#p.r. computer
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Of Strangers and Rain Delays
Paring: Reader x Lance Stroll
Warnings: slight angst, fluff, meet-cute, pure fluff, first-meetings
Word Count: 2,383
Status: Complete
___________________
With another crack of thunder, Lance spares a glance at the wide window paneling of the Montreal airport. The skies are so dark it’s nearly black, thick clouds hanging over the runways, raindrops smacking against the pavement. The wind billows on, threatening to lift the tarmac that lines small carts zipping across the barely visible rows of lights, emitting a weak hue consumed by the onslaught of rain.
He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.
Somehow, he knew this would happen.
From the moment he’d received word that their private airfield was closed, to the moment that his team was ushered to a quiet, empty terminal. He knew that the rain would keep him stranded in Canada. He had no real reason to worry, when Aston Martin constructed his travel plans, they always did so with the weather in mind.
He looked over at his P.R. manager. She sat across from him, her legs crossed over one another, staring down at a tablet. The glow of the screen cast a shadow over her concerned face, moving when her fingers worried at the skin of her lips.
“Something the matter, Charlotte?”
She flicked her eyes up at him, “Nothing that isn’t already my job, Lance.”
He snorts.
There were very few people who would have the backbone to speak to him so freely. It wasn’t that Lance thought of himself as above them, but the world seemed hellbent on making it so that was all anyone ever said. What they said to him couldn’t be worse than what he had said to himself.
There was a reason why he pushed himself into the car, forcing his freshly broken wrists to work just as hard as they had before. Everyone was watching him, everyone was judging him. He could feel their eyes, burning right through him. It stung.
But he was used to it.
From the very moment he’d gotten his seat, it was all Lance has ever heard.
Just a rich kid running with daddy’s money. That’s all he was to them.
Lance looked back down at her phone, a lump suddenly in his throat, “Did they say how long we’re going to be here?”
“I’m not sure,” She looked over to her left, her assistant - Mary - hunched over a computer, “Did they say?”
“We won’t have the clear for hours,” Mary muttered, her heavy bangs falling into her eyes, “Sorry.”
“‘S okay,” He clicked his phone off, pushing it into his pocket.
“Think I’ll go walk around,” He began to stand, catching the way that Charolette’s eyes widened, “ You can’t expect me to sit like this for hours.”
She let out a heavy sigh.
“Lance -”
He knows. He knows what it is.
“I won’t be far,” He tries to offer her a smile, “I’ll get you something to drink, you want something, right?”
She hesitated, she knew that he was aware. Regardless of what people liked to say, Lance wasn’t an idiot.
“I do,” She puts her hands over her tablet, leaning back in her chair, “Diet Coke, please?”
“You got it.”
_________
He can’t shake the look on Charolette’s face. It circles his mind as he walks down the long stretch of the airport hallway. The walls are painted a soothing tan, with bright lights overhead. He reaches over to skim his fingers along the dips within the paint.
It isn’t until he approaches the end of the hallway that he begins to hear chatter. It grows louder as he gets closer, and eventually, he’s standing right in the middle of the bustling terminals. He had no idea that they’d managed to hide him so well.
It wasn’t like he was Charles or anything, he didn’t have fans clamoring over themselves just to see him, but there were certainly weirdos. It had been a while since he’d seen one, surprised that he would’ve been allowed to go this far without seeing one of Aston Martain’s staff rounding the corner with him.
He shrugs it away.
People are much too preoccupied with themselves to notice him. He can hear people shouting at flight attendants from across the wide space, bags thrown around the floor. So much rain wasn’t typical for this time of year, but Mother Nature was simply an unstoppable force.
It isn’t before long that he spots a small cart of drinks with a bright orange umbrella in the air. He sidesteps people, offering small, ‘excuse me’s. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not after last weekend.
He wasn’t the most popular of drivers at the moment.
Charlotte tried to hide his phone from him after the race, saying he needed to focus on recovery. Lance saw right through her and refused to leave without it. With a slight quiver in her lip, she pressed it into his palm.
“Don’t look,” She said, her hand tight around his, “It won’t do you any good, Lance.”
“What haven’t I already heard, Charlotte,” He slipped his hand away from hers, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He would have plenty of time to look on the plane home.
He did.
Lance scrolled on Instagram and Twitter, trying to bite back the anger that rose from within him again. That video - that stupid video - of him with Henry. The camera shook as he just left the frame, only the sight of his green racing suit racing out. There was the rattle of the large toolbox beside him, and the movement of Henry’s body.
Shit.
It was everywhere.
And so were the comments.
They called him spoiled, a monster, a cheater, a loser - everything under the sun was thrown at him, and he just kept scrolling.
Reading word after word, until his eyes began to burn. Lance deserved worse than this. He was a professional, Henry was his trainer, and he shoved him.
Like a dick.
Lance sucks in a deep breath when he gets to the cart, surprised to see no line. He digs into his pocket, “I’ll take a Diet Coke and two waters, please.”
The cashier nods along, ringing him up with a polite smile. He reads Lance his total, opening a plastic bag to place the drinks in, “Thank you, have a good day, sir.”
“Thanks,” Lance mutters, reaching for the bag, “You too.”
As he turns to walk away, he notices a kid, no older than 9 or 10, running around with an Aston Martin sweatshirt on. The green is bright against the dull furnishings of the airport. Lance can’t fight the smile that makes its way on his face or the embarrassment that begins to bloom in his gut.
The seats scattered around the terminals are packed, filled to the brim with stranded passengers. Pieces of luggage are scattered about the floor, little kids jump over them in an attempt to entertain themselves, people are engaged in rapid conversation, and some are slumped over the small armrests, asleep.
It was nice, to fade into the background.
He loved the fans, but Lance has always been a quiet person. His personal time is sacred, his downtime is sacred. He had his obligations on race weekends, signing hats and shirts blindly, but here, he was just a guy trying to get drinks.
He turns back towards the exit, the walkway seems to get more crowded. Lance lets out a sigh before he can stop himself. If he goes now, he’ll be discovered.
Fuck.
Looking around him, there are no spaces not taken by bodies. He tries to round a corner, keeping the bag tight to his chest.
He spots an empty seat, well, one without a human in it.
It’s only a few steps away from him, he’s there before he can turn around.
There’s a girl, headphones around her head, hoodie pulled over them. Her glasses reflect the screen of her laptop, positioned on her crossed legs. She’s invested in something, a hand cupping her chin.
Lance debates walking away, but she notices him before he can.
She looks up at him, pulling one of the slides of her headphones back, eyes widening slightly.
“Yes?”
“Sorry,” He says, jostling the bag in his hand, “Is someone sitting there?”
She looks over, and immediately reaches to grab her backpack, “No, no, sorry.”
He waves a dismissive hand at her, “It’s ok.”
He settles beside her, sliding down in the seat. The noise of the space fills his head, he doesn’t have to think any thoughts of his own. Minutes tick by, the bag resting against his legs. His phone buzzes.
Charlotte.
“Where did you go?”
“I just needed a break, sorry.”
The three bubbles dance across the bottom of his screen before disappearing and reappearing.
“It’s ok. Come back when you’re ready, kid.”
He smiles. The lump in his throat back again. Lance knows that he’s made her job harder, he knows that as she scrolls on that tablet of hers she is trying to manage the damage he’s caused. She has been nothing but supportive, a guiding hand during interviews, and he does nothing but make her life harder.
He sighs.
Lance tries to forget himself. He takes in the room once more, eyes trailing over the streaks of rain, over the fluorescent lights, the people. He tries to forget the last race week. He looks over at the girl beside him, catching sight of her screen.
It’s a movie, he’s unsure if he’s seen before. The two characters on screen stalk around each other, weapons at the ready, blood dripping down their temple. Looks intense.
He begins to pull his gaze away when he catches sight of shimmering Formula One helmet stickers. The glossy sticker glitters in the light, dark forest green mimicking the design of his helmet, with ‘Stroll 18’ written beneath it in bolded letters. His isn't the only one there, Max and Fernando among the few, but it’s the only one he cares to see.
When he looks back at her, she already staring at him.
There’s clear embarrassment across her face, a dark blush across her cheeks.
She pulls her headphones off as she begins to speak, “I - I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable -”
“It’s okay,” He stops her before she can continue, a smirk pulling at his features, “You didn’t know I was going to be here.”
A beat of silence passes before he adds, “Or did you?”
She gapes at him, “Of course not! That’s so weird. Don’t even joke like that.”
“Sorry,” He mutters, trying to hide his smile with his hand.
“No, you’re not,” She lets out a small giggle, and Lance can’t help but want to hear it again.
With her hood pulled down, he can see her more clearly. She’s beautiful.
The lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose. Even with her face glowing, her smile is all he can see.
“You’re right,” He shrugs, tucking his arms into his sides, “I’m not.”
“That’s rude,” She’s quick to answer back, movie paused.
“I’ve been told I’m rude,” The words slip from him.
The look on her face changes, the slight drop of her lips. She just stares at him, but it doesn’t burn.
