinyl floor was cold on her feet. A claw clip kept her hair off her shoulders, spare tendrils falling to her cheeks. Steam coated the mirror as the room filled with a pleasant heat. She dabbed away her mascara and eyeliner before it could streak. She sipped her cocktail, stepped into the bath. Gave her breasts a casual squeeze and sighed out the stress of the day.

The ringer rang right on the dot.

Voice as light as a game of I Spy, she said, "This isn't reception telling me to pipe down, is it?"

On the other end, Arthur's smile sucked his teeth. "No, it's just me."

"I'm glad it's just you."

The day had gone well, he told her. One of his gigs had cancelled, but that was all right. It let him get some work done around the apartment. He'd replaced the window shade that no longer rolled up, mopped the kitchen, sorted the drawers of his desk. He'd just tuned into a movie on TMC, a screwball comedy she'd deem too silly and dislike.

When he asked how the conference was going, she told him about Flossie, how she hoped the woman's eagerness to excel wouldn't result in her being suckered into membership upgrades. That the WARN act - while a step forward - put some guardrails on the mass layoffs that'd become the norm in the last decade but didn't prevent them. And the overeager judge she was happy to never have to face in court.

"You should teach a class on how to be a gentleman." She slunk deeper into the heat. "I'm learning a lot, but I'll be happy to be home."

"You're not missing much."

"I'm missing you."

"But you saw me this morning!" His protestations didn't fool her; he was pleased as punch.  A hitched giggle, one of his many laughs she loved. "Me, too. I mean, I can't wait to see you. But don't worry. I'm fine. Talk to me more. Tell me about the hotel."

"We'll have to stay here someday. There's a bar with a player piano, and I'm having a cocktail in the bath."

"You- You're on the phone in the tub?" The sound of him puttering. A drink set on the coffee table, a middle-aged groan as he sat on the sofa. "There is one thing I can't get out of my head." Nervous tongue smacked his lips. "What were you thinking about on the subway?"

Mercury threatened to crack the thermometer. But still. She was reticent to go there. "I already told you. It was nothing."

"Come on. You were as red as my clown nose."

She pressed the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. The flight of fancy had been completely inappropriate, not to mention out of character. She knew exactly what telling him would lead to, the direction in which this conversation would race. Tacky and cheap, belonging to a $3.99 a minute hotline.

And yet. She was grateful to have a husband she could blush around, whom she could fantasize about, whom she wanted to fantasize about. Besides. It'd been a stretch since they'd last made love. Tacky and cheap might be just what the Doctor of Laughter ordered.

She let the cognac trickle down her throat. Knuckles dragged up and down her breastbone. Her forearm brushed her pebbled nipple. A drop from the faucet plopped.

"Do you want to continue this?" she asked, an eager if uncertain invitation.

"Yeah," he purred. That rasp, the one positive of his cigarette addiction. "But I'm- I'm not sure what's next."

Neither was she, not quite. The next steps felt at once natural and as if they belonged to an unread novel on a hotel bookshelf. But it was him, so it would turn out all right. They'd figured it out every time before. "Tell me what you're wearing," she said. "Or what you're thinking about. Whatever you want."

"I'm in my pajamas. Um. I found my old journal when I was cleaning. I hadn't read it for years - it has everything from when I met you. Anyway, I read what I wrote our first night together? I'd wanted to touch you so badly and-" He gave a throaty laugh. "And all I knew what to do was squeeze your breast too hard."

The recollection struck a match in all the right places. She'd wanted him, too, more than was smart after such a short acquaintanceship. There'd been something that'd set him apart immediately. Whenever he'd looked at her, her heart had skipped to a new but familiar beat. His good looks, his kindness. Passion and flair hiding beneath a surface shyness, a mask you could see through if you took an extra minute.

"You knew how to look at me. How to listen. How to be gentle." She caressed her hip absentmindedly, a movement that soon became deliberate. "And when not to be."

Her knee shifted to rest on the lip of the tub, opening herself to the warm water. "I wouldn't want you to be gentle now," she whispered, and tugged at the curls between her thighs.

"I wouldn't be." Ragged breaths tempted over three hundred miles. A muted moan that meant he was palming his shaft. Her own palm felt empty. How she hungered for him to be in her grasp. Then he asked, "What- What did you pack for bed?"

"The blue nightie you gave me. The one that ties at the neck." It was six years old but a perennial favorite for both. The approval that'd radiated from him when she'd modeled it flashed in her memory. Strokes blazed at the crease of her thigh. "I'll wear it tonight - unless you want me to sleep naked."

A husky chuckle before he pressed her. Again. "Tell me what you were thinking about on the train. I wanna know."

