#down jacket manufacturer

[thomsonsharon347]

All About The Differences Between Down Jackets And Padded Jackets

As a retailer, determined to bulk down jackets, go through this to learn what makes down jackets distinctively different from padded jackets.

[jacketssupplier]

How to Pick the Perfect Jacket For A Date

Do you want to know how to go for the right jacket for a date? Reading this blog, you will find all the important tips!

Visit: https://sites.google.com/view/oasis-jackets/blog/how-to-pick-the-perfect-jacket-for-a-date

[syoddeye]

short, unedited ghost x f!reader thing.

you must've stepped on a mirror. walked under a ladder. let a black cat cross your path.

because it's near two am, and you're trapped under a tiny, leaky awning during an absolute downpour after closing. your keys? locked inside behind you. your phone? in your desperate search for your keys in your bag, you dropped it and the screen's kaput. now you're fighting off tears and cursing the manufacturer of your worthless umbrella, because it's fucking broken. insult to injury.

you don't hear the big man coming with all the swearing and muttering to yourself. "son of a fucking..." you furiously shake the mangled metal and nylon, like a terrier with a rat. it's ten minutes on foot to the closest station and of course you wanted to look cute so you bought the pretty albeit useless raincoat—

"want to borrow mine?"

you nearly stab the owner of the voice with the broken exposed ribs of the umbrella, wheeling on him with your best do not fuck with me face. a face that disappears, morphing into frozen terror at the skull-faced giant in front of you. he's drenched, which can't be good for th leather jacket stretching across his shoulders and chest. it's shiny, catching the streetlamp on its slick surface. a gloved hand offers an umbrella. a sturdy looking one.

"y'alright?"

well, he hasn't eaten or stabbed you yet, so.

"y-yeah."

"take it. yeah. sweet girl."

"thanks?" you swallow and pop the umbrella open, holding it aloft over your head under the awning.

"run along home now. don't you know that sugar melts?"

it's. it's not the worst thing a man's ever said to you, but the tone with which he says it—you're dashing off down the sidewalk before he can feed you any other deeply unsettling lines. a laugh echoes in the dark.

[thechanelmuse]

Kendrick, Drake, and Ethnic/Cultural Identity

One of the most discussed topics during this exchange between the two is if Drake is a culture vulture. In short, yes. He's always been. It boils down to inherited cultural identity and respected history, not the upholding of a social construct of “race.” 

Race is a goofy non-biological caste system that operates in various countries and it’s a dumbass global push to get people to embrace a superior to inferior hierarchy in classifying the globe into 5 broad groups solely based on perceived skull sizes, hues of skin color, and perceived traits and phenotypic features via the teachings of François Bernier, Johann Blumenbach, Carl Linnaeus, and them other hoes. Get race tf outta here.

I’m gonna make this concise as possible, but fleshed out a bit for full understanding.

Kendrick Lamar is Black American on both sides with his roots most likely coming out of Mississippi and/or Alabama to Chicago to Cali by way of the Great Migration. (He may even descend from Duckworths from Louisiana). I haven’t done his genealogy, but now I may out of curiosity.

Black American is a double ethnicity. We’re citizens of America (nationality = US Citizen), and our ethnic group (Black) was created & descends from this land (ethnicity = American) through ethnogensis. It has nothing to do with one’s brown skin color or how the cops see us 🙃, but everything to do with the lineage of one’s parents and their parents, etc. (For info on lineage tracing, refer to my post here.) 

Black Americans are an ethnic group (the largest from this land and largest in this country after Germans), while “white Americans” are a self-identification race to remove ethnic identity and conflate numbers. I can break this down further in another post if y’all want since American history is complex and will explain why Black Americans have been reclassified seven times by the US government 🙃. 

Now.

Culture is largely passed down through your mother, and her mother, and her mother, and so forth for Black Americans (and I’m sure other ethnic groups). No matter if it’s a two-parent or single-parent household, she’s your ultimate teacher in setting the foundation of your cultural upbringing. It’s the same if one is raised by their grandparents. It largely stems from the grandmother. If one’s father is their main parent, that’s a different case of course. 

Drake falls in line with this as someone from a single-parent household. He is half Ashkenazi of Latvian and Russian descent (ethnicity) through his mother and of half Black American descent (ethnicity) through his father. He is a dual citizen of Canada and America (nationality), who was raised in Canada with his Ashkenazi Jewish mother and Ashkenazi relatives with an Ashkenazi upbringing. He went to a Jewish day school and was engulfed in all aspects at home. 

Kendrick is ethnically and culturally Black American. Drake is ethnically and culturally Ashkenazi. He is also ethnically Black American (through lineage), but not culturally Black American. Does that make Drake a culture vulture? No. He just didn’t have the cultural upbringing but could always immerse himself in learning, appreciating, and respecting the other half of his history and culture.