“Maybe you are,” She says finally, looking down at the ground before back up to him, “Doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy.”
Her words pierce him.
The lump in his throat is thicker than before, he nearly feels like he’s choking on it. It means more than she could ever know, a stranger’s opinion. He doesn’t even know her name. He wonders for a second if she can hear his heart pounding, ears burning.
“Thanks,” He forces out.
“‘Course,” She smiles.
It feels like the sun on Lance’s skin.
“Are - Are you a fan?” He tries to change the subject.
“Yeah,” She mutters pulling her laptop to her chest, “Sorry about the - the stickers…”
“It’s ok,” He laughs, trying to rub away the tightness in his chest, “It’s nice to meet a fan.”
She smiles, picking at the sleeves of her sweater, “Well, I never thought I’d be able to meet any driver.”
“Why’s that?”
She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Are you kidding? The cost of a grand prix is more than I make in a month.”
She fixes herself on the seat, tucking her leg around the chair, “Can’t afford it.”
He hums.
There’s a certain guilt that builds up within him. There was always that saying, ‘Cash is King.’ He has known so many talented drivers forced to leave the sport because it demanded more than they had. The prices got far too high and the rewards were far too little. He knows more than most give him credit for that he’s privileged, his father’s money has allowed him to fail more than some ever get the chance to.
“So then,” he continues, “Where are you headed to?”
“Mr. Stroll,” She stares up at him through her glasses, “Do you know that you’re not supposed to share that information with strangers?”
The laugh that is pulled from him is far louder than he means for it to be. It draws the annoyed glances of a few people around them, but it makes him double over. She laughs too, failing to smother it with her hand.
It isn’t funny, but it’s perfect.
“So you get to know everything about me, but I know nothing about you?”
“You’re famous,” She mutters, pressing a hand to her chest, “I’m just a fan.”
Lance shrugs. He didn’t want her to be just a fan, but maybe that’s just the rain talking.
“Still. I think it’s only fair,” She opens her mouth but Lance adds, “And anyway, I’m just a guy.”
Her mouth clicks shut. She stares at him again for a second, that same look returning to her eyes. It’s almost as if she can see right through him, but he doesn't mind.
“Then,” She puts her hand out, “How about this…”
She introduces herself, telling him her name before saying, “It’s nice to meet you, stranger.”
Lance looks down at her waiting hand. Her smile is dazzling. It’s bright against the dark murkiness of the rain, it balances him.
Lance breathes out.
“I’m Lance, nice to meet you too, stranger.”
_________________________
A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3
I also feel the need to remind some people that these are FICTITIOUS pls remember that
#meet cute#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#female reader#formula 1#one shot#x reader#fluff#first meetings#lance stroll#lance stroll x reader#lance stroll fluff#lance stroll x y/n#aston martin#lance stroll x you#lance stroll imagine#formula one x reader#formula one fanfiction#fluff fic#f1 fluff#pure fluff#first meeting#lance stroll my beloved
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As someone who works in PR I am ASTONISHED at how bad Kensington Palace is at all of this. It’s the most interesting part of the whole thing for me. Well that, and how much it seemingly vindicates H&M and Harry in particular in what he’s said about the firm and the media’s role in protecting the Heir at all costs.
Yeah I work in PR for a public company and anytime we want to put something out we have to run it up the chain - we need legal and Investor relations and executive approvals.
Even if KP and BP had their individual PR teams, which makes sense, there should still be one main central PR office that everyone answers to that manages the entire royal families PR, makes sure schedules and press opportunities and STRATEGY AND MESSAGING all aligns, before running up the chain for final approvals. There’d be a social team and a crisis team and government relations team and a branding team and a general “talent rep” kind of team, all working in tandem to serve the overall strategy for the royal family.
The fact that there are so many cooks in so many different kitchens is why the royal family has had so many PR disasters honestly for decades now. They’re truly doing it all wrong. So many Worst Practices here, not Best Practices.
It really doesn't seem like there is an overall PR team. Just the separate entities
Yeah and that’s the problem IMO. They are a business that should be run like a business. They should have the individual departments I suggested, and even more, working in tandem.
The fact that there are so many separate entities with different agendas and priorities is a huge part of their problem IMO.
But Charles has been transparent for the most part!! And photographed repeatedly. It’s so bizarre when compared to KP, and feels passive aggressive to me to be honest lolol.
They’re really so so so bad at this 😭😭😭😭 but the British public and the media lets them get away with it 🙃🙃🙃
For heaven’s sake. If she’s recovering nicely, why resort to recycling old photos?
Other sources are making a pretty good case for the fact that it’s a November photo, taken after Catherine and the children visited the baby bank.
Does nobody, and I mean nobody, know how to do PR in that place anymore? Now it's pin all of this on just-recovering-from-abdominal-surgery Kate? Why not on William since they were so proud about how he was the one that took the photo? Somehow they keep making everything ten times worse.
I’m sorry, but I don’t believe for a second that Kate personally edited that photo together in such a way that it had to be killed as inauthentic. The pulling of the photo is likely more about the refusal to provide metadata or the raw image for proof rather than silly Photoshop choices. That isn’t an issue of “mummy going wild on the computer,” it’s a larger organizational issue about trust, transparency, and KP’s overall poor approach to news orgs and the press lately.
Why is Kate taking the fall? Why is William such a lout to let an ill Kate put this on her own shoulders rather than admit KP made an error or say KP is going to reevaluate their practices and make a change?
Are college interns running Palace p.r.? Because I cannot understand how they're botching this so badly. If Kate couldn't/wouldn't pose for a legit photo, then just don't release anything. The Royals are basically dumping tankers of gas on the inferno by playing all these games.
Sorry, am I going insane? After saying they wouldn’t respond to these conspiracy theories, they
a) responded by putting out a doctored image,
b) responded to the backlash of doctored image by claiming the woman recovering from a medical issue was playing around in Photoshop, and
c) responded to the backlash of editing claims by putting out an image where the person in the photo is supposed to be Kate but could LITERALLY BE ANYBODY.
NONE OF YOU ARE FINDING THIS WEIRD? NONE?!
"Kate's Back"
Well, it is indeed a picture of Kate's back
Apparently the main symptom of her mysterious medical condition is that any photo with her in it immediately becomes grainy, blurry, or with people's wrists trying to escape into a fifth dimension.
Good Lord, I haven't followed a disaster story this closely since Oceangate Titan and this one may be even worse. The narrative is out of control and the rules have gone out the window.
They already lost control of the narrative at this point. No matter what they do now, they will be scrutinized more than they've ever been before. And they seem grossly unprepared for it.
She’s not even facing camera, how is this supposed to help? This just feeds the conspiracy theorists! headdesk
It's becoming a PR nightmare that only Olivia Pope can rescue.
Maybe the better question is that people are concerned about Kate's welfare, and most WERE okay with waiting under the timeline KP initially offered that is she will likely return by or after Easter.
However KP has mismanaged the messaging, and with that concern grows over how weird some of the updates are. The article explains why this medical time out is turning into an absolute PR crisis. It isn't so much about Kates right to medical privacy (she definitely deserves that )
It now is about institutional reliability, the heir William's arguably erratic or unusual behavior or his courtiers' comments, the mess with the all kill photoshopped/Frankensteined photo (which has never happened before with a palace released photo), the very different approaches from BP vs KP, etc etc. It's become bigger than Kate sad to say.
And ultimately now people are worried for her, in a way they wouldn't have been, because things have become so irregular and bungled. So the urgency to make sure she is safe and okay has become louder and more insistent.
“CNN is now reviewing all handout photos previously provided by Kensington Palace.”
“In editorial photography, photojournalists and editors commonly adjust a photograph’s exposure or color balance in order to more accurately reflect the scene. Most news organizations, including CNN, regard it as unacceptable to move, change or manipulate the pixels of an image. To do so would alter the reality of the situation the image is intended to document.”
“In the past, the family’s amateur photographs have been well received when posted on social media. But on this occasion, this photo was also released to media organizations as a handout and the palace wasn’t transparent about the fact it had been adjusted.
That will have damaged the trust between the palace and media organizations – many of which, like CNN, will likely be assessing all royal handouts. The editing storm has undermined the existing relationship and when public interest over any possible cover up escalates, as it has done recently, many news outlets will now have take that speculation more seriously.”
#my gif#reddit#PR fail#fail!#kensington palace#palace officials#William The Prince of OWN GOALS#William The Weak#William The Terrible#prince william#William The Prince of Wales#scandal!#ESCANDALO!!!#kate middleton#Catherine The Princess of Wales#british royal family#fleet street#media
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In Part 2 of Masters of the Air, Crosby said he could make overthinking into a an Olympic sport and after reading his book I can confidently say that it’s 100% valid.
Here’s his recount of what happened during and after the mission to Trondheim, Norway in his book A Wing and a Prayer:
What did they do to a navigator who had screwed up as badly as I had? I never knew where I was. I had forgotten completely that I was to radio back a position report in code every fifteen minutes. I didn't give the groups enough warning before the I.P. If the Germans hadn't sent up the smoke screen we might have gone on to the Arctic Circle.