Fingertips dipped to where she ached for him. Lower to tease plush, squishy flesh, plump with desire. Her eyelids fluttered shut, returning to the occasions she'd pleasured herself in front of him, both when he was inside of her and out. Even on the occasions he wasn't able to get hard, he loved it, asked her to do it again. Holding her. Stealing her breath from her mouth. Covering her hand with his. His thumb taking over until she cried his name.

Fever rippling through her arteries, she tapped her slick nub, body throbbing with need. She cleared her throat. She thought she'd lost her ability to be bashful with Arthur. But dirty talk didn't come as naturally now that she was alone, not the way it did when it was foreplay. When she'd beg him to fuck her, plead for more, more, more.

Yet, she wasn't alone. Though he was afar, she was abuzz with his presence. Spreading joy and happiness to others, always entertaining his audience, he was the performer in the relationship. Tonight the performer became the audience, and she was putting on a show for one.

A show she'd drag out a bit longer. Make it worth his while. "I'm touching my clit, Arthur. Slow and soft, like your tongue. God, I wish it was your tongue. You feel so good."

He groaned. Her grip on the telephone tightened, knuckles gone white. "When we were on the train," she began. "I imagined you shushing me. Your breath was hot on my ear. I wanted you to put your hand on my skin, down my skirt." Her strokes halted while she laughed. "I don't know why. I wasn't even horny."

"You're horny now."

"All hot and bothered."

A grunt came through the copper wire, luring her along. Her foot pressed the tub's curved rim. Splashes of imagery knotted her belly. The play of light on his slender abdomen when he'd put on a shirt. How his biceps flexed when he'd wash his hair. The tightening of his brow the second he lost himself to euphoria. The musky weight of him on her tongue.

She rubbed herself a little harder. A steady, firm pace. "When I come I feel your cock at my back-"

"Keep talking."

"-and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, because I know you'll fuck me as soon as we walk through the door."

"Oh, fuck..."

Water licked at her labia with each flick of her wrist, awakening every nerve ending, cresting wave upon wave of sensation. She shoved the receiver under her jaw, lifted her shoulder to lock it in place. Cradled her breast, nipples just at the waterline Lapping, lapping, lapping. She circled the right with her middle finger, wishing her hand was as large as Arthur's, so that she could play with the left. Shivering, her knees drew together and upward, pelvis striving towards her wanton touch.

Splish, splash. Splish, splash.

A growl rumbled out of him. "I- I'm gonna come."

"Yes."

She was there. She was there. About to fly over the edge, her feet about to leap. Gasps caught in her throat. Half his name lost in a whimper. The peak of delight finally reached...

The phone tumbled off her shoulder and plunged into the water. Landed on the fiberglass. An unenthusiastic thud.

"Shit, shit-"

Locked in spasm, she watched air bubbles rise from the sunken plastic. It was hard to move mid-orgasm. Her legs weren't yet in the Jello stage. Hanging onto the towel bar, she stood on very shaky ankles.

She plucked the receiver from the water, shook it out over the tub. Yanked the drain and placed the handset on the rim. Fingers a blur, she dialed their home number on the bedside phone. How quickly had Arthur realized she wasn't on the line?

Had he heard any of the denouement?

Nine rings and Arthur answered, out of breath but with a laugh. "What happened?"

She covered her face. "I dropped the phone. It's ruined." It would be the one time she would pay a fee for damages.

"Oh. Well, I was just cleaning up."

The cord twined through her fingers. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

"I know. I heard half of it."

Giggling, she excused herself to dry off. Pulled the clip from her hair, retrieved her nightie from her bag. She crawled between cool sheets, fluffed her pillow, pressed Arthur to her ear.

"What'll you do tomorrow," he asked, scratching his cheek.

A Department of Labor inspector would give a presentation on the Severe Violators program, a list of closely monitored companies that violated labor laws like it was a talent and never lifted a finger to change their ways. The padding to their bottom lines was bigger than the fines. She'd chatted with the inspector during a break.

"ACE Chemicals being on the list isn't a surprise. But Wayne Steel?" A sharp inhale before she yawned the rest. "I hadn't even heard of them."

"You're tired.”

"No. Relaxed. Happy. But not tired." She curled up on her side, burrowed deeper into the blankets. "This bed is empty. I have no one to press up against." Another yawn betrayed her.

At her third, Arthur interrupted. "Y/N, go to sleep." A grin in his words, like he was about to call her cute. "You need your rest."

"And why is that?"

His voice lowered to the volume of secrets. "Because when you get back, I'm going to fuck you as soon as we walk through the door."

Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. "What time'll you wake up tomorrow?"

"Six, probably. Maybe 5:30?

"Let's have coffee together. I'll make a cup at 6:15."

He agreed before she'd completed the request, said how dearly he loved her. And, yes, to her consternation, called her cute. She kept the eyeroll out of her reply. "You're wonderful, too. Now take your own advice and get some sleep. No journaling until dawn. All right?"

"All right. Have a good night. And Y/N?"

