#The Engineer’s New Clothes (Fashion)

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Fair warning; if Ikkaku gets the chance to take someone shopping and especially if she gets to pick out a new outfit/wardrobe for them, she's taking it. She's going to make you look fabulous and there's nothing you can do about it. Resistance is futile. Especially if you're dating her.

[jcmarchi]

Harmful ‘Forever Chemicals’ Removed From Water With New Electrocatalysis Method - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/harmful-forever-chemicals-removed-from-water-with-new-electrocatalysis-method-technology-org/

Harmful ‘Forever Chemicals’ Removed From Water With New Electrocatalysis Method - Technology Org

A novel approach using laser-made nanomaterials created from nonprecious metals could lay the foundation for globally scalable remediation techniques.

TEST THE WATER: Materials science PhD student Ziyi “Bruce” Meng tests samples of water to see how effective a new electrocatalysis technique developed at Rochester is at remediating perfluorooctane sulfonate (PFOS) pollution. PFOS was once widely used for stain-resistant products but is now banned in much of the world. (University of Rochester photo / J. Adam Fenster)

Scientists from the University of Rochester have developed new electrochemical approaches to clean up pollution from “forever chemicals” found in clothing, food packaging, firefighting foams, and a wide array of other products. A new Journal of Catalysis study describes nanocatalysts developed to remediate per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, known as PFAS.

The researchers, led by assistant professor of chemical engineering Astrid Müller, focused on a specific type of PFAS called Perfluorooctane sulfonate (PFOS), which was once widely used for stain-resistant products but is now banned in much of the world for its harm to human and animal health.

PFOS is still widespread and persistent in the environment despite being phased out by US manufacturers in the early 2000s, continuing to show up in water supplies.

POLLUTION MEETS SOLUTION: Per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances (PFAS) are often referred to as “forever chemicals” because they break down very slowly. Rochester scientists have developed nanocatalysts that can more affordably remediate a specific type of PFAS called Perfluorooctane sulfonate (PFOS). (University of Rochester photo / J. Adam Fenster)

Müller and her team of materials science PhD students created the nanocatalysts using her unique combination of expertise in ultrafast lasers, materials science, chemistry, and chemical engineering.

“Using pulsed laser in liquid synthesis, we can control the surface chemistry of these catalysts in ways you cannot do in traditional wet chemistry methods,” says Müller. “You can control the size of the resulting nanoparticles through the light-matter interaction, basically blasting them apart.”

The scientists then adhere the nanoparticles to carbon paper that is hydrophilic, or attracted to water molecules. That provides a cheap substrate with a high surface area. Using lithium hydroxide at high concentrations, they completely defluorinated the PFOS chemicals.

DEFLUORINATION IN PROGRESS: By performing electrocatalysis using laser-made nanocatalysts adhered to a hydrophilic carbon paper, Rochester researchers have created cheaper and more effective ways to remediate perfluorooctane sulfonate (PFOS) pollution. Image credit: University of Rochester photo / J. Adam Fenster

Müller says that for the process to work at a large scale, they will need to treat at least a cubic meter at a time. Crucially, their novel approach uses all nonprecious metals, unlike existing methods that require boron-doped diamond. By their calculations, treating a cubic meter of polluted water using boron-doped diamond would cost $8.5 million; the new method is nearly 100 times cheaper.

Harnessing PFAS chemicals in sustainable ways

In future studies, Müller hopes to understand why lithium hydroxide works so well and whether even less expensive, more abundant materials can be substituted to bring the cost down further. She also wants to apply the method to an array of PFAS chemicals that are still prevalently used but have been linked to health issues ranging from development in babies to kidney cancer.

Müller says that despite their issues, outright banning all PFAS chemicals and substances is not practical because of their usefulness in not only consumer products, but in green technologies as well.

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE: The scientists adhered laser-made nanocatalysts to carbon paper that they made hydrophilic (water-attracting) using a rapid, green-chemistry process that Astrid Müller invented in earlier work. Image credit: University of Rochester photo / J. Adam Fenster

“I would argue that in the end, a lot of decarbonization efforts—from geothermal heat pumps to efficient refrigeration to solar cells—depend on the availability of PFAS,” says Müller. “I believe it’s possible to use PFAS in a circular, sustainable way if we can leverage electrocatalytic solutions to break fluorocarbon bonds and get the fluoride back out safely without putting it into the environment.”

Although commercialization is a long way off, Müller filed a patent with support from URVentures, and foresees it being used at wastewater treatment facilities and by companies to clean up contaminated sites where they used to produce these PFAS chemicals. She also calls it a social justice issue.

GIVE IT THE GREEN LIGHT: The researchers create catalysts using pulsed laser in liquids synthesis, controlling the surface chemistry of the nanomaterials in ways that are not possible using traditional wet chemistry methods. Image credit: University of Rochester photo / J. Adam Fenster

“Often in areas with lower income across the globe, there’s more pollution,” says Müller. “An advantage of an electrocatalytic approach is that you can use it in a distributed fashion with a small footprint using electricity from solar panels.”

Source: University of Rochester

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[possesseddesiress]

Between us (English Version)

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Between us (English version)

Iker and Yuki were very close, good friends. They had grown up together, being friends from a very early age, even though each one belonged to a different culture, they had gotten along well from the first minute they met. And from there, they did everything together, they never left each other's side.

Even though time would go by and they would change; by the time they reached adolescence, Iker started working out until he got a big and defined body, he was very muscular and a big hit with the girls.

On the other hand, Yuki remained small, thin, a bit effeminate, discovered a passion for fashion and identified as gay.

But despite those differences, they remained friends. They graduated, and chose the same university, Iker started studying engineering while Yuki majored in fashion, then they managed to rent an apartment in one of the dorms to be together.

Iker sometimes asked Yuki for help to dress better and surprise girls, Yuki to gain more muscle. Always helping each other.

That afternoon, they were both in a museum, it was their “afternoon together”, an occasion they set aside once a week to meet and spend time together away from everyday life and school.

— It's an interesting exhibition, isn't it? – Yuki murmured as they moved through the area of ancient cultures. Some sculptures, remains of ruins, contraptions.

— Yes, there are interesting things – Iker advanced next to him, between them there was a difference of at least 30 cm in height. Iker was almost two meters tall while Yuki was only 1.65 cm tall. And nothing to say about the difference between their musculatures or even their styles of dress, the Mexican wore more sporty styles while the Asian loved bright colors and more daring styles.

They ended up arriving at a remote area of the museum, still unfinished. Apparently there was no one watching, so Iker pushed aside a pair of curtains towards an exhibit in progress.

— I don't think we should do that – the smaller and more timid Yuki muttered.

— Come on, it's something new. Aren't you excited?

Yuki was silent for a while until she finally let out a sigh, nodding.

— Ok... Let's go.

They crossed the threshold before the bigger one dropped the cloth, the room was dimly lit, there were some pots, instruments and remains of rocks, nothing interesting or new. Until Iker seemed to notice something.

— Look at that – the brunet smiled as he saw something in the center of the room. It was some kind of mirror, its frame was made of stone, it looked quite old.

Although that wasn't the only thing special about it, it was also a kind of double mirror, but it was translucent in a very faint way. You could see your reflection and at the same time, barely see the other side.

The guys, excited by this discovery, stood in front of the mirror, each on one side. They looked at it curiously before they began to move in circles, examining.

— Wow... Where do you think it's from?

— No idea, but it looks ancient, probably one of the first cultures – Iker murmured.

— Is that so? How smart you are for studying engineering – Yuki joked with him.

— Excuse me, Mr. designer, maybe this is too much for your brain.

The guys began to joke with each other, though in a way the tone of the jokes began to rise.

—Surely you couldn't stand a day in my shoes – Yuki sentenced while looking at him with a mocking smile.

— Rather you couldn't be in mine, your manicure would be ruined by taking one of my weights.

— And your clumsy hands would ruin my designs.

— You wouldn't even know how to flirt with a girl.

— And you'd be scared to mess with another man.

Unnoticed, the mirror seemed to become charged with a very dim light.

— Surely you couldn't be in my body.

Iker whispered with narrowed eyes.

— You wouldn't last a week in mine.

Unnoticed by the boys. An energy shot out from under the mirror towards both of their feet. After that, they both walked out of the room as if nothing had happened.

And the rest of the day went on as normal, they went back to their room, had dinner, chatted for a while until they went to sleep.

In the night was when the “strange” happened. The same energy came out of their bodies and intertwined with each other, their energies were sucked and deposited into each other's body until they faded away.

The next morning, the first to wake up was Yuki. He felt strange from the first moment he opened his eyes, heavier? Had he eaten too much last night? He sat up in bed, sleepy and not seeing around him properly; he rubbed his face.

And then he felt it. He opened his eyes like plates noticing his huge brown hands, he looked around noticing that he was in Iker's room and not his own, it was filled with some sports and car posters, his weights on the floor and even the scent was totally his.

— Uh, uh... What is this?

He mumbled looking down at his pecs, weighing them, swallowing saliva. He felt huge, heavy, even silly.

Nothing compared to his old body, he was so thin and small, and overnight he went from being like this to this.

— This is wrong, this is wrong...

As he was thinking about it, he heard a familiar scream. He immediately got up to go to his room, where he saw his old body tangled in the sheets with a confused expression.

— What did you do, Yuki!? – he heard his former body say in an Asian accent. Just the way he used to talk.

He watched how he touched his body, his slender arms, her soft face, even how he took his tresses to observe them absorbed.

— Iker? – He said in her new deep voice.

— Who else would it be, silly!!!?

It was strange to see Yuki's body act like that, he was always reserved, quiet, didn't shout about almost anything. But now, it was clearly someone else who had command of his body.

The new Yuki stood up, examining himself from head to toe with a hint of disgust in his expression.

— Dude, my muscles are gone! – He could only see his thin outline. Palpating his chest to find something flat, he also touched his hips, noticing that there was the most amount of muscle there as well as on his thighs – Why does your body look like a girl's!!!?

— Shut up! Respect, I look like a Gorilla!

The New Mexican muttered.

He observed himself again in front of his friend this time, stroking his arms. He even sniffed slightly.

— Damn... Not bad.

He murmured smiling.

— Hey! Don't just take over my body like that!

— Don't you like it? Because your new body seems to say otherwise.

And indeed, it did. The new Yuki had an issue down there “down below”, he immediately covered himself with his hand, his face flushed.

— It's not my fault, it's your body!

—Well, that's weird. I don't feel like I'm lusting after some girl or something straight like that.

A smug smile appeared on her face as she stared at him.

— Get out of here!

Iker punched his former body in the arm, Yuki just let out a couple of laughs as he left the room. He returned to the room which corresponded to his body, still not believing that the two had swapped.

He had always felt comfortable being small, effeminate, very happy in his body.

But now... he felt different. Masculine, powerful, imposing. He peeked into his friend's closet, his clothes were spandex, sweatpants, compression shirts, some plaid shirts, all a far cry from his typical tops or stylish t-shirts.

He took one of the compression shirts to put it on, and strangely discovered a taste he experienced for the first time: how tight it felt.

He brought his hands back to his pecs, enjoying how wide and big they felt, he was playing with them when Iker walked in.

— Stop playing with them, they're not balls.

—They look like it.

Yuki paid attention to his old body, noticing the clothes he was wearing.

—Wow...

— Don't say anything.

The old Iker muttered a bit annoyed, now he was wearing quite “stylish” clothes, a white shirt made of what seemed to be silk, a neat pair of pants and a golden chain.

Not at all similar to what he would wear being himself, so he felt like a sort of “Barbie Girl”: with curls, nice clothes, smooth skin and perfume. He didn't even know how he ended up getting dressed up like that, it was like going into automatic mode.

— What now? – He muttered moodily.

— What do you mean, what now? – Yuki raised her eyebrow.

— Yeah. Are we going to go to our classes, lock ourselves in until we figure out how to solve this?

The opposite one was thoughtful, then he swallowed saliva as he remembered something.

— No, no... I can't skip today.

— What? Why?

— I have a very important presentation today, me lleva la chingada – he said in a perfect Mexican accent. Which stunned both of them. The silence was awkward until Yuki spoke again – It's about my dressmaking subject, I have to present my final project.

— The dress you've been working on for weeks?

— Yes, yes. It's my final project, it's 100% of the grade.

The now huge boy sat up in bed, overwhelmed. The remaining one came over to try to comfort him.

— Then I'll go in your place.

— You don't know anything about dresses, the only thing you know is how to take them off – he muttered overwhelmed.

— Hey, don't overdo it. I'm not as dumb as you think. Besides, if this happened – Iker pointed to his clothes – Don't you think I can manage to present your project?

They looked at each other for a while, to which the now dark-haired man let out a resigned sigh.

— All right, I'll trust you.

They both ended up leaving the apartment. Yuki heading to the engineering department while Iker to the design department, making a promise to try to be as similar to their new bodies as possible. Iker didn't want to see his body acting feminine, nor did Yuki want to see hers acting like a guy with no brain cells.

Iker advanced through the corridors, still getting used to feeling small, he felt that his gait had even changed, as if he now “floated”, before he felt that his steps echoed everywhere because of his musculature, but now, he was as agile as a feather.

He was turning the corner towards the living room, he had about 15 minutes to spare to get there. When he ran into a guy.

— Hi, Yuki – a muscular guy seemed to stop him in his tracks.

— Hi, Adam – it was hard for him not to be surprised when he recognized the boy's name.

— How are you? You didn't call me last night – the opposite gently closed the distance while staring at him with a flirtatious smile.

— I was... busy – he whispered as he watched him approach, but he seemed to be petrified. He wanted to move but couldn't, he just watched him getting closer and closer.

— It's a pity... – Iker felt a series of things seeing that boy flirting with him exactly as he used to do with girls – I really missed your company – he murmured, starting to caress his curls.

And when he least expected it. He kissed him.

For a second he felt disgusted to feel another man kissing him, but the more the seconds passed, it felt so natural...

He kissed him at a slow start, but he wanted more, he wanted more, he needed more. Iker turned up the intensity of the kisses, almost occupying his tongue as he held the guy against himself.

— Wow, someone looks excited. What's wrong? You look different today.

— Nothing – he mumbled with a silly grin on his face – I guess it's a new day.

They chatted for a while, kissed some more and he even liked the feeling when Adam grabbed him by the waist to hold on to him.

He ended up going into Yuki's classroom, and finally presented his project. It was as if his knowledge in engineering had been replaced by knowledge in fashion, tailoring, dressmaking, he knew exactly what fabric his friend had used, the type of closure, embossing, the falls. He had even achieved a perfect grade in that exhibition.

On the other hand, Yuki was anxiously sitting in his classroom, until a couple of Iker's friends arrived.

— What's up, bro? – the typical stereotypical brainless jock approached him, surrounded by at least 3 other guys just like him.

Yuki was silent for a microsecond before a strange outburst came from him.

— Bro! How are you?