I had done everything wrong. I messed up the rendezvous. I should have given P.R.'s to radio and a strike message, which he was supposed to send in code back to HQ. None of that. I had left the briefed course. Because I didn't think I could navigate in Norway I took us to Scotland. Instead of being at altitude most of the time I brought us home on the deck.
What did they do for stuff like that? Court-martial? Ground me? That didn't sound so bad. Send me back to the States? Disgrace. As we headed home, I figured no headings. I computed no ETA's. I made no entries in my logbook. All I did was sit there, ooze sweat, stink, and feel sorry for myself. I grimly realized I was not airsick. I didn't use even one paper bag.
…
After we landed, I decided I could not endure the debriefing. I got out of the nose, dropped onto the ground. My frozen ankles hurt as I hit. Without speaking to the ground crew I walked off the concrete and into the woods. It was about a quarter mile to my quarters, but I made it, slinking along to avoid anyone talking to me. When an enlisted man offered me a ride in his jeep, I waved him off.
At the 418th site, no one was around. I went into our Nissen. Empty. I dropped onto my bed. The sweat. The smell of fear and shame. I could not bring myself to take off my fleece-lined flying clothes. I had forgotten to take the radio headset from around my neck. I remembered leaving my parachute in the plane. I should have turned it over to the rigger. What else?
Trouble.
I heard a jeep drive up, stop. A knock at the door.
The court-martial was beginning.
#he’s just an anxious little guy#Harry Crosby needs a hug#fun fact: he got a Distinguished Flying Cross for this mission and he thought he was going to get court marshaled#Harry Crosby had hella anxiety and honestly me too bro#THESE ARE LITERAL QUOTES FROM HIS BOOK LIKE#and this was published in like 1993 so you know he was WAY more dramatic when it actually happened#someone rewrite the scene after Trundheim where he just walked off into the woods to wallow in self pity#Harry Crosby#masters of the air#historically accurate#a wing and a prayer#mota#mota musings#quotes#real mota
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say hello to Sal P.R., one of the writers for this zine!
"Sal P.R. is a Latino and queer writer from central Texas. He fell in love with TLOU when his mother made him watch the first episode with her to admire her celebrity crush. Currently, he's saving up for better computer to play the game, and thanks his mother for showing him the series in the first place."
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I’m Sorry
First off I want to apologize, I really do try to write about profound things, or things that may tug at your emotions, but sometimes I just need to write in an effort to release a subject that has been bouncing around inside my head. I often hope that putting it down on paper, or in this case a computer screen will help free me from the nagging thoughts and perhaps move on to a new subject that will take over haunting me.
Am I the only one that gets annoyed when some politician is standing up apologizing for something that happened before they were born? From my perspective it is not theirs to apologize for. I’m okay with them saying that whatever happened was horrible, or wrong, or unjust, but more often than not it is just some P.R. stunt and I don’t for a second believe the sincerity of the apology. I will acknowledge a bias here, I am not a big fan of anything that comes out of a politicians mouth, with a few very rare exceptions. Power corrupts and I think politics continues to reinforce this belief for me.
So in the news recently survivors of the residential schools attended Rome where they demanded the Pope apologize for what happened in Residential Schools. The Pope made some form of apology. Then they wanted the Pope to attend Canada and apologize here, which he has recently done. If you have heard the Pope’s apology, and you look at it carefully then I think you will see that more effort was placed on attempting to limit or avoid civil liability than to actually apologize. Please don’t misunderstand, I am fully supportive of the indigenous survivors of Residential Schools, in this failed Catholic’s mind I think the Church’s assets in Canada should be seized and sold with the proceeds going to attempt to repair as much damage as possible. Having said that, no amount of money will ever repair the damage done.
What the church allowed to happen, participated in and profited from is far into the realms of a dark evilness with no sign of a loving Christian kindness. I will add a quick qualifier here, I know some priests who I would have at one time counted as friends. There are some amazing good people involved in the Catholic Church but from where I sit there is no recovering from what has happened. I won’t even add the pedophile priests that were protected and moved from Parish to Parish to continue their abuse, that the church refused to release documents to investigators so these priests could be held accountable.
So backing up a bit, this entire idea about demanding an apology just doesn’t make sense to me. Is a forced apology really any apology at all, I don’t think so.
I think an apology has to come willingly from someone who perhaps understands that what they did was wrong. Perhaps they are now in a place where they are now able to recognize the wrongness of their actions or their words. An apology doesn’t contain qualifiers, “I’m sorry but” cancels out any apology that follows. An apology has to be sincere, not some P.R. stunt meant to limit damages from scandal that someone finds themselves in. The person apologizing should then stop talking and allow the wronged person to accept, or not accept the apology.
There is a Moth Story on You Tube done by a gentleman by the name of Hector Black called Forgiveness. If you get a chance I would encourage you to watch it. Spoiler Alert, it is about a man who forgives an offender for raping and murdering his adopted daughter. It’s one of the most moving stories I have ever heard, told by a simple man dealing with the type of trauma that no one can understand if they haven’t experienced it.
I had to apologize once for accusing someone of doing something that was very disturbing. I would have bet my pay check that he did what I believed that he did. I later learned, and was satisfied that I had been wrong not sort of wrong but entirely and completely wrong. I went to this mans home and apologized to this man, I explained to his wife that I had been wrong (even she had started to believe me). It was a humbling experience. It was about the time in my life when I came to the conclusion that the only thing I’m sure of, is that I’m not sure of anything.
Isn’t it sad that in this time of highly intelligent people that for the most part we have lost the ability to do something as simple as sincerely apologize. Apologies are like a few other things in life, if you’re going to do it, then you better do it right.
When was the last time that you heard a sincere apology?
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"Plus ca change"... part 2
Is it possible that we will ever get over paying huge premiums to buy a brand name? I doubt it, in spite of the fact that the premium added to buying “a branded name” continues to become ever more outrageous in terms of value for money.
When French haute couture was handmade in small Ateliers in Paris one could justify that those individually designed and crafted pieces of clothing commanded High multiples to the price of a “frock” from Top Shop or Banana Republic. That is quite a different story from two production lines in a clothing factory outside Shanghai; one making a man’s suit for M&S, the other on the same floor, for Armani. The M&S suit is sold for £199 whilst the Armani suit is in the window at c £1400. Now although the material is different, which can add say £60 to the price, the “tailoring” is exactly the same. So why would one cost 700% more than the other? The answer is brand name. In the case of comparing a Bentley to a Skoda, the former is worth alot more as more expensive materials are used with more detail and finer appointments, but in the case of the “Italian suit” that is definitely not the case. I know because we made the M&S suit. Incidentally, “the Italian suit” is a misnomer because of course it is made in China.
A silk tie from the tie rack costs c £10; one from Hermes £120. The shape, length and width and the amount of silk used are approximately equal in cost. The packaging of a Hermes tie is more expensive and better presented which would add a couple of £s to their price, but surely it cannot be worth 1200% more.
The comparisons between goods are endless. Of course, the “experience” of shopping in a “fine” store counts for something and certainly costs the seller a lot, but why should a Sony computer which these days is no better than a Dell cost so much more; the answer is there is no plausible reason.
There will always be those who for snob appeal purposes buy a Brand but as online shopping is now embraced by most of the top “brands” then the experience and “value” of shopping in a smart store, being seen therein or carrying the “branded parcel”, falls away.
As high street rents on famous avenues becomes extortionate and advertising campaigns and P.R. costs add more and more to the prices charged by branded Houses, then all but the richest or the most desperate will choose them over good value mass produced or generic equivalents.
Fortunately, in the pharmaceutical industry, Government and often the medical profession are choosing generic medications over “brand name” which achieve the same results at a fraction of the cost.
Furthermore, famous designers are being commissioned by companies such as Zara and H&M to produce “designer” lines that capture both style and value at a fraction of their own advertised lines. In spite of their ever-increasing penetration onto the chic streets in the West, the expansion of the “brand houses” will be most dramatic Countries like China whose citizens are only just beginning to be able to afford western fashion goods as a result of higher disposal incomes.
Yet even in the West the desire for so many to be able to own and display “internationally recognizable labels” goes unabated. Over the past 5 years, since the financial crisis, many in Europe and the USA were forced to realize that the party of hype was over and that a period of “value for money” had to be the new mantra. Property prices in all but a few Cities plummeted by huge percentages. In spite of this the likes of a Hermes Kelly bag (and other fashion houses that have their own equivalent) continues to climb to higher and more dizzying heights and the biggest joke is that you are lucky if you can secure one!
It says much about the greed and selfishness of the human race. We know that “all are equal but some are more equal than others” (George Orwell) but there has to be a limit, or does there??