She was already fading, his lilt her favorite lullaby. "Yeah?"

"Wear your blue nightie for coffee. I’ll be in my briefs."

~~~~~

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 17

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The jolt of the car door shakes you. The vinyl blurs in your vision, a scratchy blanket around you as a weight shifts the axel. Another door snaps and you close your eyes, chattering as you hug your clammy chest.

“Fucking dumb bitch,” Lloyd sneers as the world moves in reverse, “why’d you have to fuck this up too?”

You don’t answer. You don’t think he’s talking to you. You’re not there. You’re dreaming in the grass.

The click of the blinker fills the silence. You roll against the back of the seat, trying to find some warmth. The change in direction makes you dizzy as the tires roll on.

You huddle into the crook of the seat, sinking into the motion, drifting off back to the swaying of branches and the soft ruffle of grass. Birds sing as the sun rises. You’re shaken from paradise as you’re dragged across the seat.

He lifts you, still wrapped in the blanket, and kicks the door shut. You lean against his shoulder, chuckling as you hang your head.

“You just can’t let me be, can you?” You eke out. Your throat feels swollen around your words, your fingers and toes are numb, your blood flow sluggish.

“You’re such a fucking baby, you know that?” He growls, “got me at the goddamn hospital–”

“You could’ve… left me,” you shiver weakly, slurring each syllable.

“Fucking don’t,” he barks as automatic doors woosh open around him. He marches forward, hiking you up in his arms, “she’s pregnant,” he says to the woman behind the desk, “I think she’s got hypothermia.”

“Sir, how– how far along?” The nurse stands.

“Uh…” he trails off, “three months?”

“Four,” you correct him with a croak.

“Just… she got locked outside and she’s freezing,” he insists.

You say nothing as you lean into him. He’s so warm, boiling hot. The nurse comes around and checks your pulse. The room turns hazy as the sterile smell tickles your nose.

“This way…” her words drift into your subconscious, “...on a drip…warm her up….”

💎

You lay beneath the heated blanket and thank the nurse for the steaming cup of tea as she sets it down. You’re alone, a long hoped for reprieve. The doctor insisted you stay at least a night to be monitored, the baby too. The good news, they revealed, was that the fetus was alive and well. You wish you could say the same.

Living but not happily. Still, it’s better you didn’t take another with you. An innocent spark of life that doesn’t deserve your resentment. You never want to be like your mother. Holding your own problems against the child will only make things worse.

You sip daintily from the cup, flipping through the cable with the boxy old remote. God, you forgot how annoying commercials are. And how nice it is to be on your own. Outside his grasp, if even for just a day. He’s not stupid enough to berate you in front of the hospital staff. Even that is too low for Lloyd, but leaving a pregnant woman alone, that’s just fine.

You finish the tea and the nurse brings you dinner not long after. Soup and a bun. Palatable and pleasantly warm. You fall asleep right after she comes to clear the tray, dozing in the hazy hues of the box television. You wake each time she comes to check your vitals but barely recall the disturbance when the morning comes.

There’s an apathy that remains, the kind that buffs down the anger and buries the despair, that smothers everything but the most basic senses. You see the white walls, stringent and clean, you smell the rubber gloves and dry sterile atmosphere, you taste it on your tongue, you feel the cold metal bedrail as you drag your fingers over it, and hear the steady beep of the machine.

Breakfast is jello and Cheerios, another cup of tea and orange juice too. You forgot how nice it was to enjoy simple things. When was the last time you just had a bowl of cereal or even a cup of jello? You could go for some apple slices too.

As you nurse the steeped tea, there is a knock on the open door frame. You look up, expecting a pair of scrubs, but find a familiar face you couldn’t predict. Dottie’s ring tings off the metal before she enters.

“Oh, hon, there you are,” she sings as she sweeps in, her husband at her shoulder, his expression placid and his steps long but without the same urgency as his wife. “We brought you coffee and a–” she stops short, “oh, dear, you ate without us.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you blink as Lloyd appears in the door, a scowl on his face as he carries a tray of drinks and a large Dunkin bag.

“Never you worry,” she touches your hand as it rests against the rail, “I am only happy you can eat. Oh, hon, to hear of what happened,” she pauses and sends a pointed look to her son, “I didn’t raise him like that, I promise you–”

“She locked herself out,” Lloyd nears and places the food on the tray, “you want your coffee or what?”

“Hey,” Dottie snaps her knuckles against his arm and he hisses as he touches the tender spot left by her rings, “now sweetie, we got you decaf of course,” she turns back to you and selects the marked cup, “I know it’s tough, ya give up so much for the baby and old indulgences can do wonder.”

Harlan nods as he crosses his arms, watching without a word. You shoot him a sheepish smile. He’s a stoic man, silent more often than not, like a shadow against the wall. Dottie searches the large bag and takes out a rainbow sprinkle donut, folded in wax paper, “hon,” she rounds to her husband, “your favourite.”