He stood up, bumped fists with the guy and even his pectorals with each other. He never thought he would do anything so... Masculine.

And he even did it with the other three, as if it was something natural in him. He talked to them, and a series of sports knowledge, Iker's conquests, and more topics outside of him, came naturally out of his mouth, in addition to an extremely masculine personality where most of the vocabulary was based on: “Bro”.

— And today you will see Monica?

His mind immediately went into action, apparently Iker had forgotten to mention that he had a date today.

— Yep, bro – he nodded – We'll go for a coffee in an hour.

He was nervous inside himself, what would he do when he was with her? Would he feel attraction? Would he flirt with her? What if they ended up entangled in...?

No, no. He tried not to think about it. His class moved quickly. He had always been bad at math, but now he seemed to have mastered the subject from top to bottom, even complex physics topics, he knew it all.

His subject was over, and apparently the appointment he had pending was five minutes away.

— Good luck, bro! Monica certainly is a good catch, she has good “attributes” – the guys laughed to each other to leave the room and leave him alone.

Yuki felt overwhelmed, but he knew that this was something important for Iker, so he was forced to go. He ended up arriving at the cafe and saw the girl waiting for him: red-haired, slim, she was quite cute.

The boy didn't feel... anything, though. He admired her beauty, no doubt, but he didn't feel attracted.

He sat in the chair across from her and they both began to talk.

For hours.

Strangely, Yuki felt a great friendship with the girl, as if the chemistry between them flowed naturally.

— You're so funny, Iker! I thought you'd be an airhead like all your friends.

— Well, that's me, I guess – he smiled slightly. His heart was beating fast, what if she was already trying to kiss him? He wasn't feeling any heterosexual “urges” in Iker's body. That was worrying him, he had felt an automatic mode with his friends, with his subjects and knowledge? So why wasn't it happening now?

— I'm glad you're like that. But... I think we've been getting along really well and I don't want to ruin that, would you rather we stayed friends? – the girl smiled softly. And that was quite a relief for him. Yuki nodded.

— I'd love to.

They chatted for a while more until they said goodbye. Yuki thought about going back home but he felt anxious, like he will need something to be well, so he thought about going to the gym. He knew where Iker went to work out, so he immediately set off.

And again on autopilot he began to exercise, loving the way he felt his muscles pumping, how they swelled and became big as they flexed. How much he could carry!

Even how stinky his body was starting to get, how the sweat soaked into his clothes to make them damp and clingy. He felt ecstatic, lost in all those sensations.

He was powerful, big, huge, his pecs were so fat and thick! What could he say about his arms, they were fantastic without a doubt!

He smiled egocentrically, seeing himself through the reflection. There was hardly anyone in the gym, so he fearlessly lifted his armpit to start sniffing it, losing himself in his senses.

— Pff... How stinky... – he muttered. He stuck out his tongue, starting to lick himself, enjoying both the aroma and the taste of his sweat. He caressed his pectorals, he knew that partly all that acting was wrong, that was the body of Iker, his best friend.

But geez... He wasn't blind. He knew what a great catch Iker was even if he wasn't gay. But he wouldn't say it out loud in front of him, much less that he'd had more than one dream involving him.

And now he had him all to himself.

He continued with that exploration session until he was finally bored. He picked up his things and left in the direction of the apartment.

Where Iker had a “curious” moment as well. His rest of the day had been relaxed, taking classes, talking with Yuki's friends.

He discovered how interesting he now found fashion, pop music and things that although he didn't dislike, he didn't find so relevant either.

He even took a few “cute” pictures throughout the day, he was liking the feeling of being this small.

Even how other men saw him, besides the clear fact that he had made out with Adam even walking out of class.

He felt an urge that seemed born. He'd seen a few girls, even Yuki's friends, several of them he found pretty and desirable in more ways than one when he was himself, but now. He didn't pay even the slightest attention to the areas he used to look at when it came to a girl.

On the contrary, now he did that with guys: he noticed their pecs, their big muscles, their biceps. He had seen a pretty muscular guy in shorts and a tank top and almost went crazy right there.

When he got home, he found the apartment completely alone, although he didn't really care, he went into his new room right away to check his closet.

And started trying on clothes. He admired Yuki's style, some of his outfits looked cute, but he had never thought of wearing something like that.

But now he was wearing each one of his outfits, trying different tops, sweaters, tight pants, he even ventured to try Yuki's underwear, some of them were really revealing...

But he liked the silhouette what his body was adopting now, how her hips or her buttocks looked. The more he went through his closet and drawers, he ended up finding something: a toy.

It looked elongated, somewhat thick. He had never occupied something like that, if another kind of toys a little more in line with his sexuality, since he had never thought of putting something “in there”.

But now he felt an urge, too strong to ignore, it was like that urge to exercise that he had being him.

He lay back on the bed, carefully settled the toy against his entrance and gently let it go. He let out a sigh and a confused gasp at the sensation it gave; he thought it would hurt.

But it seemed like Yuki already had experience with it when he noticed how he managed to enter without any problems.

Iker almost screamed at the top of his lungs when he finally found that sensitive spot, he almost seemed to see stars. He immediately began to pound the area like crazy, pulling the tool in and out, he was anxiously moving against the bed, sweating and with a flushed face.

It was all chaos, he lost complete track of his surroundings, and that's why he didn't even notice that Yuki had come home.

Yuki was about to say hello out loud when he heard noises coming from her room, he didn't even take the moment to listen anymore, he knew exactly what was going on.

His heart pounding with excitement as he took step after step towards the open door of his room, he peeked his head out. And then he saw him:

His body moving against the sheets, tangled at his feet and no clothes on him, his hands wrapped around his manhood, the toy skewered. His white skin filled with beads of sweat, the scent alone that permeated the entire room...

It was like activating something inside him.

— Y-Yuki! – Iker opened his eyes in fright when he felt the hands of his opponent against his body and felt him on top of him.

— Shhh...

— I-it's n-it's not what it looks like, I-I...

— Save it.

Yuki muttered gravely, he grabbed his former body's hips to feel his skin, which made Iker let out a mute gasp.

— W-wait. W-what w-what are you w-what are you doing?

The former Mexican closed his eyes as he enjoyed the sensation of the huge brown hands resting on him.

— I told you... I don't feel anything straight in this body.

And with that, he stamped his now lips with his old ones, enjoying the unbridled sensation of kissing and touching between the two.

He got rid as best he could of everything that was in his way so that they were skin against skin. He kept kissing him, feeling Iker's nervous hands work their way down his pecs, which he played with like a fool, pressing the reliefs.

Yuki grabbed the toy to pull it out all at once, which caused a yelp from Iker.

— W-what do you plan to do?

—Shhh... Let yourself go.

He mused until he skewered his manhood into him all at once, this caused Iker to roll his eyes with a goofy grin, almost as if his brain cells were melting. It was a racket, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the gasps and grunts, the grinding of wood, the slender legs of Yuki's original body wrapped around Iker's thick hips.

— Ah!

— Tell me Iker.

— W-what?

— Tell me Iker, Yuki.

The Mexican hesitated a moment to answer, though his brain was fucked at that point.

— Yes, Iker! Yes!

The two of them stayed like that for almost the whole night, until they woke up hugging each other.

They didn't even think about how to solve that "problem", they both felt comfortable as they were, there was no need to go back to being who they were.

Iker settled completely into being Yuki. He became an even better designer, hung out with his friends, enjoyed his new career and all the opportunities in it.

Yuki also became completely comfortable with being Iker. He loved exercise, sports, spending time with his new friends, even if they were a bit “dorky” from what he was used to.

And even better, he enjoyed his new boyfriend. Now everything was as it should be, just between them.

———

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

———

[ethanfundraising]

What were your favorite wintertime activities as a child? What upcoming holidays do you celebrate? How do you celebrate? ❄️ Reblog and share in the tags.

“Hi. Please take a moment to read this. I am writing a post on behalf of @suad-khaled whose fundraiser has been stagnating and has only reached 50% despite her fundraising for several months. Suad has been verified by @/nabulsi and also by @northgazaupdates, you can read more about her and her struggles in the tag here.

Suad is an engineer who after graduating with top marks was also working as a university lecturer in her university. Just before the October 7th's accelerated genocide, she also found she was pregnant and was ready to also start this new chapter of her life.

Since the genocide, she and her husband have been displaced multiple times, escaping bombing narrowly in the process. In June she gave birth to baby Khaled and then immediately had to move to a tent with him. Suad and her baby both have been sick this year and her infant has suffered from malnutrition and chest infections in the first year of his life. The doctor recommended nebulising sessions for baby Khaled because of his chest infection and allergies which also ate into the family's limited funds.

Right now, despite facing constant hunger Suad is deeply worried about being able to afford diapers and formula for Khaled. Prices have quadrupled; a pack of 36 diapers now costs $50, and a can of formula is $13. Buying cheaper formula caused baby Khaled's health to worsen. This is also baby Khaled's first winter and he needs winter clothes.

Please, please support Suad and baby Khaled and help their fundraiser reach completion so that they are able to survive and evacuate from Gaza.”

(Thank you for the help with creating this post! I did not have the brain energy to come up with the right words, so this was written by a friend of a friend.)

💙 Reblog, Queue, Share 💙

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@sliceofdyke @littlegermanboy @g00ngala @grillwizard @graciouswings @sillymeter @palestine-donation-links @palestinegenocide @palestine-info-uncensored @gazavetters @gaza-evacuation-funds @zhuiren @weltenwellen @xinakwans @egberts @kropotkindersurprise @niqabisinparis @pukicho @paper-mario-wiki @queenie-says-free-palestine @tamamita @ultimatedirk @astrolavas @atalienart @bob-belcher @beebeedibapbeediboop @botan @buggachat @bi-trans-alliance @cassandrajean @creativepromptsforwriting @crimson-chains @colormush @drawingden @daily-prompts @design-art-architecture @develop-your-oc @discount-supervillain @evermore-fashion @enenkaydoodles @eliotbaum @elasticitymudflap @fyblackwomenart @fannyrosie @fuckyeahgravityfalls @filmgifs @greelin @gawki @ghiblisdaily • Sorry to be a bother!

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[peekofhistory]

汉服复兴之路 History of Hanfu Revival Movement

History of Hanfu:

“Hanfu" as a technical term refers to traditional clothing worn by the Han ethnic group in China （Han = Han ethnic group, Fu = clothing).

The last Dynasty of China, Qing, saw a ruling class of the Manchu ethnic group who had attacked the Ming Dynasty from the North and ultimately achieved victory. This resulted in a forceful change of attire from "Han" clothing to "Man" clothing and fashion:

This included men being forced to shave the front half of their heads, leaving a long braid in the back (those who refused were beheaded)(四爷，借用一下您的盛世美颜😂) :

Therefore, technically, "Hanfu" had not been worn in China since the end of the Ming Dynasty (1616 AD).

Following the establishment of the current People's Republic of China (1949 AD) the country busied itself with development and economic growth. By the early 2000's China had undergone 2 rounds of economic reform and saw an economy that was flourishing. This left people with more time and money to revisit the country's vast history and rich culture (it's difficult to think about culture or history when you're trying to put food on the table).

Hanfu revival movement:

On November 22, 2003, an electric engineer by the name of Wang Letian (王乐天) strode through the streets of Deng Zhou wearing a Quju robe . This was the first time someone wore Hanfu for a casual outing since almost 400 years ago. Although, looking back, the design wasn't historically accurate, and the clothing seemed ill-fitting, this robe had been hand-sewn by Wang Letian and his friends, all of whom had a passion for Hanfu.

At the time, people laughed when they saw him in the streets, it looked so odd and strange among the sweaters and jeans that had become the norm, but Wang Letian had started a snowball of Hanfu revival. The internet spread photos of him wearing Hanfu through the streets and by chance, a Singaporean reporter, Zhang Congxing (张从兴), came across the photos. He wrote an article in the newspaper Lianhe Morning Report (联合早报) which became the first news article recorded of the current movement to revive Hanfu.

Following that, interest in Hanfu grew. People (especially young people) dug through history books, visited museums, and broke out the sewing kits. Today, Hanfu can often be seen around sightseeing locations and in historic cities like Xi'an. Although most people still aren't wearing it out and about daily, it's not uncommon to see someone wearing a Mamian Skirt (from Ming dynasty) with a blouse heading to work.

There are still some who think it's odd and strange (including my dad 😑), but the revival in Hanfu indicates a confidence and pride many young people have in China's own history and culture, something that had been often neglected over the past 100 years due to continuous wars and political chaos.

As a kid, I loved period dramas and would drape a bed sheet around my shoulders pretending it's a cape. I'd admire the beautiful hair styles on TV, wondering how it was done. Never did I dream one day I'd be able to purchase my own Hanfu and have a suitcase of hair buns and accessories 🤣🤣

[f1-mcmuffin]

Heyyy! I’M IN LOVE WITH THE BLACKPINK 5TH MEMBRR AU!!!😩🫶 if possible can you make one on how they met or how they started dating? Hehe 🥰

Y'all I am so sorry I disappeared 😭 for a little. My water spilled in my bag and FRIED my MacBook, got a new one so now we’re back. Enjoyy

Crashing Into You

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

Ralph Lauren Flagship – Paris, early evening.

The venue was a blur of crystal chandeliers and vintage brass, all velvet drapes and champagne bubbles and the unmistakable hum of luxury. Lando was used to events like these—smiling, handshakes, pretending to remember people’s names. The room was full of people who walked like they were being watched. The kind of crowd where you were either the main event or completely invisible. He mostly just knew his way to the bar. He was halfway through his drink when she happened.

Someone brushed past him, just hard enough to jostle his elbow and make him fumble the glass not enough to spill it. Just enough to freeze him in place.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” a voice said, low and musical, almost amused. He turned instinctively, ready to brush it off and—Oh.

She was stunning. Not just beautiful. Stunning. In the runway-model, too-unreal-to-be-approached way. She looked like fire and he wanted to touch. Dark eyes, long hair, the kind of posture that said I know who I am even if he didn’t.

“That was my fault. I was in the way,” he said mindlessly quickly. “I wasn’t looking.”

She tilted her head. “Neither was I. So I guess we’re even.” Her accent was hard to place. A blend of places. Like she'd been everywhere and nowhere at the same time. She smiled and he found himself grinning back.

“Lando,” he said, offering a hand.

“Y/n,” she replied, slipping her hand into his. Her hand fit perfectly in his. Her shake was firm yet soft and warm. “Are you part of the brand?”

“Sort of. Sponsor one of the colognes.” He grinned. “You?”

“Clothes,” she said, sipping her pink drink. “Or whatever they feel like selling out.” 

They started talking—casually at first. Then easily. Way too easily.

“What do you do when you’re not crashing into women in couture?” she asked eventually, arching a brow over her glass.

"I'm a driver."

She raised an eyebrow “Like an Uber driver or…?”