What makes him one is how he operates as an outsider. He participates in an aspect of Black American culture (Hip-Hop) for his monetary gain, adopts a manufactured image for his perception of believability, and disrespects the people of this culture. “…run to America to imitate culture.” It’s like a jacket to him. He takes it off to try on another (like a Jamaican accent) and swaps for another, etc. 

A few examples that’s been touched on: He blackened his face to depict blackface while wearing a Jim Crow t-shirt… That’s specific disrespect towards Black Americans, mocking our history and our ancestors. “Whipped and chained you like American slaves.” That’s specific disrespect towards Black Americans, mocking our history and our ancestors. “[You] always rappin' like you 'bout to get the slaves freed.” Do I even need to explain this? Hopefully it’s understood.

The muthafucka is not like us.

[gremlins-hotel]

alfred rocking some different flight jackets (nerd stuff under cut)

The flight jacket, an iconic piece of any aviator's outerwear. Before they ever became symbols of fashion and the 'exalted' place that came with the occupation of pilot, the flight jacket as we know it was first made for function. Aircraft of World War I and the earliest designs were open cockpit machines, and many would remain that way in the Interbellum. All that to say this paramount paraphernalia's original purpose was to keep an aviator warm in the sky.

Keep in mind that the images above may not reflect every specimen of their type. Jackets differed in design by manufacturer, production block, and even by the military branch (Navy jackets also often have a different name) & unit ordering them. A great example is the wide range of looks for the quintessential B-3. My apologies in advance for them being all American designs. I would love to show off some of the British flight jackets, but I would rather do a little more research (and practice drawing Arthur more)!

A-1 (1927-1931) A thin leather jacket designed for lower altitudes and made with a flattering fit high on the waist, the A-1 was the kickstart to the wide variety the Army Air Corps would come to know. The A-1 had differing designs between the Navy and the infant Air Corps, and early A-1s are distinguished by having seven buttons and a knit collar, which later models did not keep. However, later models did retain the knit waistband and cuffs.

A-2 (1931-1943) The direct successor to the A-1, the A-2 quickly replaced its older brother. This is one of the more recognizable jackets from the States after becoming the standard for the Air Corps in the early 1930s. The quality of the jackets would fall due to wartime rationing, with early designs of horsehide and silk becoming goatskin and cotton, however, the general look remained. The A-2 was still primarily for open cockpit designs, lower altitudes, and warmer climes. Identifiable from the A-1 by its snap-down leather collar, zipper, and varying shapes and sizes of a hook-and-eye clasp at the collar to close it.

G-1 (1938-present) This looker would replace the A-2 in form and function during the 1940s, first becoming popular with the Army and Navy before being adopted by USAAF. Originally named the ANJ-3/AN-J-3 the jacket gained its new designation by the time the Air Corps caught on. The G-1 came with a mouton collar and a bi-swing back to allow for greater arm movement, meanwhile, it lacked the over-zipper 'wind flap' of its predecessors. A keen eye for pop culture might realize that this is the jacket from the 1986 hit Top Gun.

B-3 (1934-1943) Ah, the B-3! Commonly known simply as the "bomber jacket," the B-3 was made with a high-altitude bomber in mind, unlike previous designs. Incredibly bulky and lined with sheepskin the B-3 was made to keep crews at 25,000 feet above from freezing in their unpressurized cabins, with many such as the early B-17 Flying Fortresses possessing open waist gunner ports. The wide collar could be closed with two leather straps and the jacket did not come with the famous knit waistband or cuffs that others did. "The General" was a B-3 design made specifically for General George S. Patton, who popularized the B-3 outside of the Air Corps. (The B-3 had a slimmer cousin - the B-6 - designed as the 'quality of life' inside bombers improved, such as pressurized cabins.)

B-7 (1941-1942) Short-lived, the B-7 Parka was manufactured for pilots operating in the brutal cold of Alaska. However, not much is known of it due to its limited production. In fact, the B-7 was discontinued swiftly due to its high manufacturing cost. Either way, the B-7 is a funky one-off that is easily distinguishable from the lineup by its three-quarter length and coyote-lined hood.

B-15 (1944-1954) The infamous green flight jacket that many today typically know as the "bomber jacket". The B-15 quickly replaced its older brother, the B-10 (1943-1944). Like other designs it had many variations. Similar to the G-1, the B-15 shared the same pocket design and lack of a wind flap, yet the B-15 was cloth with a mouton collar and a knit waistband and cuffs. The shell was produced in a range of materials including nylon and cotton-rayon. It was lighter weight and far less warm than its sheepskin predecessors and spoke to the advancements in aviation technology. A quirk of its design that soon became standard was the designated pen pocket on the upper left arm.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

[jacksprostate]

The truth is, after blowing my brains out and going to Heaven, the CIA used me to jumpstart the domestic anti-terrorism program and turn the country into an authoritarian petrostate. And as the little posterchild of their loving touch, Congress let me loose five years later, wobbling and feeble and a testament to their reformative powers. They're going worldwide now. Fixing and freedom for all.