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A-T-3 161 Eurovision '83: Hungary
P.R. Computer - Rondo. Panta Rhei were a Hungarian prog rock band that changed their name to P.R. Computer while doing a Kraftwerk and going fully electronic
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4/7/2023:. Recovered a bit from yesterday's last madness for I am nearly 50 now and this is the threshold of my life where I said enough to all the gay drama in my life, to the Spanish speaking world that forced me to speak Spanish when I barely speak my birth language of Vietnam and the language of Vietnam imperialism (French), and not other Asian languages at all beside little Vietnamese. Off to the library to use the computer to send out my opinion pieces as my press release that I learn in 1 P.R. class in advertising school, then hang out more in the ghetto gook neighbor praying not to get shot and rape to do belly exercising in the park to show fat people down there how to exercise like how I currently show people in this more white neighborhood I am living now, then mingle with my gook people to let this gook in for $500/month to room. Trang at 49.83 years old. I'll use my leftover internet on phone to model and upload exercising videos.
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When the business you created so you can travel more, is now holding you back from traveling 👎🏼 Well, it’s not actually my business. It’s me (Hi, I’m the problem 😅) As my business continues to scale, I am finding myself with more and more responsibilities. More areas where I need to show up, provide, educate, learn, and create. Of course I can do these things when traveling, but the intrusive thoughts still come. What if I can’t connect to wifi? What if my computer gets stolen? What if I lose my phone? What if I can’t find a place to film? What if I miss that email? What if I can’t get on that call? What if what if what if! It’s times like these when I need to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. Are these things the end of the world? No. Is there always a solution? Yes. Solo travel has for sure taught me that! Do you have fears around growth and leveling up? Let me know in the comments! . . . #travelbusiness #travelbusinessowner #solofemaletraveler #digitalnomadgirls #digitalnomad #levelingup #growthmindset #travelcommunity #travelmembership #travelentrepreneur #workandtravel #travelandwork (at La Monserrate, Luquillo, P.R.) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClofT7hOdAj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#travelbusiness#travelbusinessowner#solofemaletraveler#digitalnomadgirls#digitalnomad#levelingup#growthmindset#travelcommunity#travelmembership#travelentrepreneur#workandtravel#travelandwork
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best press release writers
press release introduction
It's not hard to comprehend how one could stumble into a press release or two that has language structure issues like incorrectly spelled words or divided sentences, or far more detestable, erroneous data or an offense word. At least one of these might be gracing the pages of some high-profile enterprises premium brands press release right now. These missteps could fall through the sealing breaks of any under staffed and over worked P.R. division, and can assist with making a negative picture. Organizations are cutting financial plans, and that normally implies eliminating positions.
features of organization
The primary spot organizations hope to eliminate positions is in their showcasing or advertising brand press release offices. At the point when representatives of, an expert organization scholars and are over worked, compose press releases, chances are it will be inadequately composed and circulated with something like one slip-up. Most higher-ups don't actually "get" that composing is an interaction and must be finished with careful computation.
An expert essayist with ability, experience, and skill, ought to be the one zeroing in on this significant new brand press release picture building task. All things being equal, understudies, secretaries, supervisors, and chiefs need to attempt to fit composing press releases into their all around over-stacked work plans.
features of press release
Press releases are mass mail-outs as well, very much like some other type of promoting/ad, however are terribly under-appraised as far as the impact it has on its main interest group. Composing press releases is seen by most luxury brand press release organizations as a less significant healing undertaking that squeezes into a bigger more significant occasion or significant declaration, and typically gets given to any individual who can make it happen. A typical error can wind up harming the organizations short and long haul picture.
Suppose an organization has a major raising money occasion and needs to spread the news with a press release.
Get in touch with us
skype- shalabh.mishra
Mobile- +1 (855) 222-4111
mail- [email protected]
website -www.prwires.com
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Ross Perot’s run for the presidency in 1992, although presented as a populist challenge, came after long proximity to the central organs of executive power. As you may remember from my earlier post on the POW/MIA issue, this started in the Nixon administration. Perot’s business, Electronic Data Systems, required extremely large customers in order to profit and show the kind of growth that justified its hugely inflated share price on the market. (It traded at about 100 times earnings, part of a late 60s enthusiasm for tech.) The number of clients that needed and could afford the sort of data processing services EDS provided were relatively few: massive corporations, as well as state governments and the federal government.
Perot had a lot of trouble competing for corporate clients, but he had a lot of success with state governments who needed help with data processing after the passage of Medicare and Medicaid in 1965. He did so well with government contracts partly because he didn’t really compete at all: he used manipulation, favors, and insider deals to get no-bid contracts. While most of this wasn’t technically illegal, it did attract the ire of federal regulators, who were dismayed to learn about EDS’s the massive overcharging and substandard work EDS was performing. EDS became the target of federal investigations and audits. Perot clearly required a higher class of political support.
In 1968, the President of PepsiCo introduced Perot to Richard Nixon, and they had a meeting about what computer services could do for modern political campaigns. Perot lent EDS employees to the Nixon campaign. (He deducted that from his taxes, of course.) Basically the entire executive suite of EDS gave generously to the Nixon campaign. Perot, however, did not, but made big promises and landed himself on the board of the Nixon Foundation. With Nixon in the White House, Perot had a direct line to the President’s closest advisors, people like H.R. Haldeman, John Ehrlichman, and Henry Kissinger. Perot fit well into the ideological imagination of the Nixon presidency: he was Western, “self-made” and not part of the Eastern Establishment so despised by Nixon. This was just sort of All-American fellow Nixon believed he represented and ought to be in charge.
[...]
But maybe the most crucial thing Perot reveals is the power of propaganda in American politics. The P.R. campaign on behalf of the POWs eventually turned into a national cult and a long-lasting reservoir of political power. Perot spent most of his professional life right at the center of the American power establishment, and still somehow created the impression that he was a populist outsider, riding in to dismantle the system of fat cat politicians and corruption. The fact of the matter is that Ross Perot was the system. He turned into a conspiracist, believing all sorts of paranoid fantasies and that the government was plotting to keep the POW/MIA issue under wraps (even though he had access to the highest levels of intelligence about it.) But he was the real conspirator the entire time, manipulating the offices of state to his own ends.
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Zazz
Summery: shits going down after prom and if you’ve seen the musical/movie be prepared for a gay panic from Patton
Warning: does get a little heated with one of the ships, and of course homophobia in the beginning
Ships: Logicality, Prinxiety, demus/dukeceit
When singing
Janus-orange (tumblr doesn’t have yellow)
Patton-blue
Both- purple
A few days after prom and things are going crazy. On Monday after school the news went to James Madison high to interview the school and Mrs Greene about what happened. Mrs Greene was now being interviewed.
“I’ve been told to say something. The courts said that Patton would not be safe if we allows him to attend prom with the other students because the uncomfortable truth is there are some people in our community that are offended by his life choices. We thought this arrangement was the only course of action.”
Suddenly news reports ask so many questions
“Mrs Greene are you homophobic?” “Are you saying sexuality is a life choice?” Then she exclaimed “ This is uncomfortable for me! To be infront of a camera like this. To read horrible things about my town. And I am just a mother. I am not any kind of a spokes person and I love all the students at James Madison high as much as my own son.” She walks up to Logan who was watching his mom being interviewed. “We are in this situation because of a group of people, privilege people from New York!”
She sighed
“They are the villains. You should be writing about them not us.”
Back at Patton’s house he and Janus we’re watching the interview on his computer. Patton had been in his room for days hiding from it all. He wore his cat onesie that Logan got for him on their 1 year anniversary of being together. He wore it because he wanted to feel like Logan was giving him a hug and he wanted to feel like Logan was their with him.
“Ugh that women totally doesn’t make my skin crawl!”
“I can’t wrap my head around all this. This is a nightmare. I’ve never been so alone in my life.” Patton started to cry a little. Janus pulled him into a hug.
“Your not alone you have friends.”
“Yeah, well where are they?” At that moment, Remus, Thomas, Joan, and Roman came in.
“Hey, we brought Haagen dazs.”
“It’s fancy ice cream.” Thomas Said as he had the bag
“I know what Hagen dazs is hand it over.” Patton grabbed the bag out of Thomas’s hands and Remus sat on the bed next to Pat.
“Are you Okay?”
“I’m amazing, the whole world is talking, making it sound like I’m the one responsible for it but no one is talking the hate there’s just so much hate. There’s so much hate.........I’m gonna need more of this shit.” Patton got the ice cream open and started eating his cookies and cream. Remus then started talking.
“Listen I know you said you don’t want our help anymore but we can’t let them get away with this. That pta women who the hell does she think she is?! I want her to get run over by a bus!!!”
“She’s a monster that’s what!”
Remus inhaled to calm down “Joan what can we do?”
“I don’t know. She’s spun this whole thing herself to make her look like the victim she’s good if she didn’t shop at dress barn she could work in P.R.”
Roman was just standing in the corner but felt like he should say something and so he did.
“I know everybody’s angry but we have to face the facts. We made matters worse. So the best thing we can do is disinfect our things and go home.”
Everyone said at the same time “NO WE ARE NOT LEAVING!!”
“We are always not leaving!! Please I want to leave this horrible place”
“No we are staying here we gotta turn this thing around. We gotta take back the press!”
“But how darling?” Said Janus as he was still on the bed.