He choked on his drink, laughing. “No—no, nothing that useful. Formula 1,” he said slowly, watching her face. Nothing. “....race cars. Fast ones. Around tracks.”

“Uhh,” she said, nodding politely. “Is that… like Nascar?”

He laughed — one hand coming to his chest in exaggerated pain. “You did not just say that.”

Her expression stayed innocent. “I don’t know! I live on planes and hotel room minibars, I’m not exactly keeping up with… engines.” He blinked, god, it was refreshing. The complete lack of recognition. No awkward excitement, no mention of lando no wins, or “Oh my god, you’re the McLaren guy!” Just… her. Real. Effortless. Curious.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, I like it,” he said. “You’re not pretending to care.”

She shrugged. “I’m just being honest.”

He took a sip of his own drink, smiling. “What do you do then? Aside from showing up at fashion shows to get crashed into?”

“I’m in a group. I sing. Dance.”

He nodded slowly. “Like a choir?”

Her face contorted into fake offense. “You did not just say that.” They were cracking up now—shoulders brushing. “You’ve never heard of BLACKPINK?” she asked, half-incredulous.

“No,” he said honestly, brows raised. “That's a thing?”

“You’re joking.”

“I swear on my steering wheel.” she laughed. Really laughed. Head tilted back, hand over her mouth, glowing under the soft lighting. He liked her laugh. A lot.

They stood there, just smiling at each other as if the room didn’t hum around them with flashbulbs and fashion icons. As if it had gone quiet for a second.

“So,” he said eventually, “you’re a singer who doesn’t know racing. I’m a racer who doesn’t know pop.”

“And yet,” she said, leaning a little closer, “here we are.”

“Talking, Laughing, and bonding over mutual ignorance.”

She clinked her glass against his. “Cheers to that.”

From there, the conversation melted into shared gripes about hotel breakfasts, cities they loved (Tokyo, for both of them), and airport horror stories. She told him about spraining her ankle on stage and still danced. He told her about DNFing during a race and crying behind a tire wall. They had rhythm—conversation rhythm. A kind that didn’t need effort. The kind that just clicked. He liked her. That was fast. Maybe too fast. But her voice was warm, her energy addictive, and he found himself not wanting to go back to the table of sponsors and stylists just yet. 

Eventually someone tugged gently on her wrist. “Honey,” the woman murmured, apologetically. “They’re waiting.”

She sighed softly, then looked back at him. A warm, real smile on her lips. “Nice to meet you, Lando.” The way she said his name was dangerous. Soft and slow, like a secret. Like she planned to remember it.

“Nice to meet you too, pretty girl,” he said before he could stop himself. She laughed, cheeks dimpling slightly, and walked off with her assistant. He watched her until she was swallowed by the crowd. Then it hit him. 

He didn’t get her number.

Later that night – Hotel room, Paris

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, still grinning. That had been—something. But now she was gone, and the odds of seeing her again in a city like Paris? Slim.

He picked up his phone. Opened Instagram. With the caution of a man stepping into a minefield, typed: BLACKPINK

Blue check. 70 million followers. Holy hell. He clicked, seeing the accomplishments posted. He clicked on the following 

@/roses_are_rosie Nope.

@/jennierubyjane Not her.

@/lalalalisa_m Definitely not her.

@/sooyaaa__ Still not her.

@/yourusername bingo

He clicked on her profile. She followed no one, not even her members. His eyes widened at the 98 million followers. Damn. Lando blinked, scrolling slowly through her posts. Stage photos. Studio mirrors. Candid selfies that still looked like editorial shoots. He was careful—so, so careful—not to accidentally like anything. Until…Tap. Double click. Red heart.

“No. No no no—shit—” He froze. Stared at the post he’d just liked. It was from five years ago. He quickly threw the phone onto the other pillow like it burned. A moment later, he picked it back up, carefully scrolled to her most recent story. A blurry Boomerang of the fashion show crowd.

In the corner—barely visible—he could see the back of his own head. He stared at her profile for another full minute before clicking off his phone

The next morning — Her hotel suite, Paris.

It was still early.

A pale wash of sunlight spilled through the gauzy curtains, casting soft gold across the polished marble and velvet of the suite. The city below was just waking up, its sounds distant and muffled.

She was curled up sideways on the deep emerald chaise lounge, her robe half-falling off one shoulder, a warm mug of black coffee nestled in her hands. Her dark hair was still a mess from sleep, her legs tucked beneath her.

She was scrolling—half-awake, half-bored—through a sea of mentions, tags, and fan edits. Her thumb moved lazily over the screen, pausing occasionally on a funny tweet or a well-lit concert shot. She looked serene, unbothered until her thumb hovered. Wait, that wasn’t from last night or last week. Her brows pulled together slightly as she narrowed her eyes. The post was old. Really old.  Dated: July 2019.

A grainy backstage photo. She and Jennie were mid-laugh, arms slung around each other, no makeup, oversized hoodies and messy ponytails. A pure, blink-and-you-miss-it candid—buried beneath years of sleek press shots and Vogue covers. Someone liked it recently.

@/landonorris

She blinked. Sat up slightly. Tapped the username and there he was—Driver Boy himself. The same sharp features staring back at her from his profile picture.

His feed was exactly what she expected and somehow not at all: Fast cars, fast friends, podium selfies, blurry nights out with other drivers, golf swings, and an unhealthy obsession with helmets. She bit back a laugh and shook her head slowly. “You’re so bad at lurking, my guy.”

The door to the suite creaked open behind her. Jennie padded in, makeup-free, hair in a topknot, spooning yogurt straight from the tub. She gave her a sleepy glance.

“What’s that face?” She didn’t answer right away. She just took a sip of her coffee and blinked innocently, thumb already clicking her phone screen off like a guilty teenager caught texting their crush. Jennie tilted her head, suspicious. “Is that a ‘someone cute just liked my post’ face?”

She leaned back into the cushions, sipping with dramatic nonchalance. “Just someone accidentally liking my 2018 trauma photo dump.”

Jennie smirked. “Someone cute?”

She just hummed, watching the sunrise over Paris, and thinking about a boy who drove like fire and lurked like an idiot.

That evening — a rooftop afterparty, somewhere above Paris.

The party was hosted by a designer’s son—of course it was—and the rooftop was lined with string lights, glass floors, and too many people wearing sunglasses at night. Music pulsed low and sultry beneath the buzz of conversation. The air smelled like jasmine, champagne, and smoke. Like secrets.

She wasn’t even supposed to go. She hated afterparties. They always felt like the encore to a concert no one asked for. But something in her had told her to wear the black silk, just in case.

She was halfway through her first drink, pretending to listen to a story about someone’s yacht in Ibiza, when she saw him.

Alone at the bar again. Same slight slouch. Same curls. Different suit.

“Wow,” she said, sliding up beside him and leaning on the bar. “You survived the internet?”

He looked over—and grinned, bashful and busted. “You saw that, huh?”

“You mean the deep dive from 2019? Yeah. Bold move.”

“I panicked. My thumb slipped.”

“Mhm. Sure. Tell me, were you admiring my friendship with Jennie or the tragic grainy filter?”

He laughed, sheepish. “Honestly? You were laughing in it. I liked that.”

That caught her off-guard. Her smirk faltered just enough to show something real. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. “You’re kind of charming when you’re not trying.”

“Oh no,” he said, mock horror. “Do not say that. I’ve worked very hard on this whole ‘awkward hot guy who crashes into women’ brand.”

She leaned in a little closer, just enough to catch the spark in his eyes. “You’re nailing it. Truly.”

They smiled and again, that bubble. People moved around them like waves against glass. Voices, cameras, bodies brushing past—and none of it touched them. They were suspended.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

She held up her glass. “Something pink and overpriced. You?”

“Something brown and dangerous.” He clinked his glass against hers.

“Cheers to bad decisions,” she said.

“To very attractive bad decisions,” he replied, and she laughed. He watched her as she took a sip. “You came here hoping to see me again, didn’t you?”

She nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—look, I’m not saying I came here hoping to see you, but—”

“You totally did.”

“I one hundred percent did.”

She bit her lip, amused, trying not to grin. “I came here for the free alcohol.”

“Liar,” he said. “You wore black silk. You absolutely dressed for damage.”

She tilted her head, playful. “And what damage are you expecting, Mr. Norris?”

He leaned in—not enough to crowd, but just enough to make her breath hitch. “The kind that doesn’t hurt. Much.”

Her laugh was soft this time, breathy. “You’re trouble.”

“Maybe,” he said, eyes dancing. “But I’m good company.”

She set her glass down, fingers brushing his wrist just briefly. “Prove it.”

“Dance with me,” he said, eyes gleaming.

“Huh” visibly caught off-gaurd

“Dance with me,” he repeated

She blinked. “There’s no dance floor.”

“There’s music.”She looked at him for a long moment, like she was weighing something. Then, slowly, deliberately, she reached for his hand. He took it, warm and steady. And right there, in the middle of a rooftop with no official dance floor, surrounded by models and moguls, and champagne towers—he pulled her close and started to sway.

No rhythm. No choreography. Just movement. Just closeness.

 He smelled like expensive cologne and something electric. She didn’t know if it was adrenaline or him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck almost too naturally. Like muscle memory from another life. His hands rested on her waist, careful like he was holding something important. They didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. For a moment, time felt indulgent. Like the city stopped for them.

At one point, she tucked her face into his shoulder and laughed at something he whispered—a low joke about someone trying to twerk near a sculpture. She never did find out what the punchline was. Just the way his voice rumbled in her ear and made her stomach flip.

He walked her back, because of course he did. Because he was raised right, and also—because he didn’t want the night to end.

“Thanks for the dance,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, fingers grazing the knob.

“Thanks for not mocking my two-step,” he grinned.

“I still might.”

 “Fair.”

The hallway was quiet, dim, the buzz of the party somewhere far below them now. Just the two of them, wrapped in the echo of too much champagne and the possibility of something.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close. “You should come to a race.”

“You won’t even let me Google Formula 1,” she replied.

“I’m trying to preserve the mystery.”

She smiled. “You’ve got a lot of mystery, Norris.”

He looked at her like he didn’t want to leave. Like he didn’t want this to end.

“Text me,” she said, finally.

“You haven’t given me your number.”

She held out her hand. He placed his phone in it like it was some kind of offering. She typed in her number, added a peach emoji after the nickname he gave her, and handed it back.

Before he could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed him—just a brush at the corner of his mouth. A hit-and-run. A flicker of a spark, not a fire. Not yet.

Then she slipped inside the suite and closed the door behind her, soft and certain. He stood there, staring at the door for a second. Then two. 

And then he laughed to himself, just once, quiet and disbelieving. Grinning, he walked back down the hallway, thumb already hovering over her contact.

The Eiffel Tower glittered like it was in on the secret.  She sat curled up in a hotel robe, legs tucked beneath her, phone glowing in her lap. Her lip gloss had long faded, but the smile hadn’t.

A new message lit up her screen:

Racer Boy 🚦: Still thinking about your terrifying cheekbones. Are they TSA approved or do they count as weapons?

She snorted and typed back:

Pretty girl 🍑: I aim to terrify but only in low lighting and emotional vulnerability.

Racer Boy 🚦: Speaking of emotionally vulnerable I passed the cemetery near Abbey Road earlier today Swear I heard it whisper "She’s gonna break your heart, mate."

Pretty girl 🍑: Was it haunted or just British?

Racer Boy 🚦: Bit of both, honestly. But I told it: "Too late. I’m already ghosted."

Pretty girl 🍑: You are so dramatic. Ghosted by who?

Racer Boy 🚦: You. Every time you leave me on read for 46 seconds It’s like being buried in a tiny emotional grave

Pretty girl 🍑: Sounds cozy Should I bring flowers to your tiny grave?

Racer Boy 🚦: Only if they’re fake So they last Like my tragic love for you

Pretty girl 🍑: omg. you are so dumb

Racer Boy 🚦: Dumb and doomed. The best kind. Also, I’m watching that video of you walking the Jacquemus show in slow-mo Trying to understand how someone can walk like a goddess and still text me back

Pretty girl 🍑: You say that like I’m not also sitting here watching an F1 compilation called “Lando Norris funny moments” You’re a funny man

Racer Boy 🚦: I KNEW those views were you

Pretty girl 🍑: Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll deny it to the grave. Your tiny, emotional grave.

Racer Boy 🚦:  The slow death of my dignity. When are you headed to London again? 

Pretty girl 🍑:  Next month. Flying Friday night. London by Saturday. Why? 

Racer Boy 🚦:  Silverstone’s that Sunday. Want to go out that Saturday night? 

Pretty girl 🍑:  Like…out out? 

Racer Boy 🚦:  Like…first date out. 

Pretty girl 🍑:  Hmm. Tempting. Will there be pasta?

 Racer Boy 🚦:  You tell me what you want and I’ll pretend I planned it.

 Pretty girl 🍑:  Good. I like my artisanal lies. 

Friday – YG building, Seoul, Korea. 2:45 PM.

It had been hours of dance drills, water bottles half-drunk and the air thick with the scent of effort and expensive dry shampoo. Practice was winding down, and the group had collapsed into their usual recovery spots around the studio—Lisa sprawled on her back with a towel over her face, Rosé curled in the corner scrolling through her camera roll with Jisoo over her shoulder, Jennie perched like a cat on the ledge by the window. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, sweaty strands of hair clinging to her neck, practically glowing—and not just from the workout.

She kept looking at her phone. Then smiling. Then biting back the smile like it might betray her.

Jennie caught it first. She said nothing at first—just watched, brow faintly arched, sipping coconut water like she was biding her time.

Then Rosé caught on too. She tilted her head slightly, catching Jennie’s eye. A silent glance passed between them. No words, just a well-honed sisterly radar buzzing in sync.

Lisa didn’t bother with subtlety. Lisa straight-up leaned over her shoulder, eyes wide with nosy glee. “Who’s Racer Boy?” she chirped.

She jolted and locked her screen so fast she nearly dropped it. “No one.”

Lisa gasped dramatically. “You have a contact name for him?! And an emoji?! That’s not no one. That’s a thing.”

Jennie raised a sculpted brow. “You’re giggling.”

She blinked, defensive. “I do that sometimes.”

“You’re wearing lip gloss in rehearsals,” Jisoo added.

She crossed her arms. “I like gloss.”

Jennie didn’t blink. “You wore chapstick for three years straight. Even to the Met Gala.”

Lisa was rolling on the floor now. “Guys. She’s blushing. She’s actually blushing. The Ice Queen has thawed.”

Rosé, still calm in the corner, sang softly like she was scoring a drama, “She’s in loooove…”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

The girls froze. Then they pounced.

“Oh my God,” Lisa squealed, sitting up on her knees. “You’re totally in love. You’re, like, early-stage in love. You’re in pre-love.”

“It’s barely been a month,” she said, heat creeping up her neck.

“But you’re still here,” Jennie said softly, eyes knowing. “Smiling like an idiot.” She didn’t answer.