“Thank ‘em,” he says quietly and bends to plant a kiss on her powdered cheek.  

She comes back and reaches into the bag, “I hope ya like Boston cream, hon, cause I wasn’t sure.” 

She presents the donut and you accept it. Despite the last day and the hospital food, your ravenous. You could probably eat a whole dozen.

“Thanks, Dottie,” you say, “you didn’t have to–”

“Someone needs ta take care of ya,” she insists and jabs her son with an acrylic, “no donut for Marion, the brat.”

“Ma, I didn’t do nothing,” there’s a subtle twang in his whine.

“You think I don’t know you, boy,” she spins to face him, “you think I don’t know the stunts you pull. I love ya but goddamn can you be a handful. So you sit down and pout into your fancy dancy cafe mocha whatever.”

She dismisses her with the flicker of her fingers and turns back to you, “we got much to do. I seen the house, ain’t even a nursery. No, no, can’t have a child with nowhere to sleep. Or with some bumpkin daddy.”

“Ma,” Lloyd growls again as he lowers himself onto the rolling stool with his cup.

“You didn’t even stay the night with her, Mar. Do you understand when I spent twenty hours working to get you out and your pa was there for every single one and the night too,” she snarls, “you ain’t gonna this serious and I wouldn’t blame her for taking the kid and leaving you where you belong.”

“Mama’s right, son,” Harlan intones as he steps forward to accept his coffee from Dottie, “pardon my reach, little lady,” he says, “let me say I’m glad you look healthy.”

“Oh, thanks,” you utter, biting into the donut as the tension of Lloyd’s moping and Dottie’s temper ripens.

“Now, you’ll be close to findin’ out the gender, right? That’s exciting but don’t matter no how, boy or girl. We got a grandbaby comin’ and I’m mighty excited,” she chimes, “god, when Harlan told me about all this business of you lyin’ in a hospital by yourself, oh, I was ready come here and tan Marion’s hide, and I might still.”

She sends another sneer over her shoulder. You swallow and try not to smile at the verbal breakdown of the man who never stops talking. For once, he has nothing to say.

“I meant to ask,” you clear your throat, “where did the name Marion come from?”

“My daddy was a Marion,” she says proudly as Lloyd glowers, squinting at you as you dare to meet his eyeline, “good man. Now he’s still alive but he went up to the hills in Kentucky about a decade ago, we ain’t seen him since. But trust me, I feel it,” she touches her chest, “he’s kicking and he’s no doubt up there roasting rattlers over an open fire.”

“Oh, wow,” you utter, “that’s interesting.”

“And you dearie, you said your family is some northern folk, from around here?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess most of them, I don’t… I don’t have much for a family.”

“No ma?” She asks and you shake your head. “Pa?” The same response. “Marion, why don’t you tell me nothin’?” She tuts, “if I’d known, I’d have been here sooner. You can’t be carryin’ all this around yourself.”

Harlan shakes his head as he aims a glance at his son. Lloyd looks away evasively, rolling his eyes like a teenager. You’re happy for the company, the buffer between the two of you. 

Before, the thought of going back to that house had you desperate for an excuse to stay. Even if it meant a convenient injury or convincing act for the nurse.

[toxinellebug]

Shadybug & ClawNoir First Receiving the Miraculous Part 2

The first week of school was just as much of a waste of time as Adrien expected;

The curriculum was behind what he was used to, way behind. 

     He never realized how frustratingly boring it would be to have to wait for a room full of people to catch up with the simple basics of particle physics.

The other students were annoying. 

He didn’t mind signing autographs for his fans the first time Chloe paraded him around- it was even nice to have a little extra attention.

     But then they KEPT approaching him; asking him to go places with them, his contact information, or asking for photos (thankfully he had the great excuse of his contract which prohibits his image being used for anything, personal or commercial use, without the written consent of the Gabriel Brand.) 

            He liked modeling, he liked having fans, and he liked receiving praise, but that didn’t mean he wanted people trying to hug him and use him to blast their selfies all over social media.

                It’s called “personal space”.

A concept that still went over Chloe Bourgeois’ head, apparently…

      He was grateful that she had lunch delivered directly from the Le Grand Paris, since the food, or, what passed for food at the school cafeteria was lackluster at best.

           But she insisted on sitting so close that their elbows touched.

                   It was so uncomfortable.

(Also, he couldn’t just eat his food in peace, he had to listen to Chloe loudly rate each portion of the meal and whether it was up to her standards or if the chef was lacking that day and whether or not she needed to be replaced, before looking over her shoulder to snicker at some dark skinned girl in glasses who glared daggers right back at her. Chloe’s redheaded flunky, er, that is… Chloe’s redheaded “friend”, found this hilarious and agreed with every word and giggled when the dark skinned girl would storm out of the cafeteria in a huff.)

He also hated the way Chloe would cling to his arm when he was just trying to walk between classes. 

               He lost track of how many times he excused himself to make a quick stop in the boy’s toilet just to get himself some breathing room!