Here, even the antichrist can be redeemed. Recycled.

I'm a dishwasher now. Everything I've aspired to be. There's an industrial sterilization between me and the public. When I get home, I'm pruned out like a geriatric population bomb.

After everything, I'm not left alone. I've got guys showing me tattoos on their hands of my lips. I've got invites to every fight club ever. I've got all these garish things. Selling out has a new explosive flavor these days.

My face was kept redacted, but not my birthmark. Men with red sharpies try to pick up girls with their own manufactured faux cancer. It's amazing, how deep this goes. They're coming up with names for me. I've had strangers tell me they've come up with something better.

Jack, like the ripper. It's in this season. I'm fashionable. Try Sebastian. It's biblical.

The many new Tyler Durdens, they've got it all. The fashion, the funding, the government approved fatalities. Terror cells born and bred to die.

It's amazing, what you think you're getting away with when you've not realized you have full cabinet support.

Reporters love me, too. They track me down. They want to make the next counter culture. Homemade soap is all the rage. The silhouette of Tyler at the murder mystery is a best selling shirt.

They're making a movie, and Brad Pitt is going to be Tyler. Attractive, dead, charismatic, useless. Hypocritical.

I was Tyler's prophet, and no one is listening. No one actually wants to know.

The most marketable aspect of my life, I've found, is my apathy and failure. It's all hopeless. We're all shit. We're all the crap and trash of the world.

I say no, you don't get it, and no one listens.

The reason I know I'm still useful, is I haven't shot myself in the head twice yet. Actually, that's the one thing they probably hope I don't try to do. Everything I say, it all helps.

Radicalizing, fragmenting, commercializing.

They're all fighting over me like wolves. I'm a t-bone steak raw and juiced with the full might of the american pharmaceutical industry. Ripe like a fig. Rotting inside.

It's a custody battle.

All my franchises have undergone imminent domain. The rare times I'm let out of the kitchen, I see children in purposefully weathered red jackets and makeup bruises. They love me. They understand me. They know me. They would hate me.

I might be the only man in America who can't buy a gun. Can't buy anything that'd let me off myself. The whole line has been told to watch me and make sure I can't use one of those soap-hidden knives to give myself a roman bath.

I've got those lipstick red Seconals. They're used to kill people. Maybe one day, that will be my exit, and everything I longed for will finally be allowed to kill me the way God intended.

Eventually, this cash cow will grow old and I will get to die, fenced in on all sides.

[thomsonsharon347]

Top 6 Events And Occasions Where You Can Wear A Fur Coat

VISIT:

Are you a business owner or retailer who wants some help with where it is best to sport a fur coat?

[jacketssupplier]

This is How You Should Wash Your Down Jacket

Are you a retailer keen to lay your hands on top-notch quality, practical wholesale down jackets? Connect with one of the most prominent down jacket manufacturers today!

Visit: https://oasisjackets.mystrikingly.com/blog/this-is-how-you-should-wash-your-down-jacket

[stephinechrist14]

[sionisjaune]

Mika/Nico 2004 Arctic Rally flirtation on the occasion of @blorbocedes ‘s birthday!

Mika is stripping down to his thermals when the kid slinks inside his cabin, bundled in a thick winter coat, tufts of blonde hair poking out underneath a knit hat. He bites the inside of his cheek, manufacturing a reason to grimace instead of welcoming Nico into his arms like he used to do when he could still call himself innocent. 

“Not your cabin,” says Mika, tugging off a sweaty glove and tossing it on the countertop.

Nico shuts the door behind him and braces himself against it, nose red from the chill outside. His entire face, or at least the part visible between the collar of his coat and the hem of his hat, is chafed red and blotchy. He licks his lips, and Mika’s gaze lingers on the chapped and wind-bitten skin of his mouth. 

“My dad snores,” Nico mumbles. “Just wanted to get some rest—”

“No,” says Mika, immediately. He knows what Nico’s going to ask of him, and he knows that if Nico asks it outright, he’s going to say yes. 

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” says Nico, pouting rather childishly. Mika wonders what it says about him that he finds Nico’s worst moments attractive.

“No,” says Mika again. “Go back to your room. Cabins are for competitors only.”

Nico tilts his head, still tucked against the door in his coat. Mika watches him shuck his scarf and toss it haphazardly on Mika’s sofa. “I could compete,” says Nico. “I’m good on the ice.” 

“You’re not—” says Mika.

Nico cuts him off, a sparkle in his eye. “Old enough?”

“Used to rally,” Mika finishes. “It’s an entirely different sport.” 