She turned back to her phone, thumb hovering over the contact labeled: Racer Boy 🚦

She didn’t open the thread yet. Just stared at it.

Rosé scooted closer, brushing her knee against hers. “Is he nice?”

She nodded slowly. “He’s…funny. And stupid. And sweet. And—” She caught herself and looked up. “I can’t tell if this is real or if I’m just enjoying the distraction.”

“Distractions don’t make you wear lip gloss,” Lisa said, nudging her shoulder.

“Distractions don’t make you glow,” Jisoo added, voice soft but certain.

She looked at her sisters. These girls who’d shared cramped dressing rooms, impossible schedules, heartbreaks, and hair disasters. They knew her. All of her. The guarded parts. The lonely ones. The girl who rarely let anyone in. So she finally said it.

“I really like him,” she whispered. “And it’s terrifying.”

The silence after wasn’t mocking. It was reverent. The kind of silence that only comes when the truth lands in a room like a slow-burning spark.

Rosé smiled. “It’s supposed to be.”

Lisa grinned. “So when do we meet this emotionally reckless traffic light of a man?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “Not until I’m sure he’s not going to run away screaming.”

Jennie stood and walked over, brushing a thumb gently over her flushed cheek. “If he does, he’s not worth your lip gloss.”

She laughed. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“We learned from you,” Rosé said.

Lisa threw a towel in the air. “Blackpink in your boyfriend's area!”

The room burst into laughter, and somewhere in the center of it, her phone buzzed again. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She unlocked it, pened the thread, and smiled again. 

And the girls? They saw it. All of it.

Not just the fruity gloss. But the soft, tender thing underneath—the beginning of something.

Tuesday – 9:42 AM Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, Monaco

“Still can’t believe you wanted to fly commercial,” Oscar said, elbowing Lando in the side as they passed through the first-class queue.

“I like having my feet on the ground with the peasants,” Lando deadpanned. “Also, my jet’s being serviced.”

“Tragic,” Oscar replied. “Shall we alert the tabloids?”

They moved toward their gate lazily, both in joggers and hoodies, blending into the elite crowd of silent headphones and sleek carry-ons. Lando scrolled through his phone absently—mostly ignoring it—until a Korean news outlet he recently started following popped up on his feed.

Dispatch Korea: BLACKPINK rumored to be heading to London this Saturday for an MV shoot.

He swallowed. His thumb hovered over the image.

“She's going to London,” he muttered.

Oscar turned. “Who?”

Lando locked his screen quickly, but not quickly enough.

“Oh,” Oscar said, grinning now. “Pretty girl.”

“Don’t call her that.” Lando snapped.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “You're the one who picked the nickname.”

There was a pause. Then:

“You nervous?” Oscar asked, voice lower now.

Lando stared out the terminal window, at the clouds stacking like hills in the distance. His jaw tightened.

“No,” he lied. Then added, softer, “I just want to see her.”

Oscar clapped him on the back. “You will.”

And with that, they boarded.

Tuesday — Heathrow Airport, London 6:03 AM

The sky was still bruised with dawn when Lando and Oscar stepped off the flight from Monaco, tired but wired with race weekend energy.

Oscar yawned. “You’re unnaturally chipper for someone who didn’t sleep.”

Lando didn’t look up from his phone. “Didn’t need sleep.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes, catching the edge of a smirk. “You’re tracking her, aren’t you?”

“I’m tracking the traffic for Silverstone,” Lando lied.

Oscar laughed as they made their way through the terminal. “You’re so far gone.”

Lando didn’t deny it.

Saturday – 1:12 PM Incheon International Airport, Seoul, Korea

Flashes clicked the moment Blackpink stepped through the automatic glass doors.

Her oversized hoodie was zipped halfway up, her cap low over her brow, and yet Dispatch still got their shots. Jennie had sunglasses on, Lisa was yawning dramatically for the cameras, and Rosé clung to her neck pillow like it owed her rent. Jisoo going through her Dior purse to find their passports.

“Thank god there’s no dating rumors this time,” Jennie muttered under her breath, shielding her face with her phone.

“Just a music video,” Lisa added brightly, tossing the words toward the lenses as they walked. “Just Seoul to London. Simple stuff.”

She kept her eyes forward, the hood of her hoodie pulled low enough to ignore the chaos, but not so low that she couldn’t see the gate signs. Her suitcase rolled smoothly behind her—quiet, composed, like her. But inside, everything buzzed.

Twelve hours. Give or take and he’d be there.

The ache built in her ribs like pressure at takeoff.

She hadn’t told the girls he’d be in London too. It wasn’t a thing, not really but she could feel the weight of his last text sitting in her pocket. Could still see it like a ghost behind her eyelids.

Hope you’re flying safe. Let me know when you land. You better bring the gloss.

She pressed her lips together.

Yeah. She was going to see him again.

Saturday — Heathrow Airport, London. 2:27 PM

The terminal was chaotic in the way only Heathrow could be—loudspeaker announcements, luggage wheels humming, paparazzi waiting at barriers like vultures in branded windbreakers.

Blackpink moved through the crowd like they’d done it a hundred times. Because they had.

Jennie in sunglasses, Rosé with headphones, Lisa and Jisoo pulling faces at fans who called their names. She walked at the center, incognito in an oversized hoodie and sweats, but the camera shutters still found her. She waved politely, murmured a few hellos. The moment they passed through to the car waiting outside, she exhaled.

Jisoo climbed in first, peering at her bandmate as she followed.

“You okay?” Jisoo asked.

She nodded, then glanced at her phone. Still nothing. No new messages.

Just a calendar ping reminding her: Dinner – 7PM. Notting Hill.

Rosé caught the look. “You’re seeing him tonight.”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

Lisa leaned forward between the seats. “Tell him we said if he breaks your heart, we break his legs.”

A few more shutter clicks. Paparazzi murmurs. But no chaos. Just quiet speculation.

“BLACKPINK touches down in London for new MV shoot” the headlines read.

Inside the black car she sat by the window, pretending to look out the window. Her stomach twisted with anticipation.

Lando was already here.

Saturday night after Quali 

He was waiting outside, pacing slightly beside a rented matte-black Jaguar. Crisp black button-up shirt. Rolled sleeves. Slacks and nerves.

She had stepped out of her hotel in a low, backless black dress and a leather jacket. Hair half-up, minimal makeup, like she wasn’t trying. Which meant she definitely was.

Lando looked up—and stilled.

“Hi,” she said softly, tugging her jacket tighter against the London chill.

He exhaled. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She grinned. “Strong opening line.”

He opened the car door for her. “Wait till you see the menu.”

They sat across from each other at a private corner table, candlelight flickering between them.

“So,” she said, swirling her wine. “How do you usually spend a Saturday before your home Grand Prix?”

“Carb-loading. Simulator practice. Crying.”

“Ah,” she said. “Romantic.”

He smirked. “And you? How do kpop stars prep for filming a music video?”

“Usually not by going on a date with a Formula 1 driver.”

“Uncharted territory?”

“Just… new.”

They lingered in the pause. There was something quiet settling between them. Not quite nerves. Not quite ease. Something like possibility.

“You’re not what I expected,” she admitted.

“Oh?” Lando leaned back, intrigued.

“You’re… gentler. Funnier. Grounded.”

Lando cocked his head. “What were you expecting? Champagne and ego?”

She smirked. “Something like that.”

Lando smirked. “And you? I thought you’d be terrifying.”

She raised a brow. “I am terrifying.”

He leaned in. “Only a little.”

Their eyes held.

And for just a second, the noise of the world faded.

Later — walking through empty London streets.

The restaurant was behind them. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement. Wind played with her loose hair.

They walked close—shoulders brushing now and then, like gravity pulling them nearer with each block.

“You’re nervous,” she said.

“A bit,” he admitted.

“You drive at 300 km/h for a living.”

“And you dance in front of stadiums. We’re both mad.”

They stopped at the corner under a streetlamp. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said, voice low.

She smiled. “Thank you. You didn’t make it weird.”

He grinned. “Yet.” She laughed, quiet and full. Then he kissed her—Just soft, steady warmth.

 A beginning.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against hers.

“Can I see you at Silverstone?” he whispered.

She hesitated, the ache already there. “I have to film all weekend.”

He blinked. “No pressure then.”

She leaned back, a little sad, a little smitten. “Good luck, racer boy.”

And then she turned, leaving him at the corner, already counting down the hours.

Sunday — Silverstone Circuit. Race Day. 3:11 PM.

Lando was strapped in. Visor down. Engine roared behind him like a beast with breath. And yet—somewhere in the noise, there was her.

 The memory of her laugh over wine. The way she called him racer boy like a dare. The kiss on the corner under the streetlamp.

He blinked. Focus. Turn 9. Copse. Hold the inside. Be clinical.

But her voice still floated at the edge of his thoughts— "You're gentler than I expected."

He downshifted, sharpened. Not a distraction but a tether.

Sunday — Somewhere in East London. Music video shoot. 3:26 PM.

She stood in front of the camera, drenched in soft red lights and smoke. They were mid-take. Her lips were syncing perfectly to the track. But just out of frame, behind a monitor—

The Grand Prix streamed in silence.

A pit stop. The commentator’s gestures were exaggerated. Lando’s car blurred in and out of frame. P2.

Her eyes flicked to the screen again between takes. Jennie noticed. So did Rosé. Jisoo whispered, “He’s second. Lap 38.”

She didn’t respond. Just smoothed her skirt and went back to her mark. But her stomach wouldn’t settle.

Sweat still on her skin. Glitter still in her hair. She peeled off her boots, collapsed onto the couch, and unlocked her phone.

1 New Message

Racer Boy 🚦 P2 today. Not bad, right? You would’ve looked hot in a McLaren hat.

She smiled. Bit her lip. Typed back.

Pretty girl 🍑:  Watched between takes. Almost tripped on stage when you overtook that tall guy in the Mercades. Proud of you, racer boy.

A pause. Then:

 Pretty girl 🍑:  Can I see you before I leave London?

Her phone buzzed almost instantly.

 Racer Boy 🚦:  Yes. Tell me where and when. And wear that fruity lip gloss again. For science.

She laughed quietly into the pillow on the couch.

And somewhere across the city, Lando was still in his fireproofs, hair damp, heart pounding harder at her text than at the finish line.

Monday night — Some hotel, South Kensington. 11:42 PM.

Rain tapped gently at the windows. London was half-asleep. The room smelled like hotel linen and vanilla shampoo. She opened the door still wrapped in a robe, towel around her neck, her hair damp from a shower.

Lando stood in the hall—hood up, cap low, McLaren duffel slung over his shoulder. When she opened the door, he looked up.

“Hey,” he said, breathless, like he’d run the last few blocks. She let him in without a word.

Inside, the lights were low. A single bedside lamp glowed. Her suitcase lay open on the couch. He dropped his bag and reached for her. She folded into him easily, like it was muscle memory already.

“You did so well yesterday,” she whispered against his chest.

“You weren’t there,” he murmured. “Didn’t feel right.”

She pulled back just enough to look up. “You’re getting soft, Norris.”

“You made me soft.”

She laughed—quiet and warm. Then, “You came all this way just to be sappy?”

“No.” He brushed a thumb across her cheekbone. “I came to ask if this is something.”

She blinked.

“I know it’s fast. I know it’s complicated. But I keep thinking about you. At the track. In the car. Before every corner. After the podium.”

She stared up at him, heart racing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “I just needed you to know.”

She didn’t answer. She kissed him instead. Slow, steady. No urgency. No performance.

Just them. Quiet and real.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead stayed against his.

“It is something,” she whispered. “And I want to keep it.”

Lando smiled—soft, boyish. “Just us, then. For now?”

She nodded. “Let them gossip about who Jennie’s dating.” He laughed, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Come to bed,” she said. “You’re freezing.”

He followed her under the covers, fully clothed, hands respectful. But the way he held her—arms tight around her waist, breath even against her neck—it felt like claiming something. Not as possession but as peace.

Before the sun came up, Lando left through the back entrance of the hotel. Cap pulled low. Hoodie up. She watched him from the window, coffee in hand.

One last glance back from him. A small wave. he disappeared into the London drizzle, taking their secret with him.

April 2023 – California, USA. Coachella Weekend One.

Blackpink’s Coachella headlining set lit up the desert sky. Fireworks burst. The crowd roared. She hit every move, every note, sweat-slick and electric under the lights.

Thousands watched live. Millions streamed online.

One of them was Lando—propped in his motorhome in Baku, Azerbaijan, the race on pause, earbuds in. His engineer’s notes sat untouched beside him.

He didn’t even blink as she spun into formation.

When she winked into the camera halfway through Kill This Love, he smiled to himself.

Oscar walked by, holding his phone. “Are you watching the race edit?”

“No,” Lando murmured, not looking away. “Something better.”

Oscar squinted. “Is that…Coachella?”

Lando just grinned.

May 2023 – Monaco GP Weekend.

Their world tour had taken her to Madrid, then Paris, then Berlin. She was running on three hours of sleep and oat milk lattes.

But her AirPods were in during hair and makeup. McLaren race radio crackling softly.

When Lando crossed the line P3, her face lit up—caught on a behind-the-scenes cam. “Why are you smiling like that?” Jennie asked.

“No reason.”

Rosé smirked. “Racer Boy again?”

“Shut up,” She mumbled.

But that night, in the greenroom, she texted him:

My Pretty girl 💕:  "P3 looks good on you. So does that champagne spray."

Seconds later:

Lando 🧡: Say that again in person.

June 2023 – London.

She landed at Heathrow. He was there for simulator testing.

A quiet 14-hour overlap.

She showed up at his hotel at 1 a.m., wearing sunglasses and a hoodie, laughing as she pressed the elevator button like it was a mission.

He opened the door half-asleep—and woke up fast.

“I miss your stupid face,” she muttered, head tucked into his neck.

“You’re the one touring the planet,” he teased.

“I’d cancel Berlin if it meant ten more hours like this.”

They didn’t leave the room once. Just room service, kisses between sentences, her asleep on his chest before he finished the film they started.

By sunrise, she was gone—the scent of her shampoo on his pillow, a lipstick print on a hotel glass.

October 2023 – Japan.

Suzuka was brutal. Rain. Red flags. Strategy chaos.

Lando finished P2.

Hours later, still in his race suit, he FaceTimed her from the back of the paddock truck.

She was in a dressing room in Bangkok, eyeliner smudged, exhausted.

“I can’t wait till you’re done being famous,” she said sleepily.

He laughed. “Says the Coachella girl.”

“I just want to kiss you without needing a disguise.”

“We’ll get there.”

A beat.

She whispered, “I love you, you know.”

Lando blinked. Swallowed hard.

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you too.”

January 2024 – Seoul.

He waited outside a rehearsal studio, leaned up against a black car, baseball cap pulled low.

She ran out between dance drills. Hugged him so hard he lifted off the ground.

Ten minutes. That’s all they had.

Ten minutes of reality before she was gone again.