              If Chloe’s mother wasn’t such a big name in the Fashion industry as well as chief editor of ‘Style’ magazine, Adrien would gladly tell her to back off.  Unfortunately, she is, and he doesn’t want to think about the backlash his father would receive, or the nasty article about himself that would headline ‘Style’s next issue.

He also wished Chloe’s “friend” would stop offering to do his homework and take all his notes. That was weird.

              The only thing somewhat worthwhile is fencing on the team under M. D'Argencourt; private lessons were fine, but it is more interesting to have different opponents to practice against for a change.

Other than that, school is tedious and suffocating.

Now that the week is FINALLY at an end, all he wants to do is go to his room, play his mother’s   banned bootleg vinyl copy of Peu-Être’s ‘Robot☆Monster’, and listen to ‘L'Esprit Se Meurt’ as he collapses on his bed and contemplates why his Father insists on subjecting him to this torture.

His plans come to a halt, however, upon seeing a strange package waiting for him atop his desk.

         It’s… Brown?

His father was generous, and had a habit of giving gifts he personally chose. So a present for enduring his first week of school wouldn’t be odd, per say….

      But the gifts his father wrapped always had colorful, patterned, sometimes even textured paper, and were always matched with a ribbon in complimentary colors, tied in intricate bows, as if it were a submission to an art exhibit.

        There was no way someone as extra as his father would use such simple brown, parcel paper.

The more logical explanation was that it came in with his fan-mail, but that didn’t make sense either;

              It was un-opened.

The Gorilla was diligent, and he always opened and inspected every piece of fan-mail before it ever reached Adrien’s eyes.

As much as Adrien liked modeling, being famous had some drawbacks, namely obsessed fans that were more than a little scary.

        His bodyguard always checked to look for anything creepy (requests for feet pics, or locks of his hair), obscene (explicit fanfiction featuring Adrien and the sender that results in a restraining order being issued), or downright nasty (underwear that they would like him to sign, wear, then mail back). 

There was NO WAY the Gorilla would leave an un-opened package from a fan in Adrien’s room.

              Unless….

Looking at the package more closely, disregarding the accompanying envelope which only had his name on the front, he took notice that there were zero postage markings of any kind.

         Meaning it was delivered IN PERSON.

(Not that it was unheard of for people to just drop things directly at the gate, or in one bizarre instance, toss things over the fence, giving the Gorilla a ‘bomb scare’ and causing Adrien to wonder what kind of work his bodyguard did in the States before coming here.)

      ….Didn’t Pâtisseries use brown paper?

Curiosity over his Umbrella Thief had been impossible to ignore;

(see older post “Shadybug/Claw Noir Reverse Umbrella scene Headcanon”, also, someone PLEASE teach me how to link)

He didn’t have any classes with her, and he guessed she was too shy to try an approach him like the other students. 

       His photoshoot schedule, Chinese lessons, and Fencing practice meant he couldn’t just wait around at the school gates after classes had ended for the day.

So, he did the reasonable thing and asked his bodyguard to look into it. Not that he asked him to stalk her or anything! (That would be weird and super illegal.) Just, well, keep an eye out for her, maybe see if he could learn anything from a distance, without being creepy of course.

It had taken him nearly the entire week.

      For reasons Adrien still did not understand,

his description of “cute girl, leather jacket, passion-streaked midnight hair, and eyes that crease into crescent moons behind a wistful smile, disguising a forlorn soul adrift in a sea of mediocrity, hadn’t been specific enough.

But eventually, while Adrien was at Fencing, the Gorilla had managed to casually follow the girl in pigtails at a distance long enough to witness her entering a nearby bakery, from the private side entrance reserved for those that took residence in the building.

His Umbrella Thief wasn’t just a shy fan, her parents ran the best pâtisserie and boulangerie in Paris!

Well, that would explain how she is able to attend a private school like Collège Françoise Dupont.

Perhaps this was a package of pastries from her parents’ store, maybe there was even a message confessing her admiration for him inside?

He could use that as an opportunity to approach her, express his gratitude for sweets, and offer to treat her to the movies… Strictly as a gesture of fan-appreciation, of course.

Yes, if was definitely the anticipation of choquettes and Pain Au Chocolat, and nothing else that made his heart race as he tore away at the brown paper.

But before he could open the flaps of the cardboard box, another thought occurred to him:

          You could fit an extendable umbrella into a box this size.

What if… What if HIS umbrella was inside?

What if the girl had noticed she was being stalk-FOLLOWED, and thought he was angry?

What if what was waiting inside was a tear-stained apology letter begging him not to contact the Enforcers and have her arrested on charges of petty theft???

That would make it difficult to ask her out on a da- OUTING! Ask her out on an OUTING to the cinema purely for her sake! *ahem*