“Really?” says Nico, eyes widening. It’s obvious what he’s doing. Mika strips off his other glove and lets it happen anyway, peeling his racesuit down his chest to hang around his hips. Nico makes a parallel move, drawing the zipper open and shimmying the coat down his arms to reveal a tanned neck and collarbones, the result of a half-Finn unaccustomed to his native climate. Mika doesn’t know why Keke bothered to drag him to Lapland to spectate. “Explain it to me,” says Nico. He drops his jacket on the floor and joins his scarf on Mika’s sofa, curling his legs underneath him.

“First of all, you have a co-driver in the car with you,” says Mika. He tugs the racesuit the rest of the way down, pulling it off his ankles one leg at a time. He was going to make use of the cabin’s meager hot water tank and shower off the sweat sticking to his skin, but with Nico around it’s probably best he keeps his clothing on. 

Nico shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself as if to stave off the cold. “I could handle that. I already have an engineer in F3.”

“It’s a different relationship,” Mika corrects. He can’t help but fall into this avuncular role with Nico, like Keke is still in the room.

“A relationship,” Nico purrs, learning over the edge of the couch. Mika bites the inside of his cheek, wondering where Nico learned this from. He stalls for time by folding his racesuit into a neat little rectangle and setting it on the countertop beside his gloves. It reeks of stale sweat and the ankles are damp with melted snow, but if Nico minds he doesn’t say anything. 

Mika sinks into the armchair opposite Nico and watches Nico furtively scoot towards the end of the sofa closest to Mika. His bare arms are startlingly skinny against the thin fabric of a white singlet. The faded jeans make him look like a ten-euro hooker, even though Mika knows Nico doesn’t wear anything that costs less than a hundred. 

“I bet you disregard your engineer all the time,” says Mika.

“No I don’t,” says Nico. 

Mika gives him a meaningful look. 

“Fine,” says Nico. “Sometimes. But only when he’s wrong.”

“Ah,” says Mika. “The difference is that your co-driver cannot be wrong. You trust him implicitly. If he says full-throttle, you don’t break until the finish line.” 

Nico wrinkles his nose. “I can’t picture you taking orders from anybody.” 

Mika raises a hand to massage his temples. “When I need to,” he says. The hand in front of his eyes conveniently blocks his view of Nico curled up on the corner of the couch, but he can still hear Nico twisting and fidgeting around. 

“Tired?” says Nico. 

“Yes,” says Mika. 

“Me too,” says Nico. He shuffles around on the couch again, and then seems to still. A moment later, Mika feels him plop down on the arm of the chair next to him. He drapes his long legs over Mika’s lap and leans close to his ear. Mika removes his hand from his face just in time for a lock of Nico’s hair to fall in his face while Nico murmurs in his ear. “And I’m cold. It’s fucking freezing in here.” 

Mika bites the inside of his cheek again. The flesh is getting raw, like it always does around Nico. 

“Nico,” he warns. 

“What?” says Nico. He’s completely irreverent. 

Mika shifts to create more space between himself and Nico’s skinny frame. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what?” says Nico.

“You know what,” says Mika. 

“I just want to warm up,” says Nico, curling closer. 

“I have to race tomorrow,” says Mika. He can hear his own voice wavering.

The corners of Nico’s mouth curl like a cat toying with its prey. “Nothing that will make you sore.” 

Mika exhales, rubbing his temples again. “Not even pretending anymore?” 

Hearing his permission, Nico slides into Mika’s lap and surrounds him like his limbs are made of putty. He wraps his arms around Mika’s neck and attaches his mouth to the skin above the collar of Mika’s thermal shirt. “I don’t need to,” he whispers. “Besides, don’t you want to see what I’m wearing under this?”

[leclerced]

Max’ merch got me thinking that he’d love so much when his girl would wear his clothes. She always complains he actually has so much of red bull’s merch and she loves it on race weekends but not always. Kind of a girlfriend effect too because I can see him buying more ‚normal’ clothes. She loves to wear his buttons up in the mornings and his hoodies, jumpers in the evenings. And he always goes feral when he sees her

more soft bf max <333

i kinda love his merch. i wanna order some and see how it is from a manufacturing standpoint. i got some enchante chalet tees and they r nice but honestly super big compared to all my other tees so i wanna see how max’s compare

she loves the pride he has in his team and wearing his own merch branded with a number one, loves to steal his hats and shirts so she can show her support and that would drive him crazy, especially when they’re out and she steals the cap off his head and puts it on her own. but she also loves when he swaps out his team polos for a sweater or a nice button down. like she always compliments him but it’s different when she grabs the lapels of a new jacket and pulls him in for a kiss, before pulling away and telling him to turn around and whistling as he does so.

could see him buying clothes bc he wants her to be impressed with him !! like she compliments him on a specific color and he buys more things in it and every time she’s like “wow have i ever told you i love that color on you? my handsome boy” and he’s the happiest he’s ever been. except for maybe when he sees her in his clothes and he teases her for wearing it better than him.

she always steals his shirts to sleep in, and lounges around in his hoodies. would be late many mornings because he wakes up and finds her in his shirt from the day before and it still smells like him for the most part but her perfume has rubbed off on it and he can’t help but keep her in bed as long as possible

she’d get cold in the garage and disappear, so he’s looking around for her and starting to panic when she returns swaddled in one of his hoodies, and he just starts smiling like an idiot bc he’s just so overwhelmed with how much he loves her.