March 2024 – Melbourne.

Race morning. Lando sat in the back of the McLaren garage, headphones in. The world buzzed around him—mechanics, pit strategy, journalists shouting across pit lane.

But his focus stayed fixed on one thing: a small voice message from her, sent at 3 AM her time.

“Go get ‘em, racer boy. Make the corners jealous.”

He smiled, then pulled his helmet on.

April 2024 – LA.

Blackpink had a surprise release. The studio was chaotic.

But her lockscreen still lit up with one name.

Lando 🧡: Post-qualifying facetime? I need your lucky eyes.

She called. He answered instantly.

And just like that—the noise faded. For a minute, they were in the same room again.

Late April 2024 – FaceTime call, two time zones apart.

She was curled up in bed in Seoul, bare-faced and wrapped in Lando’s hoodie — the one he’d left behind months ago, intentionally or not. Her hair was messy. She looked tired, but when she smiled, Lando felt it across continents.

He was lounging on the hotel balcony in Shanghai, race weekend winding down, the city lights behind him. One earbud in, a smile tugging at his lips as he listened to her ramble about rehearsals, tour drama, and a coffee order that had gone hilariously wrong.

Then he quieted.

Just watched her. Thought about the ache he felt every time the call ended. Every time he had to fly somewhere she wasn’t.

And then, softly—almost casually, but not quite—he said it: “Come to Barcelona with me.”

She blinked. “What?”

He hesitated—half-smiling, half-serious now. “Join me for the Grand Prix. Be there.”

A beat.

“I know it’s insane. And I know your schedule is chaos. But… I want you there. Not as a secret. Not hiding behind paddock walls. Just… with me.”

The silence stretched.

She stared at him through the screen, stunned into stillness. She looked like she’d stopped breathing.

Then—quietly, carefully— “You mean… like, be seen?”

He nodded. “I mean, officially. No disguises. No running. Just us.”

She didn’t speak right away. But her eyes were soft. Her thumb rubbed the seam of his hoodie, her voice smaller than usual when she answered:

“You really want that?”

“I want you.” He didn’t flinch when he said it. “With me. In Barcelona. Let the world talk, for once.”

She exhaled slowly, lips curving just a little.

“…Then let’s give them something to talk about.”

[nekolikedacat]

redesigned these two for the still unnamed metamy au thing cos i wasnt satisfied with the initial designs, didnt want to cover metals engine originally for action efficiency but decided to drop that

metals hands deffo are mostly curled into fists because he doesnt want to destroy anything with his claws and not bc i cant draw his hands

and! amys quills on the 3rd pic are based on hc inspired by the new official art, theyre so short in my au cos metal messed up cutting them but she ended up liking the result

altho i went with softer outfit for metal he likes more punk-ish clothes, with spikes and all (can u tell idk much abt fashion?) - he doesnt hate these tho, and amy is happy dressing him up so he doesnt complain (also those things on his head are magnets not stickers)

[sparkly-sediment]

Tf2 bedtime Headcanons

Pjs and more 😛

Scout:

Boxers

T shirt ot tank top optional

Sprawls like a child after field day

Slight nest going on in his bedroom

Think messy bed with a bunch of shit on it that he moves off at night so he can burrow

Experiences sleep paralysis once and was horrified to see his demon looks like Medic

(Scout is overthinking why he dreams about men)

Soldier:

Cock out and ready to rock

Rips off his clothes and and puts them right back on in the morning

Prefers top sheet to blanket

Snores like a chain saw if he’s on his back

He has prophetic dreams but seldom heeds their warnings

Pyro:

Keeps the mask on

Either a onsie on over the suit OR a very hasty suit to onsie change

Self care routine before bed >^.^<

Sleeps at the foot of a self-made shrine of the other mercs. She made little dollies of them with spit and gum as adhesive

Engineer

Boxers and a t shirt

Pretty chill guy rubbing his sleepy eyes 🥰

He wears the glove up until he gets in bed

Sets it on the nightstand like a pair of glasses

You will NEVER see him walking around in his comfy clothes. Engi is very self conscious outside of his uniform and he gets nervy when exposed

Curls up in a little ball

Honk shmhshsmshs honk shsmsmshsmsms

Demo

A variety!

Naked, boxers, basket ball shorts and shirt combo, the man is full of surprises

Can pass out anywhere

There have been a few mornings where he wakes up with a horrible hangover and is lost in the New Mexican desert

If he isn’t trudging back to base at 7 am he’s having fitful sleep until his alarm goes off

Unless he is drunk Demo is a very light sleeper!! He uses alcohol as a sleeping aid

Wakes up to thunder piss around 1 am

Heavy

He sleeps ready to run. An adolescence consumed by war shapes a man, and Heavy will never sleep without knowing his shoes are next to the bed

Sleep shorts or jammie pants and a shirt

He dislikes the sensation of a sheet against his back and so almost exclusively sleeps with a shirt on

Only exception is after sex because he likes skin to skin afterwards 😃😄 emotional connections!

A light and deep sleeper. Bro will be in the most restful slumber but if you walk past his room his eyes flash open and his body tenses hard af

Restless leg syndrome

Can sleep sitting up (it lowkey scares literally everyone because why does he do that???)

Genuinely wakes up refreshed

Medic

Fleece pajamas and he does button them

Or boxers and a t shirt/tank top but he PREFERS his fancy fashions

Keeps fuzzy slippers next to the bed but will never wear them out of the medbay

He made tiny accessories for his doves, including a cute little night cap!!

He has a bedtime routine for his doves and does it nightly. He feeds them, coos them, holds every single one and gives a little smooch, and then bedtime

Will fucking kill you if you wake him up without good reason

Scout comes into the medbay with a serious wound? He’s like a dad when their kids is in the door way “i frew up”

Soldier and Demo drunkenly stumble in and are fucking around? Medic chews their ass nasty style

Straight up disrespectful if his sleep is messed

Spy

Satin pajamas

At least a shirt. He prefers to he covered

Spy dressed modestly and it needs more discussion. I also think he is secretly shy AND I WILL ELABORATE LATER

It’s giving sorrowful sleeper

He goes over every life mistake each night before bed. Really tears himself up before he falls alseep

The night is when he thinks about Scout’s ma the most. And the fact he abandoned a child but he represses that a bit more

He was very afraid of the dark as a kid and still always sleeps with a layer on for protection

can’t sleep without a fan going for noise

He can stay awake for a long time. Like, a really long time. But unlike Medic or Engineer or even Sniper, Spy is NOT productive when staying up

Stares at a wall with a befallen look when he changes into his pjs

Holds a pillow

Sniper

Sleeps with a white beater and boxers

Or completely naked

Or in his work clothes if he’s tired enough

Sniper sleeps like a new mom. Anytime he can, he will, and he is deeply paranoid

Look man, weird shit happens in the outback. There’s a reason aboriginal peoples are warded as fuck against evil in the bush. Sniper is constantly on the look out, even at night

Brother fears the sandwalkers fr

He sleeps much better with someone else nearby. They don’t have to be in bed with him but the presence feels safer. Less vulnerable to predators

A notoriously light sleeper. Wakes up constantly and is always a bit exhausted

Has dreams that are warning him of days to come and unlike Soldier he takes that shit SERIOUSLY

[lzucid]

ㅡ Tied with a ℛibbon.

Genre : yandere/dark, fluff, angst? smut, dark content

Summary : After moving to Seoul, your neighbor Jimin is everything you could ask for—charming, thoughtful, and always there when you need him. But as his kindness starts to feel a little too perfect, you can't shake the feeling that there's more to him than meets the eye.

pairing : yandere!jimin × f.reader

warning : manipulation, fearplay, mentions of blood, rough sex, cream pie, jimin is obsessed and lovesick, kidnapping? kinda. let me know if i missed anything!

Author's note : this is my first time writing something dark!! pretty proud of this actually, i really hope you all enjoy <33 (the smut part is inspired by "love thy neighbour"!!)

The moving truck rumbled to a stop in front of your new apartment building in Seoul, its brakes squealing as the engine faded into silence. You stood there for a moment, letting the cool autumn air wrap around you, still feeling a bit disoriented from the whirlwind of packing, flights, and the excitement of starting fresh in a new city.

Seoul was everything you had imagined and more—busy streets with neon lights, the sound of chatter and laughter floating from the cafés, and the occasional burst of music drifting from nearby shops. The city seemed to buzz with energy, and it was everything you had dreamed of when you decided to leave your old life behind.

The apartment building was charming. You liked how it had character—exposed brick, small windows that let in just the right amount of sunlight, and the promise of a quieter neighborhood in a city that never truly slept. This would be your home for the next year, and maybe longer, depending on how things went.

Your heart skipped a beat as you finally stepped inside the building, taking the elevator up to the third floor, where your new apartment awaited. It was spacious, and cozy. You spent the next few hours unpacking, trying to settle into the unfamiliar space. There were boxes to organize, clothes to hang, and new furniture that still smelled faintly of wood and paint. The silence of the empty apartment was almost overwhelming, but you liked it. It was yours now.

As you finished setting up, there was a soft knock at the door. You paused, confused—who could that be? You weren’t expecting any visitors, and you hadn’t had time to meet any of your neighbors.

Curiosity piqued, you opened the door to find a young man standing on the other side, wearing a warm smile and a pair of jeans that fit just right. His hair was silky straight, and he looked effortlessly put together, as if he had walked out of a fashion magazine.

"Hi! I’m Jimin, your neighbor from next door," he said, his voice light and inviting. "Heard the moving trucks outside, I just wanted to introduce myself and, um, offer you this."

He held out a small box wrapped in pastel-colored paper with a bright ribbon tied neatly on top. The box was delicate, and you could see the edges had been carefully folded.

You blinked in surprise. "Oh, wow, thank you.. That’s so sweet of you."

Jimin’s eyes sparkled as he smile softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "It’s nothing. I just thought I’d drop by and say welcome"

You smiled, touched by his kindness. "Well, it’s definitely a pleasant surprise. I’m still getting settled, but I appreciate it."

His grin widened, and he stepped forward, glancing down at the box in his hands. "I made some homemade treats. I thought they might make your move a little easier."

You felt your cheeks warm, feeling grateful but slightly embarrassed. "You really didn’t have to. But thank you."

"No problem!" he said, stepping back slightly. "If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m right next door—always happy to help."

With that, he gave you another bright smile, turned, and disappeared down the hallway before you could even properly thank him again.

You watched him go, feeling strangely comforted by his gesture. It was such a simple, kind thing to do, and it made the loneliness of moving to a new place feel a little less daunting. As you closed the door and looked at the box he had left you, a small sense of calm washed over you. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You went to the kitchen and opened the box. Inside were a few homemade macarons—delicate and perfectly arranged, the kind of treat you would expect to find in a bakery. They smelled heavenly. You picked one up and took a bite, savoring the sweetness.

It was only the beginning, but already, you had a feeling things might be better than you expected in this new place.

Days passed by in the blink of an eye. When you first moved into the apartment, you had no idea how much your life would change in such a short time. The first few days were a blur of unpacking and adjusting to the new city, but there was one constant: Jimin.

It started innocently enough. You were still settling in when you met him in the hallway. His friendly smile and helpful attitude immediately made you feel at ease. At first, he was just a kind neighbor—a gesture of politeness here and there. When you had trouble with the heavy boxes, he was there to help without a second thought. He’d hold open the door for you, offer to carry groceries, and invite you to the occasional dinner. His presence was gentle, never overwhelming, and always considerate.

When he learned that you were still unfamiliar with the city, he offered to show you around, suggesting cafes, parks, and local hotspots. He accompanied you on trips to help you navigate the subway, even memorizing your work schedule and offering to meet you when you came home late. It wasn’t long before you started seeing Jimin every day, sometimes without even trying.

Soon, he began leaving little surprises on your doorstep. At first, it was just a coffee from a café he knew you liked or a small snack he thought you might enjoy. His attention to detail was uncanny—he always knew exactly what would make your day just a little easier, a little brighter.

“Hey, I remembered you mentioned liking strawberry pastries,” he’d say with a soft chuckle, handing you a neatly wrapped box. “I thought I’d pick these up for you.”

"Ah, a ribbon again", You thought. Something you noticed quite a lot was that Jimin liked using ribbons when he gifted you something, a sweet, signature gesture on his part. His gifts were always thoughtful. Sweet. Just enough to make you feel cared for without feeling pressured.

And you'd be lying if you said you hadn't gotten a liking to him already.

But you would notice some strange things eventually. Jimin seemed to always know exactly what you wanted or what you needed without you ever having to mention it. He knew your favorite snacks, the exact kind of music you listen to, and the best time to call you when you were feeling stressed after work. It wasn’t coincidence anymore. It was like he was watching you, studying you in ways you couldn’t understand.

At first, you told yourself he was just being observant. After all, who wouldn’t remember small things about their neighbors, especially someone as pleasant as Jimin? But it wasn’t just that. You found yourself strangely growing comfortable with his presence. You began to notice how often he’d pop up when you didn’t expect it—like he had an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time. He’d show up in the hallway just as you were returning from a late-night grocery run, offering to carry your bags, his eyes lingering just a bit too long. And the way he would “accidentally” be in the same coffee shop when you stopped by on your lunch break... or how he’d always be around to help when you were feeling overwhelmed, even though you hadn’t told him anything about your day.

The deceptively sweet person he was, slowly made you walk into his trap, despite all these strange occurrences. And you, being the naive girl you are, walked into it blindly. How dumb.

Even more time had passed, and to say that Jimin was a huge part of your life now would be an understatement. This boy was everywhere, all the time. Always giving you surprise visits, both of you staying over at each others, him gifting you pastries, gifts, all tied with those pretty ribbons. He'd always cling to you, and you to him. Although sometimes it felt a bit too much, just how much he seemed to like your presence, you never complained, you were his sweet girl. Why would you ever complain?

Some would say he acts too pushy with you, too desperate for your attention, forcing it from you, without you even realising it. That's what others have told you. How easily you fit into the palm of his hand, how blind you were to not see the glares he sends to anyone entering your home, anyone besides him.

But no, you always denied all of it. Listen to him when he tells you that you don't need your stupid friends anyway. You need him, only him.

He's managed to twist himself into the confines of your heart already, and you've let him do so effortlessly. He was everything to you, everything you need. Manipulated your pretty, dumb brain so much, you swore you saw him, heard him everywhere now.

He had become your anchor, your constant in the storm of this new life. Always offering his help, always being there when you needed him. His presence was always gentle, never too overwhelming, but just enough to make you feel... safe. Protected. He always loved you so tenderly, was so affectionate with you, always called you his "sweet girl" ㅡ and you loved all of it so much. They way he pampered you, gave you so much attention.

It's just too easy for him to do all this to you. You trusted him too much, and now it was finally time. Time for him toㅡ

It started with the smallest things, things that were easy to ignore. One evening, you returned home after a long day at work and found the pages of your journal turned slightly. Just a bit, like someone had been reading it. But you couldn’t remember leaving it out.