Now, instead of his heart racing, his stomach was twisting. 

Other than the whole stealing thing, she was probably a nice girl… He certainly didn’t want her to feel upset, or want to avoid him.

      But, if she didn’t want anything to do with him ever again over this, was there anything he could do?

Holding his breath, Adrien opened the box with trepidation and discovered….

…An antistatic electronics foam pouch and a jewelry box.

Adrien felt his mood sour even further as he unsealed the pouch.

It was a mini-tablet.

Forget ‘sour’, he was PISSED.

He recognized the tablet; His father used a similar one for video meetings with clients, distributing managers, coordinators, and other people he didn’t have time to meet with in person.

A list that now included his own son, apparently.

The jewelry box no doubt contained the latest Gabriel brand accessory that Adrien was expected to model for an upcoming shoot that his father couldn’t be bothered to take time out of his busy schedule to inform him face to face.

It took all the self-restraint Adrien had not to chuck the stupid thing out a window (he had plenty of them to choose from).

You know what? This was fine. 

    If his father could lock himself up inside his atelier, then Adrien could do the same!

Tossing the package and its contents aside, Adrien left his room and marched downstairs to go inform his personal chef that from now on he would be taking all his meals in his room.

Father could swap out the table de salle à manger with a terrarium for all he cared!

And Adrien doesn’t care!

….Though, he expected his father to care, at least a little.

Mom would’ve cared.

Adrien didn’t have much of an appetite, picking at his meal while he waited for his father to come knock on his door with an apology that never came.

(Gabriel heard that Adrien requested his meals in his room and assumed his son was pouting over being forced to go to school. Since Gabriel can recall what it’s like to be a moody teenager, he figured it was best to give his son time to calm down, and he would try to invite him down for breakfast tomorrow.

He’s also trying not to be hurt that Adrien calls him “Father” now, instead of “Dad”).

Alright, if Father was too stubborn to show himself, then Adrien knew just how to grab his attention;

      Pushing aside his now cold dinner, Adrien picked up the discarded tablet and found the side power button.

             He was going to use this little “gift” to open a video call and give his Father a piece of his mind!

What he didn’t expect was the red, grid-like laser scan of his face, nor the A.I. voice that announced “Identity confirmation complete: Adrien Agreste, approved.”

Ok, he had to admit that was pretty cool.

The screen lit up red, and all thoughts of Adrien’s Father went out the window.

                        The Supreme.

The Familiar red and black symbol with an ‘X’ in the center; representing world-wide jurisdiction and demanding compliance.

This was a huge deal. Huge, and more than a little terrifying.

    He was only 13 (his birthday was in two weeks though), what on earth could The Supreme, the force that governs the entire planet, possibly want from him???

He seriously doubted this was fan-mail.

He tapped the small flashing icon on the bottom left corner, pulling up a message screen.

Whatever Adrien had been expecting, it wasn’t… Whatever the heck this was.

Kwamis? Powers? Rules? It sounded like the synopsis of a game show.

This had to be a joke. But he didn’t know anyone with such a twisted sense of humor.

Even the most deviant and corrupt wouldn’t have the spine to use the symbol of The Supreme, not even mockingly. The penalty wasn’t worth the risk.

Still, how could he take any of this seriously? 

Magic rings? Power of Destruction? 

       As if! He wasn’t some naive little kid who believed in fairytales like the Genie in the Lamp.

Was it like, a metaphor? Or some kind of coded message he was meant to decipher?

But if that was the case, shouldn’t there be a substitution key or at least some kind of hint?

       Wait-

There had been an envelope, hadn’t there?

Of course! Why hadn’t he opened that first??

Scrambling around, Adrien located the envelope that had been knocked aside and fell beneath his desk chair.

It is a simple, white envelope with his name written in calligraphy.

    Inside is a note, written in that same calligraphy, on what he recognizes as Xuan Paper:

     “M. Adrien Agreste, you have been chosen.

          The bird in the gilded cage sings because captivity is all it has ever known. 

       The items being entrusted to you are a matter of utmost secrecy and should be used with discretion. 

       May they teach you the melody you have longed for.

      Please ensure you are alone.”

…Well, that was super cryptic and incredibly unhelpful.

Crumbling up the note, Adrien examines the tablet again; there are no other icons other than the text screen with the list of “instructions” and rules to be followed.

So, equally useless. Great.

The only thing he hasn’t checked is the little black hexagon box.

The tablet mentioned a ring… Oooooh, like a de-coder ring?? That would make more sense than singing birds!

Finally he was getting somewhere- 

What he actually got was blinded by a flash of green light as soon as he opened the lid.

Waiting for the light to fade enough to safely open his eyes, Adrien came face to face with a black and angry looking… Gerbil?

A gerbil with antennae, hands on it’s hips, a twitching tail, and the symbol of The Supreme stamped on it’s face…. 