[trivialbob]

Yesterday I had a great time in Wisconsin.

Early in the morning I cooked a traditional eggs and sausage breakfast. When I finished eating I walked around the campground, talking to people. I crossed paths with a lot of nice people this weekend. During my walk a group of campers were cooking eggs and bacon outside. Despite having just eaten a similar big breakfast the smell made me feel hungry again.

Eventually I drove to town to re-fill the propane tank. When I buy propane at home I pay a cashier first then show an attendant my receipt before he fills the tank. At the place in Wisconsin the owner (I think he was) came outside. I asked if I should pay before he filled or while he filled the tank.

"You can pay now if you want. Or you can talk with me while I fill the tank," he replied.

Being who I am, asked all sorts of questions about his experiences filling propane tanks while he filled mine. He seemed to genuinely appreciate my interest. There were no horror stories. He explained how he inspects the tank's date of manufacture and makes sure it's safe to re-fill. Back home I've never noticed the attendant pay much attention to the tank, nor is he into small talk either.

After that I went down the road to the place our friends own for a bloody Mary and a small pizza. I like the garnish in a separate glass and the chaser. I looked over several side-by-sides in the parking lot, including one flying two large American flags (the pictures at the top).

After lunch I returned to the campground -- and took a two hour nap. Why not. It felt like vacation. When I got up I met more people at the campground. It's been only two weekends but I'm very happy Sheila chose this place for a year.

Then I went on a bicycle ride. Because I was on some 45-55 MPH roads I wore a hi-viz jacket and had all my blinky lights going.

Almost everyone who drove towards me waived. Drivers who passed me gave wide berth. Two farmers on tractors subtly waved and nodded their heads my way. That made me smile. Approaching an Amish buggy, I figured the woman and boy in it might not appreciate my bright, flashy garb and blinking lights. But they smiled brightly and waved. That really made me grin.

In the evening I went to a different small town, the one I had been to the previous night. I was keen on having a beer at the bar that shares my first name.

First picture below is a sign on the way into town that I found amusing. Second picture is inside Mr. Bob's bar.

I should have taken a selfie, to show EXACTLY how many customers were in there at 6 PM. Later someone told me Mr. Bob's doesn't get busy until late at night. The bartender was a decent woman, but I felt she looked at me like "Why the heck are you here so early? Now I have to stop what I'm doing to serve you." It's not like I woke up the owner to serve me beer at 7 AM. I should have asked why they don't simply unlock the doors at 10 PM.

Since there was no one to chat with at Mr. Bob's I went around the corner to a taproom I had on my list of places to try. I was not disappointed.

There are 20 beers on tap. Not one of them has Light in the name. I chose a flight of four.

Next summer, sometime when Sheila drives, I plan to order the Dirty Knapp. It's served in that large, Swiss-cheese-looking circle below. For $48 you get a four-ounce beer from each of the 20 taps. That's five pints. I'm not a college student any more, but I think I can pull it off if I skip lunch and dinner :)

At the bar I sat with two other guys my age and a younger woman. The bartender was funny. The five of us laughed pretty hard while telling stories.

Because I had to drive back in the dark, along deer-infested county roads, I didn't drink any more beer after that flight. I was having so much fun talking to the others I didn't want to leave. So I tried some non-alcoholic drinks. I've seen hop water before, just never tried it. I liked it. It reminded me of some odd flavor of La Croix. I also had a non-alcoholic IPA. It tasted like real beer without making me buzzed.

To complete my night, some neighbors invited me to join them and their friends around a camp fire. More laughter and stories.

Fun times. I'm looking forward to going back a few more times before we have to winterize the trailer.

[embercub]

A Promise (Stalker!Carlo x G/N!Reader x Stalker!Romeo) Pt. 2

Pt. 1

Here is part 2 of A Promise, this is the reader's perspective where they are sent back to when the puppet frenzy happen, this is an au where Romeo doesn't control the puppets since he is a Stalker and never became the puppet king.

Summary: After finding a locket that seems so familiar in Venigni's factory, the reader finds themselves back in time to when the puppet frenzy was going on, and they meets two men who claims to know them.

◇◇◇

"Man this place is incredible!" Y/N muttered in awe as they looked at the sign on the front of Venigni Works.

Back in the 1800s, this place made pretty much all of the technology that the city of Krat had which made the entire city famous back then for being way ahead of it's time.