You didn’t want to believe it, but something about that feeling lingered. The sensation of being watched. Of someone quietly observing your every move.

The next day, you decided to call Jimin.

“Hey, Jimin,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I... I don’t know if this sounds weird, but I keep noticing little things missing from my apartment. Like... things I don’t remember moving. I thought I misplaced them, but it’s starting to happen more often. My scarf, my charger... even a few books.”

You heard him pause on the other end of the line, then his soft voice answered. “That’s strange. Maybe it’s just... you know, stress? It could be playing tricks on your mind. You’re probably just tired. But if you want, I can help you look for your things. You shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

His voice was so reassuring, so calm, that you almost believed it. He sounded sincere, and part of you wanted to just accept his comfort. He was right—maybe you were overthinking it.

But a little voice inside you told you something wasn’t right. Still, you pushed the thought aside, deciding to focus on the immediate problem instead.

Days passed, and the disappearances continued. It wasn’t just small items now—it was bigger things. Your favorite jacket was gone, the one you’d worn on your first day in Seoul. A picture frame, an old gift from your friend, was no longer sitting on the shelf where you’d placed it. You tried searching for them, but it was like they had vanished.

One night, after a long and exhausting day, you found yourself standing outside Jimin’s door again, a sense of dread crawling up your spine. You had no choice but to ask him for help.

“Jimin,” you called softly, your knuckles lightly tapping on his door. You waited a moment before he answered, his face lighting up with his signature smile.

“Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice smooth and comforting. “Come on in. What’s going on? You don’t look so good.”

“Can I ask you something?” You felt a tightness in your chest. "There’s something wrong with my apartment and... I don’t know, it feels like I’m going crazy. Like someone’s been in there when I’m not around. Can you—” You paused, swallowing hard, “—can you help me figure it out?”

Jimin smiled again, that soft, inviting smile that always seemed to ease your nerves. “Of course. I can help you. I’m here for you.” His voice was like a balm, soothing the chaos swirling in your mind.

You let out a small breath of relief.

He stepped aside and led you into his apartment. It was cozy, just like yours—warm lighting, soft furniture, an atmosphere that felt intimate but safe. You always liked it there. He made you sit down on his couch while he made tea for the both of you, and as you sat there, your eyes wandered, taking in his home.

There were no oddities, no signs of invasion, no missing items. It was calm. Almost too calm.

After a few minutes, Jimin returned with the tea, setting a cup in front of you. He sat next to you, his knee gently brushing yours, and offered a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Things will turn up. You’re just adjusting to everything. I’ll help you look, okay?”

That night, you decided to take Jimin up on his offer to stay over at his apartment for a night. You didn’t want to be alone with the growing tension in your own place, and Jimin had always made you feel welcome in his space.

After dinner and a couple of drinks, you found yourself lying on his couch, too tired to go back to your own apartment. Jimin had gone to his bedroom to get ready for bed, leaving you alone for a brief moment. You stood up to stretch, the sudden movement making you feel a little dizzy.

As you walked toward the hallway, you passed by a door that you hadn’t noticed before. It was slightly ajar, just enough for you to see inside. You couldn’t resist the pull of curiosity.

Your eyes landed on a collection of items. Items that were familiar—too familiar.

There, scattered across a table, were your things. Your missing scarf. Your jacket. That photo frame. And several other belongings that had gone missing over the past few weeks.

Your heart stopped in your chest. The realization hit you like a wave. How did he have these? Why would he have them?

Before you could react, you heard Jimin’s soft footsteps approaching from behind. You turned to face him, your mouth dry, but no words came out. His eyes were dark now, no longer warm and inviting, but full of something else. Something unsettling.

“You found them,” he said, his voice low, almost whispering. “I wasn’t sure when you’d figure it out, but I knew you would. You’re always so observant when you want to be.”

“Jimin... What is this? Why do you have my things?” you asked, your voice shaking, barely able to keep it together.

His lips curled into a gentle smile, but there was nothing soft about it. “Because I’ve been watching you. All this time, I’ve been taking care of you, making sure you have what you need. You’ve been so lost, haven’t you?”

You took a step back, but he moved toward you, his body closing the distance too quickly. “You belong to me,” he whispered, his breath warm on your skin. “You always have.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to pull away, but his grip was firm, too strong. “Jimin—please—.”

He chuckled, a soft, dark sound. “You can’t leave me. Not now. Not after everything I’ve done for you.”

Before you could react, his hands were around your wrists, pulling you closer. “I've been so patient with you, so observant, been so nice, can't you at least give me this much, hm?"

He asked, his voice laced with something so unsettling, you couldn't place it. What was happening? Where is the sweet jimin that you knew of? Who is he.. whoever he is.. why is everything happening so fast?

The room spun around you, the air thick with the pressure of what you had just uncovered. Your breath came in ragged bursts as your heart slammed against your ribcage. The realization of how deeply Jimin had infiltrated your life, how meticulously he had planned every single detail—it hit you all at once, overwhelming you with fear and confusion.

You couldn’t process it. Your mind raced with questions, trying to piece together the fragments of everything that had felt off for weeks.

“Don’t be scared, sweet girl,” he said, his tone gentle, soothing. “It’s all okay now. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

But his words, his voice, felt wrong. They felt like a lullaby, coaxing you into a false sense of security, when everything about this moment screamed that you should run. You needed to get out of there, but your legs felt like they were glued to the floor. The fear was paralyzing, but still, you tried to take a step back.

Your feet stumbled, and your back hit the wall as you slowly tried to edge your way toward the door, your mind spinning with every possible escape plan. But before you could make it another step, you felt a cool, damp cloth press against your face.

The smell hit you first—something sweet and faintly floral, but laced with something more sinister. The scent was overpowering, cloying, and your head began to swim, the edges of your vision starting to blur. Your legs gave out beneath you, and the last thing you remembered before everything went black was the soft pressure of his hands guiding you down to the floor.

When you finally regained consciousness, it wasn’t in the place you remembered.

Your head throbbed, and you winced as you tried to lift your hands to your forehead, only to realize they were bound. Panic shot through you as you tried to move, but the weight of your limbs was too heavy, too restrained. It took you a brief moment to realise your hands were tied, so tightly, with the most perfect ribbon.

Snap! It all just came to you. The pretty ribbons he always gave you alongside gifts, were they all just a sweet warning of what fate had in store for you? That's what they meant, all along?

The bed beneath you was soft, too soft, and the sheets smelled faintly of lavender—an unsettlingly calm contrast to the storm raging in your chest. Your breath hitched as you looked around, shivers running down your spine as you realised you were way too familiar with this place.

Jimin's bedroom. You were in his bedroom.

And he kept you tied up with ribbons, all so pretty for him. He's had patience for so long, the least you can do is just lay there all pretty for him, be his sweet girl, like you've always been, is that really so hard?

He walks in, that damn smile on his face again. That stupid, sweet smile that throws off every sick thing he has done till now. How is it possible for someone to look so sweet, yet be so sick in the head?

He walks closer to you, crouching down beside the bed. For a moment his gaze lingers over your face before he scans your figure, smiling to himself at how pretty you look, all tied up like this. All for him, just for him to see.

You just throw him a glare, trying to be as stubborn as you can be. There's no way you'll ever put up with any of this, you know better than to do that, right..?

"What? suddenly you don't like me anymore, sweet girl?" He asks, smiling to himself again. Ugh, him and his stupid pretty smile.

You look away, avoid his gaze for as long as you can while plotting ways to escape.

He helps you sit up, his touch sending shivers down your spine. How strange it is, this is the same touch you were always craving for, the same touch you loved up until hours ago, the same warm and soft touch you always wanted, yet it felt so unsettling and cold to you now. Without any further thoughts, you lift your legs to kick him away with as much force your body has, despite your ankles being tied together. That's it! Now's your cue! Just get off the bed and hop your way out!

And that's what you doㅡ well, at least that's what you were about to do. Stupid girl, you really think you can effortlessly escape with that stupid ribbon around your ankles?

You stumble, falling to the ground with a loud thud, followed by your whimper. Your sounds grow quiet once you hear jimin laughing from behind, he sounds like he's losing it. What a prick, laughing like you're some kind of muse to him, entertaining him on purpose. He walks up to you, entangles his fingers in your hair tightly before pulling you up, causing a yelp to escape your lips. He looks at you, but something about his gaze as changed. He looks.. more unsettling.. and you can't help but become weak in the knees, solely because of how scary he looked.

"Dumb girl, really thought you could escape huh? Stupid." He whispered before dragging you to the bed, practically throwing you onto it.

Soon after he gets onto the bed as well. He leans down, pressing his weight onto you. You try to thrash around, do anything to escape but he's far too strong for you, if anything, you just looked stupid beneath him now. Even with your struggle, he shoves you down against the bed.

"I've been so gentle.." He sighs, still pressing down onto you. Your face shoved against the pillow and your hips lifted up, perfectly on display for him, perfectly pinned in place with his own. Your wrists tied behind your back, with that pretty ribbon. Ah~ What a sight! Jimin swears he could just come from the scenario alone.

You say nothing in response, only hear the sound of his belt unbuckling..? There's no wayㅡ "I really am so nice to you, hm?" He cuts your thoughts off, pressing himself against you. You really can feel his cock against you, and for some unknown reason, you let out a small whimper at it.

How cute, he chuckles, gently starting to rock his hips against yours. His entire length pressed against your cunt. "I've had enough, y'know? Not gonna be gentle anymore. You asked for this, my sweet girl."

The simple sentence sends a shiver down your spine. Was it fear? Anxiety? Excitement? Whatever, you didn't know anyway.

He forced his boxers down, letting his cock spring free. He groans at the sight of you still clothed, and so he curls his finger around your panties, pulling it aside, exposing your cunt to him. Hm, he's just so lucky, so lucky that you really just happened to be wearing a skirt today, how cute!!

You let out a soft gasp at the action, you can practically feel him grinning at how exposed you were to him, and it makes your cheeks flush darkly. You wish you could see him, see what he's doing behind your helpless, trapped form. But wait, why? Why do you wish you could see him? Weren't you scared just a moment ago?

"Mhm, pretty cunt. Such a pretty cunt hm?" He says, running his finger across your slick folds, eliciting a moan from your lips. He chuckles, chuckles at how stupid you were. Trying to escape, acting all scared just a few moments ago, and now you're all wet and exposed to him? The situation just makes him want to fuck you dumb, right then and there.

He starts speaking again, his voice tinged with glee. "Hm but you don't want me to be good, huh? Want me to fuck this cunt till you're screaming? Screaming for me to stop? Huh? Could've made it so much better for you, but you decided to be a stupid, dumb girl."

His frame towers over yours, you can feel his cock directly against your entrance now. He smiles, "if you wanted this, you could've just said so."

He whispers against your ear, smiling for a moment before pulling away, practically buzzing with this sick excitement within him. The tip of his cock finds its way to your cunt, and without warning, or even any preparation at all, he slams into you, with a force unlike anything ever.

"Mmphhh!!" You cry out, your sounds muffled against the pillow. This isn't fair, he doesn't get to take you like this! But you're just so pretty, he doesn't care whether you're prepared or not, he's going to take you whole, right here, right now. And he's a man of his word, so he does.

He grips onto your tied wrists as he slams into you with such inhuman force, you swear you can pass out from this already. How do you feel this good around him? It's only been a few seconds, but he swears he can just come already. You're so pure, so tight, untouched, and so pretty!! All for him right? Just for him.

His mouth hangs agape from how perfect you felt. The warmth and wetness of your pussy combined with your tightnessㅡ god, he felt dizzy. He slams into you so harsh, without any care at all, that he doesn't even realise the slight red dripping down your thighs. But you don't either, you really were being fucked so dumb, all you could think of was him, and his cock.

His movements become more frantic, and he buries himself inside of you completely, staying still for a moment before pulling back and slamming into you again.

"Mhm~ my pretty girl, s-o pretty! Gonna fuck this cunt so bad, shape it like my di-ck! Yeah? You like that? Being ruined for anyone else? Huh?" He asks, his other hand pulling onto your hair now.

You don't notice the tears that leave your eyes, and you don't care whether it was from the overwhelming feeling or the pleasure, all you cared about right now was being his sweet girl, answering him so obediently. "nngh y-yes!"

Jimin chuckles, letting go of your hair. You really were his sweet girl, he knew you'd submit to him like this. Was this so hard? Would it be so bad if you just submitted from the beginning?

He fucks into you so hard it hurts. So hard that your spine curves up to meet each of his demonic thrusts. You feel like you're going crazy, but at the same time, you don't want him to stop. You cry out, your body thrashing around a bit at how sensitive you felt by now. He leans against your torso, gently whispering. "Shh.. it's alright.. you're my sweet girl, you can take it."

And so you do. Take every thrust of him like the sweet girl you are. He likes this, he likes all of this so much, likes you so much. His movements grow more frantic, more desperate as he searches for his release.

Maybe you like it too. The way he praises you every once in a while, the way he fucks you so dumb, you see him instead of stars. You like all of it, more than you should.

Moans and cries escape from your lips as your body really truly starts giving up at this point, no-no!! He can't let that happen yet. He has to cum, he has toㅡ

He fills you up without warning, moaning softly at the way your walls clench around him, drag him back into you without you even realising it. He watches all of it, watches the way his load leaks out of you. He smiles to himself, feeling too prideful.

"So pretty!" He exclaims, slowly pulling out now, watching you with such concentration, how his cum drips from your thighs. He could watch this forever.

He smiles, oh waitㅡ he's getting distracted! Can't let all his cum leave your pretty cunt! In a hurry, he scoops some of it up, just to push it back into your whole, eliciting a cry from you. Oh, poor sweet girl. He pouts his lips, staring at the sight before him. Your legs trembling, your pretty cunt now abused, puffy and red. But he enjoys this, enjoys it way too much. He's certain that he has you locked with him forever now. So, once he's done pushing his cum back into you, tucking it away nicely, cupping your pussy lips with his hand to prevent any more from leaking, he finally unties you, unties the pretty ribbons.

He doesn't forget to savour your taste though. "Mhmm.. my sweet girl, so good." He murmurs before pulling you against him with ease. There he is! There's the kind, gentle jimin again. He lies down with you in his arms, his hands running through the strands of your hair as he pulls a blanket over you two.

"You did so good, my sweet doll. Should've been so nice to me since the start then, hm? All mine, yeah?" He whispers, holding you close to him.

"All yours." You whispered back. You accept your fate, accept that you're his, accept how you like being his, it really couldn't get any better than this, hm? The thought of being with him, being his, makes your heart flutter. Hmm, maybe he is sick, twisted, but you? You were no better than him.

[poppyflower-22]

Charles Leclerc

(These are just small discerptions that explain the one shot or parts as shortly as possibly)

I just find this so cute.

Still adding!