      And it was floating.

Merde! It was FLOATING!!!!!!

Adrien glanced from the tablet, to the black ring in the box, back to the fuming ‘kwami’.

This was real.

Adrien’s heart was racing again, albeit for an entirely different reason.

His cheeks hurt as he grinned for the first time since he can’t remember when.

Snatching the ring and putting it on, he said the transformation phrase.

The mean looking gerbil/cat/kwami-thing disappears into his ring and he is enveloped in green light, magic washing over him and surging through him; it feels right, like his entire life has been leading up to this moment!

Gone was the preppy, boy-next-door look of the Gabriel brand.

His hair went from blond to a spiky green, and his green eyes were now a toxic purple with black slits behind a black mask. 

      Cat ears? Sure, why not?

Clawed gloves, leather jacket, mace ball collar, spiked boots and belt?

Oh yeah, he was feline dur à cuire!

He rushed to the windows, threw one open and leapt out into the night. He didn’t have a plan and he didn’t really care. It was time to find something to break!

—————————————

The Supreme gets a notification on his personal device;

     Both tablets have been activated.

Now is the time to let the children have fun; let them play about in the city and revel in their new super abilities.

   Ah, to be young and have so little self-restraint….

They will no doubt enjoy themselves… For a while at least.

But the more they use their powers, the quicker things will be set into motion;

      It will start as nothing more than dull aches, unpleasant but not at all hindering. But those aches will only continue to grow, becoming painful marks, eating away at flesh, making them weak and drained when they are without their transformations to empower them.

Nothing in this world is free, after all.

Arrogant teenagers will revert back into frightened children, afraid of what is happening to their bodies but terrified of revealing to anyone the strange marking that they cannot, dare not, explain.

After a satisfactory time has passed, he will transmit another message to their tablets. A message of salvation.

For a price, of course.

He will offer to reverse the damage caused by their use of the Miraculous, to whichever one of them manages to retrieve the jewels that were stolen from him.

But only one.

Competition can be quite motivating, especially when one’s life is on the line.

PART 1

[lamaisongaga]

FASHION CREDITS: LADY GAGA BY MARIO SORRENTI FOR DOM PÉRIGNON

The iconic champagne house Dom Pérignon has released its newest commercial featuring Lady Gaga, which was shot in May last year.

The ad promotes the latest 2013 aged champagne with artistic visuals. Directed by French artist Woodkid, the advertisment boasts a feeling of luxury and refinement, two things that are definitely associated with a brand such as Dom Pérignon. All photography was done by Mario Sorrenti.

Styling by Nicola Formichetti and Hunter Clem, makeup by Sarah-Tanno Stewart using Haus Laboratories, makeup by Frederic Aspiras using Joico and nails by Miho Okawara, respectively.

The Italian-American beauty dances and moves gracefully in a dove-colored silk chiffon V-neck wrap front gown with wing-like long cape, custom-made for her by Ukrainian label LeVer Couture!

You might remember their latest collaboration for LG’s “Hold My Hand” music video, where she wore another one of their custom pieces.

Gaga rocked her signature sky-high Flamingo-1020 black vinyl platform boots from Pleaser.

Next, she poses fiercely in a silver metallic liquid organza cape gown with black mesh bodysuit underneath which was custom-made by her sister’s label Topo Studio NY for the campaign!

Finally, she wore black leather lace-up ankle boots with small platforms custom-made by Andre No. 1

[anamoli]

I've gone down a rabbit hole...

Currently, I've been trying to figure out how to work with the sample swatch of turquoise faux leather. It is a thin layer of vinyl that is backed with some white foam. Definitely not something I'd want to be visible.

It also has zero ability to keep a shape. I've been experimenting with inserting a piece of 20-gauge copper wire I have laying around from when I dabbled in wire wrapping. It's been really finicky, and I'd need a really thin seam allowance so that the seam doesn't show past the gold embroidery (I mean, don't even get me started on how that would go!)

I've tried different ways of folding the faux leather to hide that backing AND cover the wire, but I haven't found a way that doesn't make this little puckered corner:

Honestly, kind of a nightmare and not quite the finish I want to have, especially for those sharp corners on all the armor pieces. I thought to myself, "Okay, what if I just sew it down really tightly? That should work right?"

But my sewing machine is a very basic one I got from a sale at Costco for $200. It was not happy with sewing this stuff together. Fine. Hand sewing it is. I want clean, even stitches, so I did some light research on leatherworking and the general process for stitching with it. I learned about overstitcher wheels (first image) and awls (second image). The overstitcher (or spacing) wheels make even marks where the stitching should go and the stitching awl punches holes through the leather.

Fun Fact: apparently leather awls are different than conventional ones. Awls for leather work have a diamond point that'll cut through the leather instead of pushing through. That way there isn't a puckered back!