“Patton you gotta be the face of this story you gotta go on tv and show the real asshole is!”
“And that will give him a prom?”
“This isn’t about prom anymore. This is about right and wrong you know what you have to do this right.
“I don’t know what I know.” Patton continue eating the ice cream.
“We need a national audience....what about Jimmy Fallon?”
“I can’t just pop Jimmy Fallon out of my ass!!” Exclaimed Joan. “If we want an audience we gotta go big and to to go big we have to use that one call to Eddie Sharp!” Everyone was in agreement except for Roman “No I am not calling that basterd!!”
“Just ask for a favor!”
“If I ask him for something he will want something in return and what he will want is the hamptons house. He trying to get it for years. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DISNEY AND BROADWAY CRUISES I HAD TO PAY FOR THAT HOUSE!!!!! I would rather pluck my eyes out and put them in a vacuum and call that even!”
“If that will work just pluck your eyes out then!! *sigh* Joan just get the boy on tv. I don’t care if it’s a cut on family guy just do your magic.”
“Aye aye.” Joan left to try and get Patton on TV
“This is great.” Patton then decide to say something
“No not great. I’m sorry but their is no way I’m getting in front of a camera and telling my story. I cannot do that just no. Just accept it we lost deal with it.” Patton went to a corner and stood with his arms cross. Then Thomas came up with and idea.
“Ya know there might be a better way to rid of this community by extension of nation of this cancer of intolerance!” Everyone was dead silent
Eventually Remus asked “Why are you still here? I thought you had a tour?”
“Indianapolis was canceled and so was everywhere else. But I’m thinking feature forth and seek out the younger people and rap in a non musical sense. And soon understanding could lead to, dare I say it......love.” Thomas left and now there was Roman, Remus, Janus and Patton.
Patton turned around to see their faces and Remus broke the silence again “Listen kitty cat, I know this is hard but if you don’t do something, they will.”
At that moment Janus got an idea. “Don’t worry he’s got stage fright. I’ll talk to the kid.” Roman had already walked out leaving Remus and Janus outside the door.
“Are you sure about this Jannie?” Janus put his hand on Remus’s check and kissed him.
“Of course darling.” Said Janus very seductively. Remus couldn’t help himself he had been touch starved so and picked up Janus and pinned him against the wall.
“Damn why are you so hot?!” Remus passionately kiss the smaller man as Janus put his hands on Remus’s face pulling him in closer. Sadly, it came to an end because their was a another short man waiting for Remus.
“REMUS CMON!!” Remus put his husband down and gave him one last kiss “See you tonight Jan.” Remus left leaving him and Patton alone.
“You two really love each other huh?”
“Yeah I love him so much. He may be an idiot sometimes but, he’s my idiot.” Patton laughed a little then got back on track.
“Now before you lecture me or....kick me to death with those crazy Anatlope legs.....or whatever it is your gonna do, I know I should do something. I just can’t.” Janus walked back to the bed.
“Look kid, not everyone gets a chance to step out of the chorus. You gotta do this for all the those people who used to be gypsies.”
“I’m too scared.” He hid in the cat hoodie and Janus got an idea.
“Let me tell you a story. 1975 and the original company of “Chicago” was in previews. Suddenly the worst outbreak in history hit the cast and their down to the third cover for Roxie Heart and he’s scared just like you.” Patton took the hood off of his head to listen to the rest of the story.
“So, fosse was a real ball buster puttin him through a pain an he’s petrified. Even worse he’s performing the routine like a robot. So the boss pulls him aside and says “hey kid, snap out of it. You got the steps, you got the notes, but where’s the Zazz baby.”And although he had never heard that word before he knew exactly what it meant and he crushed that performance. The audience screaming bloody murdur.”
“And that boy was you?” Janus gave him a blank stare
“Yes it was me how fucking old fo you think I am!? It was 1975. But the point is every fosse boy knows that story. All about finding your inner strength.”
When a challenge lies ahead and you are filled with dread and worry
Give it some zazz
If your courage dissapers what’ll get you fears to scurry
Give it some zazz
Zazz is style plus confidence, it may seem corny or kitsch
But when scared or on the fence you’ll find that zazz will soon make fear become your bitch
And if folks say you can’t win what’ll will stop them in a hurry
Janus layed on the bed and kicked his leg up high that gave Patton a gay panic
Give it some zazz
There’s no contest for a boy who has some razzmatazz
So call their bluff
And strut your stuff
Like no chick in this hick town has
Instead of giving up
Give it some zazz
“I just don’t think I can do it. The thought of getting in front of all those people look at my hands their shaking”
“If your hands are shaking....”
Just turn’m into jazz hands
“Doesn’t that feel better?”
“No”
“Try this. Close your eyes.” Patton stood up and closed his eyes
“Zazz doesn’t just come out, it comes from within. Now think about Mrs Greene.” Patton put his hand across his face.
“Think about that fake prom!” He took his other hand and did jazz hands.
“Now think of finally doing something about it!” Patton started doing moves and it filled him and Janus with joy.
“Oh I’m seeing it! I’m seeing your Zazz! Now follow me!”
Do like the brave and bossy do
And if they tear you apart
Ask what would Bob Fosse do?
He’d make the people have a step ball change of heart
Ball change!!!
And if folks say you can’t win what’ll stop them in a hurry
Give it some zazz!!
There’s no contest for a boys who has some razzmatazz
So call their bluff BAM!
And strut my stuff BAM!
Like no chick in this hick town has
Instead of giving up
Give it some zazz
Now that you’ve found your zazz it’s time to show it to the world. You think you know how?
YEAH!!
People to tag @artissi-jam @patt-off @frogsandcookies @icantthinkofacreativeurl @actingonimpulse @purplestarrystars
I’m back!!!!
#sanders sides#livy writes#sanders sides the prom au#logicality#prinxiety#demus#dukeceit#patton sanders#janus sanders#remus sanders#roman sanders#c!thomas#ts joan
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Rhack Story P2
{transcript of Rhys’s drunken Ramble]
“Do you want to know what happened? Actually?”
[Rhys flopped his head back, staring at the ceiling, then flopped forward. He started to go in office presentation mode.]
“Ok, here’s the situation. Soooooo- Hyperion.
The fact that Jack’s a sociopath is a little...unspoken secret that everyone knows. I mean people still look up to him because like- “aren’t all buisness leaders sarcastic sociopaths, isn’t that what it takes to be great?” And “So what? he makes the money compan-
I mean he makes the company money- you get what I’m saying-So who cares! Everyone wants to be a sociopath now. An absolute deranged maniac who murders people randomly because it makes the company money. “He’s willing to do what nobody else can do for the people.”
[Rhys flopped his hands upward then let them fall down]
“There’s layers. Like the upper layer is what we tell the public and that’s “Handsome Jack is a Hero who goes and gets done what needs to be done. Who saves children and builds Hospitals” And that’s all a load of bullshit that I am-”
Rhys slapped his chest a few times to indicate himself.
“-partially in charge of pumping out-or was- because I was part of the P.R. department. Before.
And there’s beneath that where you start to know he’s an asshole. Then there’s beneath THAT where you know he’s an asshole but you think that’s kinda cool right? Because he’s the realistic hero we need today.
And we’re all brainwashed by it.
Anyway,- what I mean to say is- we all know he’s like this. So everybody knows that Jack wants a Personal Assistant, to massage his back and do his paperwork for him and take notes at meetings, and that P.A. is gonna die. That P.A. is gonna have a shity, shitty job doing random-ass chores that he may or may not explain, and sooner or later he’s going to get mad at them and kill them.”
[Rhys chuckled morbidly.]
“Did you know that-uh- we used to call the P.A. the fucking buffer guy? Because the whole idea was that if Jack was going to get mad and throw anyone out the window it would be the PA, because the P.A. was in arm’s reach
So... we have this list, of people who are in the company, but are perfectly disposable. You know, the people who should be fired but can’t because they’re under contract so instead they get put into shit jobs like- janitor or being put into a cubical to fill out TJ-R forms for the rest of their days.
And every guy on that list has a number assigned to them. So whenever Jack needs a new buffer, they do a lottery, have a computer spit out a random number and say “this guy, this guy is going to be our new buffer. And when he dies we’ll do this again and pick the next guy.”
And I. Got. On. That. List.”
[Rhys slammed his hand on the table with every word. It was so funny to him now. It was such a fluke.]
“I did! Because I was competing with this guy named Vasquez for a promotion. I was supposed to be manager, I was supposed to be head of the P.R. department. I sucked up to my boss, brown nosed, for so long- and he should have put me in control- But Vasquez...
Well Vasquez was a big fan of Handsome Jack and he just threw our boss out the window. Locked him in release chamber and spaced him.
And apparently the paperwork was in place, or he pulled some strings? I don’t know. Maybe he just got to the desk first, and got the admissions code, but now he was in control.
And he doesn’t really like competition. So instead of just having me around to point out “Hey why should you be the new manager?” He got me demoted to janitor.
And anyone who gets dropped from a decent position to janitorial duty is put on the disposable list. It’s an assumed unofficial firing.