Fluff:

It seems Charles and reader have another son. Feat Ollie. HERE

Reader is a single mom. But Charles is in it from the start. HERE

* Charle's adopts Oscar. Feat Ollie being the best son. Humor. HERE

Bearman reader. When Ollie gets into F1 for just one race, his sister is there. She has always been there. Charles and reader being cute and Ollie being the cute sibling. HERE

Leclerc sister. Reader is going out, much to her brother's misery. HERE

* Hornor reader. Charles thought he would spend forever in Ferrari, but reader makes him see through the fake promise. Red Bull Charles. HERE

Charles wins and what better way celebrate then with the princess of Monaco. HERE

Sainz reader. A game of never have I ever has Charles running for his life and the rest of the grid. HERE

Reader gets jealous of Leo until he becomes a mama's boy. HERE

Social Media:

* Reader makes friendship bracelets and gives them out at the races. Everyone wants one. Everyone. Fans love her. HERE

Wolf reader. They are the modern Romeo and Juliet but with a happy ending. Feat Jack at the end. HERE

sports commentator reader. Reader is a Mecedes fan and Charels tries to make you switch teams. HERE

Sturniolo reader. Age gap. Hate comments. HERE

McLaren admin actress reader. HERE

Verstappen reader. Max didn't know until there went public. HERE

Horner reader. Reader releases a song, but her last relationship was four years ago. So, who is the new song about? HERE

Reader is a knitter and makes clothes. Feat Lewis the fashion icon. HERE

Hornor reader. Driver. Red Bull didn't give her seat, so Ferrier did instead. HERE.

With F1 couples breaking up, fans try to protect one of the last standing ones. No breakup. HERE

Verstappen reader. With Checo retiring. Who will take his seat? Humor. HERE

Another knitting reader. HERE

* Verstappen reader. Driver. Enemies to lovers. Protective brother Max. HERE

Actress reader. Fans see your chemistry with your new co start and love it, Charles on the hand. Dose not. HERE

Vettel reader. Now Seb isn't on the grid, everyone team wants her to cheer them on. Though Charles takes it a step further. HERE

Reader releases a new song fan can't help but think it's about a certain F1 driver. HERE

In The Middle:

Master list of all different Charles one shots. HERE

Charles is dating the princess of Monaco, but people don't believe him. HERE

Reader is sick and they find out the only person to save her is her unknown brother. Raeder is a Verstappen. Abandoned Verstappen. Sick reader. Royalty reader. HERE

Ferrari reader. Things need to change, and Charles calls you for help. HERE

Charles with witch reader. Charles breaks the Monaco curse. HERE

Series:

Engineer Reader. Social media. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE.

Reader decides to hard Lauch her relationship and people react badly. Age gap. Australian reader. Hurt/comfort. People are hating on reader. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE. Part 3, HERE

Leclerc sister. Full series. HERE

Full series. Charles is the ex-boyfriend. Ends with Aarron Taylor-Johnston at the end. HERE

Polly/Lando:

The boys love language seems to be polar opposites. Social media. HERE

* Max Verstappen's half-sister. Link is to the end of the series, but all chapters there. HERE. (My favorite serries)

The boys forget to get reader for their trip. She makes them grovel. Social media. HERE

Polly/Max:

F1 commenter. With recent interview people are picking sides. But maybe they don't have to. Social media. HERE

No one considered polyamory before branding the reader a slut. Social Media. HERE

Polly/ Alexandra Saint Mleux:

Obsessive exes. Slight Social media. HERE

Charles and Alex get clingy when reader is away. Partly Social media. Part 1, HERE, Part 2, HERE

You three raised your daughter together and now its time to show the world. HERE

Alex and Charles are public and not with Reader. Reader starts feeling left out. Leo is Reader's dog. But maybe it's too late. Max being a good friend. Hurt/Comfort. Made me cry a little. HERE

Dark/Possessive:

He is yours and you are his. Dark Charles. Babby trapping. Social media in part 2. Jealous. Smut. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE

Smut:

Dinner with friends, turns into Charles reminding you, you are his. HERE

<><><><>

[ikkaku-of-heart]

LOOK AT IKKAKU IN THIS CUTE DRESS!!! ALL THE OTHER HEARTS LOOKING SHARP TOO BUT OMG MY GIRL IS SLAYING!!!!

[essentiallyleaf]

day 24. car sex. with. ningning.

1286 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, car sex, Z O O M I N, deepthroating, semi-public sex, a bit of classic existential dread.

notes.

it is so fucking late i gotta go. speedily, leaf.

It’s at times like these that you want to treasure the most precious resource you have. The sun just sank down the horizon of Alpha-Earth, giving the sky this vibrant, electric aura, from the golden and pastel blue West to the indigo East. Hundreds of headlights leave long trails of yellowish white and rusty red all along the highway, almost as if the lines were already there, and the cars just following their predetermined paths. Your right foot pushes down, getting closer and closer to the asphalt. They can call you old-fashioned, but you love the growl of the rear combustion engine, the sound of rubber on tarmac. Time. They say it gets slower as you approach light speed, you’re far from it, but it’s almost like the clock’s hands move slower as the speedometer needle reaches new peaks. Nothing feels as close to God as this. The car takes a life of its own, and you wish you could simply close your eyes and, feel. The thrill you get when you’re on top of a tall building, and part of you wants to take a step. Those are also just passing moments, you think as you lift and return to cruise speed.

Ningning is beside you like she, sometimes is. Her hand falls on your pants-clad dick and starts rubbing like it does almost every single one of those times; the other times you’re already naked. Not the first time this happens in the car, even at high speed, so you simply turn auto-pilot on (they forced everyone to install it even on cars built before 2035) and let your head fall back in pleasure as she reaches inside your underwear to caress your bare length. Your right hand naturally goes to her almost naked back, needing to feel her skin under your finger pads.

She doesn’t dress to impress; sometimes she doesn’t dress at all. And the navy skintight rags she’s wearing today, well, those almost qualify as the latter. You’re in your usual attire, combat boots, cargo pants, the ones that tighten at the ankle, a close-fitting long sleeve shirt and a windbreaker. She needs your help to lower your pants and underwear, then goes back to stroking your cock, spitting on it for lubrication and reaching down to fondle your scrotum from time to time, causing you to moan up towards the roof of the car.

“Mmmh- Ning?”

“Huh?”

“Mind speeding the process up a little?”

Ningning likes to take her time, you learned that long ago. To make you look at her as she pulls the little lever on the side of your seat to move it backwards, positions herself between your legs, and stamps one long wet kiss on your tip. Or to observe people strolling at the night market, mothers buying their sons balloons, couples eating tanghulu (“You can tell if they’re good kissers just by looking at that” “Want to try with me?” “There’s a more hands-on way”; that was your first shared kiss, and it was more than just hands, on one another’s bodies after that). Right now her blue-tinted eyes are on yours, as her mouth surrounds more and more of your cock and she starts to feel her eyes watering and her lungs lacking air. She resists for almost fifty seconds this time - a good one, though not in her top five - drawing more than a groan from you before she has to back out and seek for oxygen.

“Are you okay?” She nods quickly, her hands cleaning up some of the drool that has accumulated on the sides of her mouth. “I need you right now, Ning.”

Ningning smiles and snorts lightly like she has you in the palm of her hand, and at the same time she has to concede this one to you. You stare at her open-mouthed as she somehow rids herself of her clothes, revealing her supple breasts and thick outer lips to you, and only thanks to your tinted windows not to any car around yours. She straddles your lap and wraps her arms around your neck to kiss you deeply while you grab onto one of her plump thighs with one hand and align your shaft with her already wet slit with the other. Her eyes are finally closed as she focuses on the feeling of your tip swiping up and down her vulva, brushing on her clit at every passage.

She’d been looking outside for almost all the trip, scrutinizing every detail of the gray and neon skyline of Nu-Seoul. Ningning has always had her own, unique wide-angle lens on the world. She has a little plant shelf right below her window in her apartment. It’s in one of those old, gray, samey buildings they were plopping one next to the other back when a growing world population wasn’t just a myth; the place is small and the plaster falling apart. One day she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the new little blossoms on the orchid, or at the bland, shiny neons on the skyscraper behind it, you couldn't really tell.

“Do you ever feel like the world is moving too fast for you?” She asked, sounding dispirited.

“I try to stay on pace”

“I feel… impotent. Like there’s nothing I can do, to change it”

“Do you think it’s on you to change it?”

“I think it’s on me to try.” She turns her gaze towards you, you let out a little sigh.

“When it’s just the two of us,” You sit beside her and wrap your arm around her back. “We can make what we want of our time. Make it speed up, slow down… It’s just ours. No one will ever take that away from us”

What you’re making of it now is pumping your dick in and out of her pussy while gripping onto her full asscheeks while she whimpers in your mouth at the sensation of her hole being stretched. She loves that feeling like she loves the feeling of wet grass on her feet when it’s raining, though meadows are but a distant memory in a city eaten by cement and desolation. Her soft, tight walls squeezing you in a humid embrace. You were wrong; this is what makes you feel like you’re touching the Infinite, reaching Eternity. Ningning moaning in bliss on your lips, on the crook of your neck, on the headrest of the driver’s seat. Her hands not finding rest, switching between your pecs, your jaw, your hips, and her own heat, digits circling at frenzied pace on her clit. You speed your thrusts up, time slows down. It’s a race ending in a photo finish; you can see the end, it’s close for both parties, but you never seem to reach it. Take a look at her pleasured state, savor the moment. Savor her tits as well, feast on them, then slap her ass once, twice. She wasn’t expecting it, her instinctive reaction is to drag her pelvis forwards towards you, giving you a different angle to attack. Exploit that to hit every crevice, every little patch you weren’t able to before, and as she contracts around you in one long, then multiple short and rhythmic flexes of her lower abdomen, each accompanied by a scream that fills the entire cockpit, you have your own release. Spill cups and cups of milky substance into her womb, every spurt coinciding with an upwards thrust and a small bite on her shoulder, as you continuously groan in complete bliss. Then it’s silence, a second, or an eternity, it doesn’t matter anymore, before she talks again.

“Back seat for round two? I want it from behind”

-

footnotes.

now i can’t unsee the asthma periods. you cursed me @erospandemos. gaspingly, leaf.

[sage-nebula]

PKMN - Making a (Fashion) Statement

This image popped into my head, and since I can't draw (well), I decided to write out the written equivalent of a sketch. I hope the concept delights you as much as it does me.

Takes place after the Horizons timeskip. - - -

According to Dot’s geotracker, the next place where wild pokémon would be made to go berserk was here: a remote forest on one of the Sevii Islands. Getting there had been no small feat, without the Brave Asagi to help them; but they had managed it, and now there they were—Liko, Roy, Dot, and Cap—watching an airship belonging to the Explorers descend on the forest clearing.

“This is it,” Roy said; Liko couldn’t tell if he was speaking quietly, or if his voice was drowned by the ship’s engines. Either way, his fists were balled so tightly his whole body was shaking. “We’ve got him now.”

Liko turned to Dot, whose eyes were glued to her Rotom Phone screen. “Dot, you’re sure Spinel is on that ship, right?”

Dot nodded. “Positive.” She swiped the data she’d been examining off her phone screen, and allowed it to zip back into her pocket. 

Liko took a deep breath—something of a feat, given how strong the wind was blowing in the clearing now as the airship touched down—and nodded. Roy was right, then. This was it. They would ambush Spinel here, and stop him from hurting any more pokémon with Rakurium. And that wasn’t all—they would get him to admit the truth about the Rising Volt Tacklers, too. Exactly how they would do that, Liko wasn’t entirely sure; but they had done the hard part of getting to the forest in time enough to ambush Spinel, and so she was sure if they just stuck it through now, everything would be all right.

A ramp shot out from the bottom of the airship, colliding with the grass with a dull thud. A moment after it connected a door at the top of the ramp slid open, and out stepped—

It took Liko’s brain a moment to catch up with why her heart stuttered to a stop in her chest, or why Cap loosed an outraged cry from his place in front of them. Because the person descending the ramp was Spinel; she easily recognized him not only from their past encounters, but also from seeing his face plastered all over the news. He had the same dark teal hair, the same glasses framing his oddly colored eyes—even the same sharp suit underneath his jacket.

No—not his jacket. The jacket that adorned his shoulders, that was honestly too big for him and so didn’t fit well, was a pilot’s jacket, brown leather with golden fleece lining, an aviation patch over the left breast, and one patch emblazoned on either sleeve: a charizard’s face on the left, and a charizard’s wing on the right.

It was Friede’s jacket.

“Where did you get that?!” Roy demanded, as Spinel came to stand before them on the grass. “Take it off!”

“Hm?” Spinel glanced down at the jacket as though it was his first time noticing it, and a little smile curled his lips. “I admit it isn’t the best fit, but that is what happens when clothes come secondhand; I wanted to give it a spin before deciding whether to have it tailored or not.” 

“Tailored?” Dot said, her voice barely audible over more furious yelling from Cap. “It’s not yours! Give it back!”

Spinel’s smile didn’t falter. “It is now. The previous owner has no need of it anymore; why let it go to waste?”

That was enough for Cap. His fur, which had begun crackling with electricity the second Spinel stepped onto the ramp, flared to life with a vicious burst as he shot forward with a scream of rage. 

But Spinel was unfazed. He took one step backward, and in the same motion pulled a pokéball from his belt. He opened it without throwing, a large pokémon materializing in front of him in the same moment that he deftly skipped to the side, sparing himself but allowing the pokémon to take the full brunt of Cap’s Volt Tackle.

No, Liko corrected herself, not just “the pokémon.” A charizard. And not just a charizard, but—

“Char!” Liko, Roy, and Dot yelled in unison, as Cap’s Volt Tackle slammed Char into the side of the airship, a pained cry ripping from Char’s throat as the electricity seized his wings in odd angles before he crashed back to earth. Cap panted heavily, eyes wide and horrified as he stared at Char’s crumpled form by the base of the airship. Spinel, on the other hand, smirked with bare satisfaction.

Liko’s palms were damp with sweat as she balled them into fists. Spinel was wearing Friede’s jacket. Spinel had Char, and had used him as a shield against Cap. Friede’s jacket was one thing—Liko couldn’t remember him without it, but it wasn’t completely unreasonable to think he might have parted with it for some reason. But Char . . . Char was Friede’s very first partner. Char was the only pokémon Friede had a bond with that was comparable to his bond with Cap. Char was . . . Friede wouldn’t . . . 

There was an answer sat smack in the middle of Liko’s mind, huge and bright like a neon sign. She deliberately turned her eyes away from it to look at Spinel instead.

“Where is he?” she demanded. Her voice shook even as she fought to keep it steady. “Where is Friede?”

Spinel’s smile grew, delight sparking through his eyes. “Where he belongs. Now,” he tapped the screen of his Rotom Phone, and loud whirring resounded through the clearing as four large smoke cannons emerged from the roof of the airship, “shall we begin?”