A company called Tandy Leather was mentioned often in leatherworking forums, so of course I visited their website.

$199 purchase required for free shipping though. 😠 Thankfully, there is a local shop not too far from where I work! So, I paid them a visit and this is where the rabbit hole begins...

First off, I was completely overwhelmed. I didn't realize that they had a really decent selection of dyed leather! Pretty pricey for my needs though, and I definitely do not need an entire hide of cow for this project. But one of the employees was really helpful and even directed me to some more affordable options that is the right size that I needed! He also told me about how to dye leather and all the different options available to get the finish I want.

And he got me. Hook, line, and sinker.

But let's do a cost and time analysis to show that this might actually be the best option for this cosplay.

Cost Analysis

Faux Leather: total of $95

$33: 1yd turquoise faux leather

$29: 1yd burgundy faux leather

$29: goddamn shipping

$ 4: 8yds copper 20-gauge wire

Real Leather: total of $57

$40: 2 veg-tan belly cuts (approximately 3-5 sqft each)

$ 7: 4oz bottle of burgundy leather dye

$ 10: leather finishing (this is to keep the dye locked in)

According to my spreadsheet, I really only need ~5 sqft of leather for ALL the armor pieces, and I could get away with only purchasing one belly cut that's on the larger side for some extra savings.

I didn't include a bottle of turquoise leather dye since I already have a bottle of turquoise Rit Dye ($5) for the rubber I'll be using in the crack climbing gloves. If the Rit Dye doesn't work out, I wouldn't cry over getting another bottle. I also didn't include sponges (used to apply the dye) or a buffing towel (to polish the leather) because I can just steal my sister's makeup sponges and I have plenty of microfiber towels.

The tools did cost a bit, BUT that's because I did get the medium-range quality tools that had interchangeable parts since I'm planning on adding leatherworking to my list of hobbies anyway.

For example, the overstitcher came as set with the handle and 4 different wheels for $20 and the awl also came as a set with the handle, 2 awl blades, a scratch blade, and a lacing blade for $30. There are definitely beginner-grade options that are $10 and $7 respectively. I also purchased a stitching groover for $17, but there are cheaper options around $10.

If we put together the materials and cheaper tools for working with leather, that comes out to be the same price as just the materials for the faux leather (~$85-95). However, it results in a higher quality cosplay and some tools that can be used for other projects.

Time and Effort Analysis

Overall, working with the leather is going to take a lot of time (which I have a lot of, for now...), but it'll look SO good and it's cheaper! Who would have thought?

I'm definitely eating my words that I said last month...

"No, I'm not going to purchase real leather..."

-- Me, an ignorant idiot, Jan 29th

[sarelcon]

Making Silco from Arcane because villains are always more fun to cosplay (part 1)- Patterning & making the vest

I got inspired by the work of a mutual of mine, Plexi Cosplay, and also got that semi annual urge to do a sewing intensive project. I decided to draw up a redesign of Silco, reimagining the design if the character had been written as a woman but not taking the easy route and just making a dress in the same color scheme. I wanted to take his outfit after the time jump and just make the lines a bit more dramatic and feminine. I found two McCall’s commercial sewing patterns in my stash and used those as inspiration for the the more dramatic cut of Madame Silco’s garments and sketched it in procreate. I used those patterns to estimate how much matte satin and wool blend I would need for the coat, coat lining, and the vest. The waist piece was patterned with the ol’ plastic wrap + duct tape technique. I did several rounds of mock-ups to get the vest to fit and then spent a whole evening making six different collar mock-ups for the coat.

I like to start with the bottom layers and work my way up so I made the vest first, cutting the outer layer from charcoal matte satin and the lining from a dismembered dress I had thrifted at Goodwill. I used only a straight stitch and spent a lot of time pressing seams nice and crisp. I also installed a separating invisible zipper for the closure.

I sewed the lining and fashion fabric together, leaving the front open for the zipper, added the zipper, and then pressed the edges flat. I also topstitched over the entire hem of the garment and around the arm holes to keep everything super flat in preparation for the trim pieces.

I made a tape pattern for a pair of HTV details around the arm holes and a chunky 0.5 inch trim that would be cut from upholstery vinyl. I digitized the HTV portion and used a Cricut to cut out the metallic finish gold HTV. This was incredibly fragile vinyl and felt more like working with gold leaf rather than HTV.

After struggling through the vinyl, I transferred the other half of the tape patterned onto paper, and traced that onto the world’s shiniest upholstery vinyl. I spent a whole afternoon top stitching this with a Teflon presser foot and desperately hoping I didn’t mess up. The reflective surface shows every mistake. After a very tense few hours, all the trim was on and it was onto the bottom half of Silco’s vest, which I had patterned separately to mimic a waist cincher/ underbust corset

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