And after the puppet frenzy that caused chaos for the whole city, so many slaughtered by puppets or the petrification disease, eventually it ended by some stalkers and many years later, the city was rebuilt and made into a whole tourist attraction with museums at the factory, the grand expedition which was already a museum as was, even hotel Krat was partially a museum, but still was a hotel.

They were on a trip abroad with some of their classmates for college, and when they heard where the department they were in was going for the trip, they instantly signed up.

They had heard stories about Krat and read books about the city and found it all fascinating.

On the first day, they all went to see City Hall and Krat Central Station, then the next day was the Malum District.

They had already seen Rosa Isabelle street yesterday, and today they were going to go to the Grand Exhibition with their classmates, but when they heard about Venigni Works, they decided to stop by there before meeting up with their classmates at the Exhibition.

To not take so long, Y/N just looked around the front area of the factory, which already had quite a bit of things on display.

Displays of the trams that were around the city, displays of some of the puppets that were manufactured there.

They found everything so interesting.

Eventually they made their way back to the entrance, where they looked at some more puppets that were made.

One that caught their eye was an older looking puppet.

He was dressed in a stripped red jacket and black stripped pants, and he held a white towel with one arm.

A butler puppet?

As they read a plaque about the butler puppet, learning that his name was Pulcinella, the sound of their phone ringing startled them.

Pulling their phone out, they saw they were getting a call from their friend.

"Oh shit." They muttered as they answered the call.

"Y/N, where are you? You might want to head over to the Exhibition before it gets late."

"Yeah, I'm on my way, just lost track of time. I'll be there soon, I promise."

"You better, your missing out on some cool stuff over here."

Y/N chuckle a bit.

"Got it, see you soon."

Y/N then hung up the call and slipped their phone into their pocket as they started making their way back towards the entrance.

But as they walked down the hallway leading to the front of the factory, a single door caught their eye.

It was a bit larger than all the other normal doors, and it had an elegant V on it as well as swirly designs in the middle.

"An office maybe?"

Looking around to see if anyone was around since they didn't know if it was off-limits.

They didn't know why, but it felt like something was drawing them towards the door.

Grabbing the doorknob, they were honestly surprised that the door was unlocked.

Opening the door, they were met with a tidy office.

There were models of trams, of the factory, even the grand expedition building.

But what caught their attention was a portrait hanging on the wall behind the desk.

It was of Lorenzini Venigni himself.

And in his arms was a child.

They seemed to be pretty young, perhaps about three years old if they had to guess, and the child had h/c hair and e/c eyes.

"I don't remember Venigni being married, maybe he adopted them?" They mumbled as they didn't remember reading anything about Venigni being married or having kids.

Y/N did notice that the child looked like them if they were a kid again, but it could have just been a coincidence, so they brushed it off.

"Must have kept it to himself that he had a kid."

Looking away from the portrait, they continued to look around the office, looking at the models, but as they looked at the Venigni Works factory model, they noticed a button hidden underneath the sign.

Curious, Y/N pushed it.

At first nothing happened, but a second later, they heard a small click coming from behind them.

Looking back, they saw the portrait was now swung open a little, revealing a small shelf with a journal and a small box.

Picking up the journal, Y/N opened it up to a random page and began reading.

It has been a year since the Petrification Disease got to the Monad Charity House in Rosa Isabelle street. Fortunately, Romeo and Carlo, who I see as my own sons, made it out alive and thankfully not affected by the disease, but when I heard news of my child had gone missing, a part of my world has shattered. Everyone assumed they died to the disease, but I know they aren't dead. I know Y/N is still out there somewhere, and that they are still alive. I have lost my parents when i was a child, I'm not going to lose anymore of my family.

"So this is why nothing is known on Venigni's child, poor kid. I wonder what happened to them." They them closed the journal and then picked up the small box.

It was light, but there was something inside that had a little bit of weight to it.

Gently lifting the lid up, their eyes widened when they saw a silver locket with a blue gem in the center of it.

"This thing must've been very important if he had it hidden away."

Gently pressing a finger onto the blue gem, a flash of a bright blue light, blinding the college student for a moment before it faded away, leaving the office dark.

"Alright, putting it away so that doesn't happen again." they muttered as they placed the lid back on the box.

But that's when they noticed that the office was now trashed instead of how tidy it was just a moment ago.

And the portrait was now gone.

"What the..." they started but was cut off by loud screeching coming from outside.

What was going on?

Placing the box into their coat pocket, Y/N approached the door and opened it to see the whole area completely wrecked.

Remembering where the front of the factory was, Y/N ran down the hall back to the front, which was now empty compared to earlier when they arrived at the factory.

When they got to where the gate was, they were shocked to see the gate to the factory now blocked.

"How am I suppose to get out?!" They exclaimed, starting to panic.

Looking around, they saw the ladders of a scaffolding that wasn't there before, leading up to the roof of the building.