And my number got picked!
Wooo!
But then I did what nobody expected me to do.
I lived.”
[Rhys just looked exhausted.]
“I lived because I was a piece of shit person.
Sooo. The PA’s supposed to be the buffer guy right? The guy that Jack gets angry at when he’s in a bad mood so no one else has to take the fall. Nobody Useful.
So what I did is, when I saw Jack about to get angry, I beat up the person for him. I gave him the pain and suffering he craved by beating up the person closest to him who could be blamed, For Him.
And then I did it again, and again, and I kept doing it. And I lived. And a whole bunch of people lived. Because unlike Jack, I don’t kill people, but I made their lives a living hell.
[Rhys had been ramping up in rage as he spoke. Now the fight just drained out of him.]
They-They didn’t keep calling the P.A.the buffer after that.
They called me an attack dog. The first day I found out it was because a guy was screaming it at me. “You aren’t hot shit, you’re just his lap dog, you’re just his office attack dog who bites people so he can laugh at them.”
And I was like “Oh shit I’m not the buffer?”
Then at that point I had to go talk to my friends, who at that point I had pissed off, and ask them “Hey am I an attack dog? Is that what people are saying?”
And they were like “Yeah, that’s the nicer version. Most people just call you a fucking monster.”
But not the buffer. Not the buffer.”
[Rhys looked at alcohol left in his glass and drained it.]
#Borderlands 2#Borderlands Pre-Sequel#Rhack eventually#Rhys x Jack eventually#Rhys regrets all his life decision#Borderlands#Drunken ramble to Moxxie#Rhack#Rhys x Jack
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touch every star (6)
main masterlist | thor masterlist | ao3 | previous
Pairing: Thor X Cinderella!Reader AU
A/N: This is it! It’s sort of a miniseries but yup, this is the final chapter! Thank y’all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💖💖💖
Warnings: Lots of angst, a really, really shitty boss, but overall this is probably the most pure fic I’ve ever written? Borderline 18+ at the very end but it’s mild as hell and mostly fluffy 😎
Words: 3,908
//
Always patient and responsible, Y/N decided she would give her two weeks at the end of the next day. She’d say nothing of Sitwell’s behavior, just move on quietly and hope something better came along.
She’d already looked at open listings on the company’s portal. There were so many jobs she could do, some she wasn’t exactly qualified for but seemed straightforward enough, and a few she probably wouldn’t even try to apply for, given her resumè and experience. Those were the ones that made Sitwll’s voice ring in her head over and over again about how she was nothing, she was just a clerical whore.
Y/N sighed and shook her head to clear the voice away.
She forced herself to think of her friends, of their faith in her. They made her believe in herself. But knew she wasn’t a firestarter, even if Nat’s suggestion was to burn the Accounting office to the ground along with Sitwell. Y/N was worthy and reliable, yes, she was sure of that now thanks to Nat and Wanda, but she was still someone who went quietly, but on her own terms. She could do both, and she was happy to do it that way.
But just before lunch, Tony Stark himself burst into the Accounting office. Everyone stirred, including Y/N, who watched incredulously as the CEO himself headed straight for her. She stood, and was just about to ask him what she could do for him when he asked, in a soft and careful tone that absolutely did not match the fire in his eyes, “Are you Y/N?”
She balked for a second, but nodded in the end.
“Follow me, please,” he said, hushed and hurried. And then he went right around her desk and into Sitwell’s office without knocking or any kind of acknowledgment.
“Mr. Stark,” Sitwell started. “What can I do for-”
“Stuff it, Jasper,” Tony interrupted. He turned to make sure Y/N was behind him, then held an arm out as a gesture for her to stand next to him.
She looked between her boss and her boss’s boss, then hurried to do as the former said.
“You really took the piss this time, Sitwell,” Tony said.
Sitwell looked at them both, at Y/N who was trying not to cower beside the Boss To End All Bosses, and at Tony Stark, who’s eyes blazed with fury.
“I can assure you that whatever you’ve heard is a lie,” Sitwell said, eyes now stuck on Y/N. He glared at her like he had never been angrier in his entire life.
“Oh really?” Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and took a large step toward the desk. “You must have me confused with some idiot CEO, Sitwell. You think I don’t have this place surveilled? On the same floor as my security team, really?” He went forward and leaned on Sitwell’s desk like Sitwell had done to Y/N the other day. Only this time, Y/N watched in awe instead of fear.
“You think I don’t have hours of footage of you verbally abusing this poor girl, forcing her to work so late she’s the last one in the building besides the nightly cleaning crew? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Mr. Stark-” Y/N tried, to no avail.
He looked at her over his shoulder quickly. “No, Y/N. This’s been a long time coming.” And then, advancing once again on Sitwell, he lowered his voice. “Just because I’m a busy man doesn’t mean I won’t make the time to go back and watch every excruciating thing you’ve made this girl and the rest of your staff do and turn it back on you tenfold. Since my Director of Security is also on my board, I have that ability.”
“Yes, of course, Mr. Stark-” Sitwell tried.
“No, you shut the fuck up!” Tony said in an even tone, almost refusing to yell. Y/N was glad for it, at least. “All you’re hearing is me saying that this is a mark on your record, that once I leave this office, you might face a few small consequences but soon, everything will be back to normal. But I want to be crystal clear, no room for misunderstanding. You’re. Fired. Sitwell. And the second my team and I are done reviewing your tapes, expect to be served. Get your shit and get the fuck out of my building.”
Tony turned on his impeccable heel and marched out of the room. Y/N didn’t move for a split second, but then decided that following Tony Stark was a better idea than hanging out in a soon-to-be-emptied office with a man she hated. A man that had tried to knock her down every chance he’d gotten and was currently glaring at her, sweat dripping down from his bald head and around his nose.
A man who was no longer her problem.
She knew Nat was at the core of this altercation. She’d said something to Bucky, who’d said something to someone or maybe just went straight to Tony himself. She’d never be able to thank her friend enough for saving her, even if she’d asked not to be saved the night before.
Because, when she thought about it, Nat and Bucky or whoever caused this wasn’t just saving her. If Jasper Sitwell was fired - and he was - then he could never do what he’d done to her to anyone else.
When they came back to her desk, Tony closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he looked at her in a completely different way from the glare he’d given Sitwell.
She could’ve sworn she saw kindness and empathy in that look. Maybe a hint of regret, too.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re done in this office,” he said quietly.
For a beat, her heart stopped as she thought that Tony Stark, the Boss To End All Bosses, was firing her, too.
But then he said, “I looked into your background a little. There’s a job in P.R. opening that a mutual friend of a friend - and your resumè - says you might be perfect for. It’s creative, in a much nicer office, and all yours if you want it. There’s a sign-on bonus and a raise involved, too.”
Of course she wanted the job. Being a secretary wasn’t her life-long dream, just the only job she’d thought she was worthy of, despite her degree. Until recently, that is.
Something still held her back, though.
“Mr. Stark, I-”
“Tony.”
“I can’t just walk into a job I didn’t earn, sir. Or even apply for.”
“Please, call me Tony. And our mutual friends’ word is reliable.”
Since she didn’t know exactly what “mutual friend” he might be talking about, and since she was determined now to prove her worth, she pushed back. “You have no idea if I can even do the job. You haven’t interviewed me or anything!”
He sighed, and everyone listening to this conversation had to have seen the gears turning in his head. Tony Stark hadn’t kept his father’s company running the way he had by being bad at business, after all. Even if he was a genius scientist, he was still a genuinely talented CEO.
And one that cared, apparently. A busy man, like he’d said, but one that still came down to the Accounting office to take care of some little thing - comparatively, or at least that’s how Y/N would see it for a time.
“Fine. You’re right,” he conceded. “Take the rest of the day off, with full pay, and come in tomorrow for an interview. I’ll have my assistant email you the best times, so keep an eye out for that. Be prepared to present in front of me and my head of P.R. Clear?”
She nodded, and for the first time that day, smiled. “Yes. Yes, thank you, Mr. Stark.”
“You’re not gonna get the job if you don’t call me Tony. ‘S just the rules.” He shrugged as he backed up, turning quickly to the door, though not so quick that Y/N missed his smirk.
She saw it. She reveled in it.
And then she looked back at Jasper Sitwell through the glass office walls and gave him the most genuine, biggest smile she’d ever smiled.
---
“So,” Bucky said as he strode right into Thor’s office, no questions asked. Not even by Val, who gave everyone a hard time. “Did you hear about Accounting?”
Thor nodded. “I think everyone heard about it.”
“Right.” Bucky took a seat across from Thor, but didn’t look settled. His thumbs ran in circles over one another, and his foot bounced on the opposite bent knee. “I heard Sitwell’s secretary was offered a promotion, point-blank.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Thor finished up what he was doing on his computer, then sat back to really see his friend. His body language read all wrong, but Thor couldn’t decide what, exactly, was off.
“Tony.” Bucky shrugged. “Said she refused the offer without an interview. Something about earning her way and proving herself or somethin’ like that.”