Maybe there was a way down from there.

Putting their backpack that they had on fully to make sure it didn't fall off their shoulders, Y/N hurriedly climbed up each ladder.

But when they got to the roof, they froze at the sight they were met with.

The whole city from what they could see was abandoned.

Buildings wrecked, and so many puppets around on the streets, many holding weapons.

'No way, I can't be back to when the puppet frenzy happened, that's impossible! I have to be having a nightmare.' They thought as they slowly made their way down the stairs to the ground.

They had to get to the hotel.

Knowing they had to run past all the puppets on the bridge, they took a shakey breath before sprinting right past them all, causing them to screech as they began to throw things at them and chase after them.

They managed to get across the bridge but they weren't able to get any further as the puppets blocked the only way to the hotel that they knew of.

So they went to the left path which was the only open path for them to go.

Sprinting down the small street, past a telephone and went right, but they were met to a locked gate.

"Are you kidding me?"

They looked around to see if there was any place at all to hide, but that's when a pair of arms wrapped around their waist and whoever it was pulled them inside a building.

"Hey, let go of me!" They exclaimed as they tried to pry the person's arms off of them.

Whoever it was froze for a moment before turning them around, and they were face to face with a man wearing a crow mask while there was another man who was wearing a white fox mask.

"Y/N?"

The man with the fox mask asked as they stepped towards Y/N, his hand reaching out to their face, causing them to flinch away.

"Who are you people? Where am I?" They asked as the other man, who was holding them, finally released them.

"What do you mean? Y/N, it's us." The man in the fox mask said, a hint of frustration as well as desperation in his voice.

Y/N gave him a deadpan look.

"Seriously?" They asked annoyed.

The man in the crow mask looked to the other and realized what they meant.

"Oh, our masks Carlo."

The two then pulled their masks off, revealing their faces.

The one who was wearing the crow mask, had shoulder length sandy blonde hair that was pulled back in a ribbon.

He had hazel eyes and slightly tanned skin.

The other man who was wearing the fox mask, he had dark brown hair that went a bit past his ears, and amber colored eyes.

He had paler skin than the other man.

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought.

They looked so familiar, but they didn't remember from where, and they were sure they never met them until now.

Carlo...

They had also heard that name before.

"Y/N, it's us, Romeo and Carlo, don't you remember? We met when you and your father visited the Monad Charity House, the locket that we bought for you? We've been friends for years!" The blonde man, Romeo, desperately said, trying to get them to remember something.

But the word locket caught their attention.

"Wait, locket?"

They slipped their hand in their pocket and pulled out the box with the locket that they found at Venigni's factory.

They never had the chance to open the locket itself since they were being chased.

To be honest, they completely forgot about it until Romeo mentioned it.

Taking the locket out of the box, they opened it and felt chills all over their body when they saw what was inside.

There was a photo inside, it was the two men, but they seemed to be a few years younger in the photo.

They were wearing the monad charity house uniforms from what they could remember from when they went to Rosa Isabelle Street, and between them was someone who looked exactly like them, but they were wearing something that was from around the late 1900s to early 2000s.

So the child in the portrait back at the factory.

Was that child really them?

'No way...' They thought as their heart pounded in their chest and they began to hyperventilate.

They were not from this time.

They couldn't be.

Y/N's head began to throb in pain, causing them to drop the locket as they held their head.

Their eyes squeezed shut from the pain.

"Y/N?"

When they felt a hand land on their shoulder, that's when everything went dark.

◇◇◇

I hope you all liked part 2, sorry if I made any mistakes in it, I tried my best while trying to get homework done for my college classes. And I will be doing part 3 as soon as I can!

Taglist: @justmare @mahirublue

[milfswriter]

Can you do CEO! rhea ripley x FEM! reader and rhea is in a meeting in her office, and reader is sitting on the couch or smth and decides to tease rhea by taking her clothes off infront of her

Word prompt : “ don’t make me punish you“

If you can do it thank you, if you can’t I understand <333

Sorry guys for the slow posts LOL. I’m having motivation withdrawal if that’s even a thing.

Control

CEO!Rhea Ripley x reader Summary: you're bored in Rhea's office, you take matters into your own hand.

Notes and warnings: smut, teasing, spanking, fingering, edging, mentions of alcohol?, lmk if there's anything else.

It was boring. Rhea told you she'd be done in an hour but now it's been two and a half and she showed no sign of finishing up anytime soon. She kept you busy with many milkshakes and appetizers she told her assistant to bring you whenever she saw your patience wavering.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she listened to what the guy in the Zoom meeting was rambling about, clearly not agreeing with whatever point he was trying to make. You took this as a chance to gain her attention.

"Well, Mr Thorne, I thi-" she was cut off by the sight in front of her. Your jacket off, your button-up shirt halfway unbuttoned as you approached her desk with your hands in your pockets. She gulped in surprise, blinking before turning back to her webcam.

"I think the number of sales should be raised by 40% by next year or I will stop the manufacturing of these motherboards. No matter how stable the sales are, I want higher" she could see you with the side of her eye, pacing back and forth in front of her, your sleeves raised to your elbow as you waited for the right moment to strike.

Other people started talking, you saw her press the mute button before leaning back against her chair, joining her hands on her lap as she crossed her legs. "Sit back on that couch. Don't make me punish you" she kept her professional face on, considering the webcam was still on.

You let out a whine, "you're taking too long. Didn't know Miss Ripley's so bad at keeping promises" her face hardened even more at the name, her eyes narrowing.

"I did not promise you anything, I gave you an estimate" her tone was still hard, whatever meeting that was was definitely stressing her out.

"An underestimate for sure. I am not one of your employees" you reminded, "turn that camera off, I wanna come closer"

She reached for the mouse and gave it a little click, moving her chair back to give you space.

You smirked, loving the hold you had on the powerful CEO. You walked to her ever so slowly, rounding the desk, and were going to straddle her before she turned you and bent you over the desk before you can comprehend what was happening.

"you think you can tell me what to do, hm? you want me to turn the camera back on..want them to see Miss Ripley's pet get punished?"

You let out a groan, disappointed that your previous teasing wasn't entirely working according to plan. she pulled you up against her front, her hands continuing your work of unbuttoning your shirt before groping your breasts through your black lace bra.

"Answer me, slut" she ordered, hand snaking around your throat as you nodded. "yes..yes ma'am" you whispered, turning your head to make eye contact with the taller woman who gave you a softer look than you expected in return.

"Miss Ripley? you with us?" she rolled her eyes at the voice, placing a hand on your back to keep you there while the other reached for the mouse again to unmute herself.

"M’right here.. go on, Thorne" she muted herself once more, reached under you to unbutton your pants and pulled them down your legs.

“Mhm..you’re gonna keep quiet, and take your punishment"

A yelp echoed through the office as her palm connected with your ass, rubbing it after to soothe you. You tried moving away from her when she struck again but she kept you in place with one hand. Her strength often turned you on, but it was definitely a disadvantage to you this time.

“Oh no, baby. Told you you’re gonna get punished, but you had to act like a little whore instead of waiting for me to finish" she nipped at the shell of your ear.

"you gave me no choice, though!"

"shut up, y/n/n" she let out a chuckle, "now..you're gonna count for me" before you could even think of protesting, she struck again.

"fuck, one.." she kept going, barely giving you any time to breathe. "god! nine.."

"that's it, one more..I'm going easy on you 'cause this meeting is the last thing I wanna do on this earth"

She rubbed your now-dark red cheeks, her middle finger sneaking between them to collect your slick, a groan leaving her mouth at your wetness.

"Oh, would you look at that..you got this wet from being punished?" she mocked you with a pout, turning your head by your hair to face her.

"Look at me while I fuck you" you let out a gasp as you felt two digits enter you ever so slowly, the voices of Rhea's unfazed employees playing in the background along with the sounds of your slick as your girlfriend fucked you into her desk.

"oh..g..god" you grinded against her fingers, her free hand coming to fist your hair, pulling it back to see you properly as she whispered filth into your ear.

She lifted one of your legs to reach even deeper inside you, your scream telling her it was a good decision. "That's it, good girl. Take your punishment" a hearty laugh escaped her throat at the sight of you, begging at her mercy.

She knew you were close. Your thighs clenching impossibly tight around her fingers they began to cramp, breath heavy, and your back arched as a bow.

As you began to shake and writhe under her, she removed her fingers and herself from you completely. "no, FUCK!" you whined loudly, your face contorting in the mixture of pleasure and pain.

There was no sound behind you, you tried to turn your head to look for Rhea but failed miserably due to the exhaustion and cramping you felt from being bent over the desk for over twenty minutes.

"R...Rhea?" you called, your voice hoarse.

"here, bunny" she was suddenly in front of the desk, crossing her arms in victory as she saw your state. "Come, we'll go home. And maybe you'll get your reward"

She saw your failed attempt to get up and walked back over to you, holding you into her as she pulled your pants back up, buttoning them and pulling the zipper up. She let you sit in her chair, something she doesn't often do.

Rhea got you a glass of water from the shelf where she keeps her whiskey and other alcoholics she chugs whenever work gets on her nerves.

"You're cruel" you mumbled, chugging the whole glass. She shook her head with a laugh, leaning down to kiss your lips. You pulled her into you by her blazer, jerking when her knee purposely accidentally pressed against your sensitive dissatisfied core.

Yep. You weren't getting out of there anytime soon.

Taglist:

@obsessedwithwwewomen @ara-a-bird @jungwoospeach @yourmisosoup @cameronsdruthers @dementedtrashcat @children-scareme