“Sounds like a smart woman,” Thor said, completely oblivious. He wasn’t even subliminally wondering why Bucky was talking about some random secretary, just reacting to whatever the man said. “Tony can be impulsive when he’s emotional.”
“Oh my god,” Bucky whispered. Clearly, he knew something, but it only hit Thor when he asked, “You really don’t know, do you?”
Thor stared. “Know what?”
It took Bucky a second to respond. He kept a close eye on Thor, but he breathed heavily and fiddled with his left arm - muscle tears and scar tissue beneath his jacket sleeve that would be with him til the end of his days. Messing with the arm was another one of Bucky’s tells, one that Thor was confident enough in their friendship to read well.
“What’s going on, Barnes?”
Bucky sighed. “I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you this. Nat said she wanted to do it herself, but the line out your office the other day scared her off and-”
“Who?” Thor interrupted. “What’s this about?”
“You remember Natasha, right? The drop dead gorgeous model I’m seeing?”
Thor nodded. “‘Course. Glad to hear it’s going well.”
“Well, her roommate was Sitwell’s secretary.” Bucky’s eyebrows rose, and Thor could just tell he expected Thor to know where this was going.
But he truly didn’t. He had no clue. Not even an inkling.
“‘Are you really that dense? What- she had to be, like, the only woman on the floor - maybe the whole god damn building - that didn’t come crawling up here for the chance of getting you to notice her.” Bucky shook his head, dropped his leg so both feet were flat on the floor, and leaned forward. “Thor, c’mon, man. Get with it, I mean this is so obvious! I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you-”
“And yet,” Thor interrupted again, “I’d like for you to get to the point anyway, James.”
That name was only used, in reference to Bucky, when his friends were tired of games. Thor wasn’t so much tired as he was perplexed and a little frustrated, but it was enough. The effect was the same.
“The girl with the interview - the only woman that didn’t come to claim the mask - is the one you’re looking for, dude. Nat’s roommate was Sitwell’s secretary, who was the only other person left on the floor the night you got on the elevator with a woman you didn’t know. I know for a fact she’s the girl you danced with at the gala, despite never having seen her, because their other roommate needed the dress she was wearing at the gala. Nat’s told me everything. Made me swear I wouldn’t say anything unless it was absolutely necessary but, my god, was it necessary.” He finished it all off with a laughing flourish, shaking his head in disbelief.
Thor sat straighter in his chair and, once more, just stared. He processed what he’d heard, tried to make sense of it all, and wondered why he hadn’t put it all together himself first. But he knew, with how little information he had on his Elevator Crush, he couldn’t have done it anyway.
Bucky’s girl was, apparently, the key. But he had to be sure.
“Bucky, did Natasha say how she knows all of this?” he asked.
“I assume Y/N told her.”
Y/N. Well, he finally had a name. He’d deal with the fact that he’d gotten it from Bucky before he’d gotten it from her later.
“But she… She never came. She didn’t even email me back about the mask, not even to say she didn’t want it.”
“Again, probably shouldn’t be saying anything but Nat thinks she’s scared.” Bucky picked up a pen off Thor’s desk, just to tap it against the nameplate that faced him. “Tony gave her the rest of the day off, so she’s gone home by now.” He smirked, tapped the pen once more, then put it down again. “But lucky for you, I happen to know her roommate pretty well.”
---
She was in her room organizing the things she’d brought home from her former desk when someone knocked on the door. Too engrossed in her work to get it herself, she yelled out for Nat since she knew at least one of her two roommates was home.
The day didn’t feel real. She’d had every intention of going into work with a job and coming out as a quitter, had never even fathomed that what had happened today was possible.
An interview? With Mr. Stark - Tony - himself? For a job he was ready to give her on sight, no questions asked?
She never would have accepted the position without a proper interview, but she did at least appreciate the thought. She’d appreciate it more when she had the chance to prove that she was worthy, when she could put herself on display for her new potential bosses and earn their respect with just her own two hands and intellect.
Which meant she had a lot to prepare for the next morning. She’d picked the earliest interview possible, so she might have the rest of the day for training or a celebratory walk through Central Park. It’d been so long since she’d had time and energy to explore the park, and even though it was starting to get cold out, she nearly convinced herself to go see it now.
But Nat called her name, which meant the park would have to wait. She wondered if her roommate had ordered lunch and forgot cash for a tip or something, so she picked up her purse to fish her wallet out before heading down the short hallway into the living room.
The whole world stopped then. Or at least it felt like it did.
Two men stood by the door - one of them had to be Bucky, if Y/N was guessing by the way he held Nat close to him. He smiled vaguely at her and sent a polite nod in her direction.
It was really the other man that made her stop, though. Tall and handsome, broad shouldered and bright eyed. Just like she remembered him. She couldn’t remember how long it’d been since she’d seen him in person, especially not with the way he was looking at her.
Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
She just barely heard Nat clear her throat and announce that she and Bucky were leaving before they did. And then she and Thor were left alone.
Before she knew what she was saying, she let out, “You-you’re here.”
That seemed to break some of the tension between them. Thor went to step further into the apartment before he realized it wasn’t his space, so he backtracked. Y/N hardly noticed, since her eyes were glued to his face.
“I, uh, came to return this,” he said. One hand dipped into the inside pocket of his blazer, but Y/N didn’t look until he pulled something out.
Her mask. She’d all but forgotten about the thing by then, even though she’d gotten in that line the other day in an attempt to retrieve it. The mask had never been important, not even when she’d looked at that line, despite what she’d told herself.
In that moment, she knew she’d gotten in that line just to talk to him. To find out who he really was, even though Nat and Thor himself had already told her. She should have stayed, but she didn’t know it until this moment.
A moment where the past didn’t really matter anyway because there he was, standing in her living room. He was there for her, and she just knew it.
She approached him, accepting the mask even though it wasn’t important. “Thank you,” she whispered, surprising herself as her nerves kicked in. The only time she’d been nervous around him before was on that elevator. Now seemed a rather arbitrary time to feel that way again.
He didn’t move. Neither did she. They looked at one another and, clearly, could see the same battle in the other’s eyes. They each fought for what to say next, what to do next. This situation was unprecedented for them both.
Thor pushed through a lump in his throat and said, “Actually, that’s not why I came.” He made sure to keep eye contact strong, but not intimidating. Honestly, he liked looking at her more than anything, and he wanted to read her reaction to what he said next. “I’m Thor, and I didn’t really know how else to find you. This was Bucky’s idea, really. Well, no, the mask was my mother’s idea- and now that I say it, I realize how embarrassing that is.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, no. That’s...cute.”
His smile widened at her approval. His fingers rested just beneath hers, because as much as he was confident in what he was saying, he was still cautious. After all, she had run away from him twice now.
“But I needed to know, one way or another, who you were. Why I kept being pushed toward you. And you didn’t even answer my email so I’d all but given up, and then in storms Bucky looking like he knows every secret about you and-” He sighed. Bucky clearly hadn’t known that much about Y/N, but that didn’t stop him from feeling...well. Jealous. “I had to know.”
Her mind immediately screams I’m no one.
Jasper Sitwell had not been the first person in her life to say so. Her stepmother had done just as much damage, usually when her father hadn’t been around to protect her.
But she had removed herself from her stepmother’s clutches, and she’d proved to be a bigger person than Jasper Sitwell. She’d gotten herself an interview for a better job and suddenly had the opportunity to make something of herself-
So no. She was not no one, not nothing. Thor being in her apartment only made her think he saw something like that, too.
“I’m Y/N,” she said, placing the mask on one of the end tables with her equally useless wallet. “And up until recently, I didn’t think that meant anything. But I was wrong.” A surge of confidence boosted her, and she grabbed one of Thor’s hands between hers. “I don’t know you well, Thor, but I’m pretty sure you’ve gotten this far by thinking I was worth something. I’d really like to thank you for that.”
---
SIX MONTHS LATER
The town car was parked at the end of the row, with only a handful of empty cars that were situated at least seven spots away. The party had already started, which meant they were not likely to be disturbed, at least not for a little while.
That was the thought process Thor had used to seduce Y/N into the back of the car - the rented car - where he now pinned her body to the seat with his own. There was barely space enough to breathe, especially given how electric their kiss was. And how sweltering the New York summer was around them. But neither had power over the connection, so they succumbed to it, drank in the energy and tension and let it wash all thoughts of a posh and somewhat unnecessary summer solstice party away.
Thor knew that, eventually, they would have to go back in. This was his mother’s party, one she threw every year. It was the first time he was bringing Y/N to an official family function, and he was...nervous. Actually, really nervous. She’d already met his parents but Hela and Loki were in that building, and they’d somehow evaded them both before sneaking back out to the car.
His solution to those nerves was to keep her to himself for as long as he could. She calmed him down while simultaneously riling him up. She kept him grounded even when he felt like he was flying.
It’d only been 6 months since they’d finally, officially started seeing each other but he was sure he loved her. It wasn’t so much that knowledge that put him on edge, but the idea that showing up together tonight meant that everyone else would know how important she was to him. Even his siblings.
But when he really thought about that, the nerves melted. Some totally normal feeling settled, and he felt...content.
One of his hands attempted to run up one of her legs beneath her heavy, pale blue velvet gown, but she stopped him and pulled her lips back from his. The look in her eyes was playful, but she shook her head.
“We’ll spoil the whole evening like that,” she whispered, chest rising to meet his quickly as she tried to reign in her breathing.
“Screw the evening,” he retorted, attempting to dive back into the kiss.
Her free hand stopped him by his shoulder. “I did not fight with the zipper on this dress and spend two hours doing my makeup and hair to have you mess it all up in the back of this car, Thor Odinson.” She tapped his shoulder, disguised as a meaningless slap, and he relented.
“Fiiine,” he whined, head slumping against her shoulder. “But the second either of us is bored, we’re out. Deal?”
She giggled and ran her fingers through his freshly cut hair. “I’d say that’s fair. Deal.”
“In the meantime,” he murmured, kissing up her neck and along her jawline, “if I keep my hands here,” as he pressed his fingers into her waist above the velvet dress, “can we stay like this for...five more minutes?”
Their eyes met just as she was rolling hers. He kissed her, knowing he’d gotten his way.
“Five minutes, no more.”
He kissed her quickly.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Not my fault you’re irresistible.” A quick peck. “Absolutely ravishing in this dress.” A longer, more meaningful kiss this time.
“Hey Jarvis,” she called out into the empty cab of the car. When the familiar voice responded, she told it, “Set an alarm for five minutes, and lock the doors until it goes off.”
Thor shook his head, ignored Jarvis’s response, and went right back into the kiss.
#thor fanfic#Thor Odinson#thor odinson x reader#thor x reader#touch every star fic#touch every star#cinderella au#thor fic
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Pineapple and Pizza
w/c 1.3k / fluff
a/n - Thanks @cottondean for the ask on #drunk asks night ;)
Summary: Castiel meets the I.T. guy from his new job at happy hour and oh boy oh boy Castiel is done the moment he walks in. 👉 Read it on Ao3
Castiel had a new job. As new jobs go, his first week had been the usual whirlwind of new things, names, passwords, forms to fill out, getting settled. On Thursday, everyone in the department went for happy hour at the nearest pub. Castiel usually felt out of place at those loud gatherings, but he knew it was important for office relations to attend, so he went.
Castiel remembered back in university they would get pitchers of beer or sangria – and he wouldn’t drink much if any – but they were adults now, which meant everyone was getting their own thing. Castiel had ordered some pineapple drink.
Amidst the already droned-out conversations around him, Castiel lifted his drink for a first sip when he heard “Hey guys! Sorry I’m late! Got an extra seat?” Castiel looked up to see who it was and froze, his glass mid-air. The man had the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen, a jawline that reminded him how hopelessly he was attracted to men. And his neck… fuck. He already wanted to get in there and – “Oh, you’re the new guy?” The question registered with Castiel only because the man’s green eyes, god-given green eyes, were locked on him. “Castiel, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m Dean.”
“Hello, Dean.”
“With I.T. I got your computer ready.”
“OK. Thanks.”
Dean smirked. He turned to the waitress to order.
Castiel didn’t move.
Gabriel – the guy from P.R. – leaned in. “He’s dreamy, uh.”
Castiel blinked. “What?”
Gabriel gently pushed Castiel’s arm down so his drink would rest back on the table. “Breathe. It's gonna be fine.”
“What do you mean ‘it’s gonna be fine’?”
“I happen to know Dean-o is single, very ready to mingle, and likes manly tickles. If you get my drift.”
Eyes wide, Castiel downed half his drink.
Castiel mostly forgot about the other half of his drink watching Dean chat and laugh with his colleagues. Fortunately, being the new guy meant he wasn’t part of most of the conversations yet. Being quiet didn’t seem weird. He watched how Dean listened intently to the person talking to him, the way his lips – hot damn his lips fuck – would just lift a little if the story was amusing, how his brows would knot if it was about some stupid thing the boss did again, and, mostly, mostly, Castiel would almost choke on his saliva the moment Dean took a sip of his beer. The way Dean licked his lips before each sip, gently positioning the bottle… looking at his Adam’s apple bob and following the line of his neck – fuck since when did men have such long, inviting necks? Fuck. And the last sip? Dean tilted his head back, closing his eyes. Castiel felt a nudge on his left.
“Hey. Breathe.”
“What?”
“You’ve been staring at him all night.”
“No I didn’t…”
Gabriel laughed.
Castiel downed the rest of his drink. He caught the waitress’ eye. “I’ll have a beer.”
Castiel tried to follow conversations around him, but mostly he was now concentrated on trying to catch Dean’s attention. He was very concentrated on drinking his beer right – gently, tilting his head back, licking his lips after each sip, even scratching at the label – back in school it meant something like you were single or into sex or some other stupid made-up meaning. He’d look up around the table sometimes and sometimes Dean would be looking towards him and giving him a kind of ‘hey I acknowledge you’ smile.
Soon enough, people needed to go to the bathroom and Dean decided to change seats to sit next to Castiel.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“So how was your first week?”
“Um, a bit fuzzy to be honest.”
“Computer works fine?”
“Yup. So far so good.”
Dean clinked his beer on Castiel’s. “Super.” He drank. Castiel watched.
The waitress came to the table with a large pizza on a stand-up tray.
Dean beamed. “Yes! Pizza!”
The waitress started giving slices around. When Dean got his, he saw what he couldn’t see from afar. “Pineapple? Who the hell called this?”
Balthazar – the guy from Human Resources – raised his hand. “Me. Pineapple on pizza is good.”
Castiel got his slice from a clearly amused waitress as arguments for and against pineapple on pizza arose around the table – fueled even more by those of the colleagues coming back from the bathroom, who decided to order a normal pizza.
Castiel was a few bites in when Dean turned to him. “You like this?”
“Myeah. I like pineapple.”
“Yeah I like pineapple too. But not on anything.”
“It’s sweet and salty. It works.”
“No.” He looked down, glaring at his slice.
Castiel laughed a bit. “So you’re not gonna eat it?”
Dean grunted.
“There’s another pizza coming.”
Dean’s angry face turned into a pout. “But I’m hungry now.”
That pout was so cute Castiel felt his body inside pushing the table away, turning to grab Dean and kiss him breathless. He chewed on his pizza. “You could discard the pineapple.”
“Yeah, and look like a child with the bits on the side of my plate? No. I still got some pride. Or manners.”
“Just give them to me. I don’t mind more pineapple.”
Dean picked all three pieces of pineapple and put them on Castiel’s plate.
Castiel smirked. “Three very offending pieces of pineapple just for me. Thanks.”
Dean couldn’t help but chuckle.
And that’s when it happened. Nothing special, just food sharing. They both looked at each other and in an instant they both knew – they were already both at ease with each other, an ease that was both unexpected yet felt so… normal.
Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes and a soft smile tugged at his lips. The softness of his smile reached his eyes.
Castiel wondered if it was legal for a man to have eyelashes like Dean’s.
The ‘normal’ pizza came, and while they were eating, chatting with colleagues, and drinking, Castiel and Dean felt the very palpable impatience of wanting to be alone, knowing they’re just waiting for the happy hour to end. People finally started leaving, and when Dean came back from the bathroom, Castiel was alone.
“You up for another drink?”
Castiel smiled. “Yeah why not?”
“Be right back.”
“Wait. Let’s move to the booth back there.”
“Cool. Be right back.”
Dean came back with a beer and a tall glass of something yellow.
Castiel took the glass Dean gave him. “What’s that?”
Dean answered as he sat next to Castiel on the bench. “I noticed you were drinking this when I got here. I put two and two together with your love of pineapple and the waitress knew what drink you had. So I got that.”
Castiel smiled. “Thanks.”
“Did I get it right?”
Castiel took a sip, licked his lips, then took a long pull of his drink. He licked his lips again. “It’s super good. Yeah.” He looked up at Dean. Dean had this very serious, yet soft face. “Dean, what…”
Dean leaned in closer, his nose brushing Castiel’s, their lips almost touching.
Castiel breathed sharply in and grabbed the closest thing for balance, hard. It was Dean’s knee.
Looking into Castiel’s eyes, Dean brushed Castiel’s lips and pressed on gently.
Castiel closed his eyes, and grabbed at Dean’s shirt. He pushed forward into Dean, kissing him.
Dean kissed back, tasting Castiel deeper.
They lost track of reality for a few moments, lost in their kiss.
When they moved back, Dean said, catching his breath, “I think I love pineapple more than I thought.”
Castiel chuckled. “You’re gonna be OK with that?”
“Yeah.”
“And on pizza?”
“Never. You have the pineapple pizza, and I have you. How about that?”
“Deal.”
If they hadn’t been smiling so hard they wouldn’t have knocked their teeth as they kissed again.
I’d love to hear from you!
Back to the Masterlist
IT’S TURNED INTO A SERIES OMG YAY (completed - 8 chapters)
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On to chapter 2!
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