[kari-go]

idk why I focus on the clothes so much lol

I don't actually think that Marinette cares or knows about the fashion industry that much. Like the main thing for her is the creation process, when she does stuff with her hands. She doesn't really know how to be stylish, she doesn't know brands or the people behind them, that's Chloe's thing lol. I think that her style is just basic feminine (shy girl next door vibes lol), the flair and personality being the things she does by herself to the clothes because she just wants to create and try out new stuff.

I don't think that she would pursue fashion as a profession, it'd just be a hobby or like extra income when she's in the mood. I think she would go into,, engineering, chemistry, architecture? maybe a mechanic? I think she would change jobs a lot. a tattoo artist just came to my mind hmm

she's a jack of all trades basically? like her hobbies change a lot but they're always creative, where she has to do something with her hands. She can create anything as long as she sets her mind to it. A new couch? sure. Necklace? absolutely. Corset? Give her a week or so. A Statue? she's a turtle now

but the thing is, she works better when she already has something available to her, not when she has to start from scratch on her own. which is why she's so good with Tikki's Genesis.

[wintfleur]

𓈒 ୭ৎ ˖˙ ᰋ ── JULIETTE LECLERC PROFILE !

au masterlist - everything for the AU is under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc

ꪆ୧ BASICS .ᐟ

name: Juliette Celeste Leclerc 

nicknames:

Julie (everyone) 

Lettie (family and close friends) 

jules (everyone) 

ette (brothers( 

lilo (her best friends) 

juliebug (mat and quinn) 

birthday and zodiac: November 15th 1999, Scorpio

location: Monte Carlo, Monaco (birthplace, current) 

ꪆ୧ ABOUT  .ᐟ

personality: julie has a complex personality, some say it resembled an onion; you have to pull back the layers before truly understanding her. The media and new people assume that she's cold, and honestly a bitch just because they truly don't know her. But in reality, she's honestly a very sweet person, she is on the quiet side, she's very confident in herself and her beliefs. She is very charming, charismatic, and flirty! When she's around the people she's comfortable with, she can be a little bubbly and giggily (mostly with mat and quinn). She has a very dry humor but it honestly just makes people love her more! Can be very sarcastic at times, is witty 

good traits: determined, loyal, hard-working, honest and loyal, protective of her family and friends, trustful, doesn't take shit from anyone 

bad traits: very self critical, can be too bold, brutal at times, distances herself when she's overwhelmed or emotionally hurt, 

quirks: having a resting bitch face, intense eye contact, spaces out when bored, rolls eyes, smiles sarcastically, 

likes: rain, musicals, going to ballets, trying out new restaurants, ranch life, swimming, buying swimsuits, her yacht, spending time with family, hot tubs, sightseeing, 

dislikes: rude and invasive fans, the paparazzi, stalkers, people who disrespect her family or friends, most f1 media, drive to survive, traffic 

hobbies: singing, running, baking, dancing, riding horses, music, hockey, playing tennis and golf, reading, journaling 

fears: being a failure, dying alone 

strengths: how hard-working she is, she never gives up, confident, tactical and her strategy, how smart and witty she is, her quick thinking 

weaknesses: perfectionism, talking about her feelings, self critical, can have a short fuse at times, 

languages spoken: 100% French, 100% English, 100% Korean, 36% Spanish. 

occupation/profession: f1 driver for redbull, singer, model, actress 

ꪆ୧ CAREER !

Profession  f1 driver

Team   Red Bull Racing

Debut Australia 2019

Trainer  Gabriel Guerrero

Race engineer   Théo Beaufoy

Manager  Anya DuPont

Assistant  Beatrice Roux

World championships   1 (2022)

Sponsors  Gucci

ꪆ୧ RELATIONSHIPS  .ᐟ

parents:

Hervé Leclerc 

Pascale Leclerc 

sibling(s):

Lorenzo Leclerc 

Charles Leclerc 

Arthur Leclerc 

best friends: max verstappen. lando norris, george russell, alex albon, hailee steinfeld, shawn mendes, victoria de angelis, lily rose depp

friends: most of the f1 grid, most of quinn and mat’s teammates, jack and luke hughes, ross lynch, zendaya, tom holland, lewis pullman, and many more 

love interest: Mathew Barzal and Quinn hughes 

pet(s): none yet 

ꪆ୧ MORE .ᐟ

scent: she has a large collection of different fragrances, from brand deals, pr, etc. she prefers aromatic fragrances, so she uses mostly Chanel and Gucci perfumes, her most used one is Chanel number 2, it's one of her signature scents!

outfits: it really depends on what she's doing, if it’s a casual day she likes wearing low waisted jeans, corset vest tops, mini skirts, sweaters, sundresses, it really depends! She loves wearing black, reds, and earth tones! She likes adding fishnets, lace and tights to her outfits, long scarfs, jean or leather jackets, she likes wearing blazers, definitely has an office siren aesthetic! She has a lot of clothes and she's always wanting to try something new, and is definitely known for her fantastic outfits! here's a link to her closet! 

accessories:  she loves accessorizing, she loves anything involving fashion really!! She has a large collection of different types of bags and sunglasses(she loves collecting them), they are definitely her favorite thing + jewelry, to accessorize with. She also has quite a lot of hats, mostly ball caps, beanies and berets. She also really loves utilizing long and thin scarves when she's wearing a short skirt or shorts. She also occasionally will wear a headband, heavily inspired by Blair waldorf. In the colder weather she's almost always rocking ear muffs. She absolutely loves wearing bayonetta glasses, she has so many pairs. Honorable mentions are leg and arm warmers. 

jewelry: she's a silver girl!  She loves rings, she usually has about four on at a time, small ones, chunky ones, one with crystals or gems, any type of rings really.  She loves layering necklaces. She also occasionally wears anklets and waist chains, it really depends on her outfit. With bracelets she wears all different types, charm bracelets, friendship bracelets, cuff bracelets, again it really depends on her outfit. 

makeup: isn't really the biggest fan of makeup, she prefers her bare face! She has her own personal makeup artist who does her makeup for her when she goes to events etc. but when she does do her own makeup, she really only does her eyes and lips! She prefers darker eye makeup, red or nude tones for her lips, sharp eyeliner and highlighter! 

scars: none 

sexuality: bisexual 

Height: 5’7

piercing(s): 1 in each ear, bellybutton

tattoo(s): she has this one on her lower back, and this one on her left arm. She wants to get more! 

face claim: Dua Lipa 

ꪆ୧ FAVORITES .ᐟ

food(s): pasta, sweets, almonds, pomegranates, cherries, steak, macaroons

drink(s): cherry coke, water, redbull, hot chocolate, shirley temples 

color(s): black, reds, earth tones 

animal(s): horses, cats, sloths 

bands and artist: måneskin, rihanna, ciara, lady gaga, gwen stefani, the weekend 

show(s): gossip girl, supernatural, game of thrones, criminal minds 

movie(s): the devil wears prada, scooby doo, mamma mia, lotr, twilight, 

person: her mom and younger brother arthur 

ꪆ୧ BACKGROUND  .ᐟ

julie was born on a rainy day in monaco, on november 15th, 1999

julie was a very quiet child, her parents worried that she would have trouble making friends so they put her in ballet when she was 5. 

julie was naturally very talented at ballet and she enjoyed it very much

she started karting when she was 6, still also doing ballet

she started equestrian sports when she was 12 and stopped when she was 15. 

julie quit ballet when she was 17, giving karting/driving all her attention. 

she had her debut in in f1, in 2019 for the team mercedes 

It was a fantastic year, she got four wins and 326 points. 

but she left Mercedes after one year, signing with redbull. 

in 2020 she dropped her first single 

she created her youtube channel in 2020, she now has surpassed 10 million followers 

her modeling career started in 2022, and it instantly kicked off, becoming a very successful and sought after model 

ꪆ୧ FUN FACTS  .ᐟ

Juliette drove for Mercedes in her rookie year, she got four wins and 326 points . . . fans of course were not happy that a female was dominating her rookie year, so of course a nasty rumor was created. The rumor that spread like hot fire was that Juliette was having an inappropriate relationship with Toto Wolff.

Which was false, Toto was like a father figure to Juliette but the fans didn’t care, booing her and trending hate for her on Twitter.

Juliette drove for Redbull for the next season, and is still driving for Redbull.

Juliette is known for being one of the most influential drivers on the grid, for the wide range of her career.

Juliette has dropped a few albums, some singles and ep’s, she’s a model, an ambassador for Gucci, and she has a YouTube channel with over 10 million subscribers, where she posts all different kinds of content, she’s walked on runways.

The interviewers love her (besides a few) a lot of fans say she’s like seb with how she has the habit of flirting with the female interviewers.

She is quite the flirt, confident with herself

She’s a party girl, in a club or on a yacht, she loves her parties !!

A lot of people assume she’s a bitch because of her resting face, her confidence and the way she doesn’t take any shit, but she’s genuinely a sweetheart.

Besides Lewis she is the driver that has the most celebrity friends

No one is surviving eye contact with her, in the words of lando “she has a really strong gaze, very alluring — like a siren yeah”

The amount of dating rumors Lando and Juliette have is insane, but they are simply just best friends !!!

She loves swimming, she loves visiting tropical places

Everyone swears she’s a mermaid/siren for her love of the water

She has stated many times that her favorite sport besides f1 is hockey.

She has been seen coming to many hockey games, even having many friends that are hockey players.  (Trevor Zegras, Cole caufield and more)

She loves baking

She owns several houses all over the world

She is a major passenger princess

SHE IS THE IT GIRL

She hates coffee

She definitely loves going out and partying, but she also loves staying in.

She was such a daddy’s girl

She talks to her mom every single day

She loves and I mean loves running

No matter how hungover she is, she’s always having her morning run.

She loves and I mean loves horses !!

Her dream is to retire, buy her own ranch and just get a ton of horses to take care of and love, maybe her own vineyard.

Her most prized possession is her yacht . . .  That’s crazy to say omg.

She has kept all of her relationships a secret!

She loves doing collaborations

A character she’s most like is Blair waldorf

She’s a very strong woman, but sometimes things really get to her and she just needs space.

She has a bad habit of distancing herself from others when she’s hurt or upset

She’s been to 3 met galas

She will kick anyone’s ass in golf

‘The princess of Monaco’

She is very open about her crush on leighton meester

She’s a switch

She has a great relationship with everyone on the grid !

Her and Pierre have a love hate relationship

She has such a flirty personality, she loves making people flustered.

She’s a fantastic driver, and won’t let anyone tell her different just because she’s a girl.

She has said her grid son is ollie bearman

Yuki loves her sm! They are such a underrated duo

She loves hockey, but she’s a terrible skater

She hates drive to survive, they like to make her and max look like the villain.

She secretly can’t stand one driver on the grid.

She loves sleep sm

She’s genuinely such a family girl

She was the troublemaker of her family

She hates cold feet

Her brother’s friends have always had a crush on her and she loved teasing them about it.

She keeps her music taste a secret from the public

Lewis will always have her back no matter what, she’s his grid kid.

The public goes crazy for post race Juliette

She loves her team, she’s extremely close to all of them !!

She alternates from black to red hair a lot, but her hair is very healthy !!!

Doesn’t go anywhere without a pair of sunglasses

Macaroons are the way to her heart

A lot of people get surprised by how friendly she is

She loves game of thrones

She is not a lightweight

Is a really good dancer !! Did ballet for a long time

Low waisted pants are her best friend.

The only one who can rock Jorts

Always has red or black nails

She’s a silver girly

her instagram is @/JulietteLeclerc

Has a private Instagram ‘@/lettiesworld’

°. — taglist ( @cixrosie @toasttt11 @lovings4turn )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( so this is the introduction to juliette !! I really hope you guys like her, omg I’m so excited for this AU !!! I didn’t mention Mat and Quinn because they will have their own profile !!! Oh I’m so excited, please let me know what you guys think !!! )

©️WINTFLEUR

[artsy-hobbitses]

Do you perhaps have any headcanons on the miscreant Starscream??

DO I EVER.

I'm gonna assume you're new here or at least have not seen all headcanons, so I'll collated into one document. RIP you're getting sandblasted with a horrible sky gremlin who has hidden heart of a hero (DON'T LET THEM HEAR YOU SAY THAT, HE HAS STREET CRED TO MAINTAIN).

Starscream/Stefan Scavarro got his codename from the shriek that his suit's engines made when he would divebomb opponents from the heavens. Combined with them seeing literal stars when he blindsided them and how much of a 'sky devil' he was with his red armor, a terrified senate guard described him as the rebellion's "(Azrael) Morningstar, screaming bloody vengeance as he swoops down from the heavens to hunt the wicked". Hence, 'Starscream' was born.

He wears his hair long to cover the Cold Construct barcode on the nape of his neck. Touch him there without his permission, and he will break your fingers.

He's the best cook on the team, and he'll say it's because he's rather eat barb wire (the taste of his blood would at least add some flavour) than be subjected to the military slop he lived with for twenty years. It's never too late to learn how to how to cook and eat well, though if you substitute fresh garlic for powdered garlic in something you're serving him, he's going to fight you across the dining room table after he's done eating it. Food should be respected, even if they were the product of a culinary crime.

He learned to tailor his own clothes during his college days, and has since become very proficient at it. He make most of his formal garments, and is considered the most fashion-centric member of the team.

He was very close to Senator Shockwave/Sharifuddin Waseem as a young politician, to the point of having an unrequited crush. Sharif accepted him as a part of the senate despite his status as a (freed) Cold Construct driving others away from him, and both spent most of their time together in the senate researching and drafting bills pushing for more rights and protections for the Manual Class and Cold Constructs

He has a personal dislike of Optimus Prime/Omar Parvez, and blames Omar for what happened to Sharif, as Sharif surrendered to Proteus on Omar's watch. He had earlier requested that Omar not leave Sharif's side before their mission began and he was assigned to another post, because he had a bad feeling about Proteus' plans for Sharif, and accused Omar of being too spineless to stop it. That Omar had to choose between saving Sharif or the men Sharif told him to keep safe was something he refused to consider. However, in time they do come to an understanding when he accepts that Omar was given a impossible choice and made the one that respected Sharif's last request and sacrifice.

While he can't bring himself to keep pets (he doesn't want to get attached amid a war), he does have a fondness for cats! He admires their beauty, grace, independence and low tolerance for bullshit. He eventually adopts an old and ornery female cat named Graymalkin post-war to keep him company while Windblade/Wariko Baisho is out at work

Stefan has a ridiculously high pain tolerance due to the abuse he was put through from childhood at the air base he grew up in. His eardrums have ruptured more times than he can recall from flight test chambers and high altitude barotrauma, and if he didn't stop crying, his handlers would give him something to really cry about before they dragged him off to the medics. He has an accelerated healing factor, they saw no issue with letting out their frustrations on him, as he was simply an asset in their eyes, even as a seven-year-old.

As such, he has very warped idea of what constitutes a 'major' injury on him---he can be running around cradling his disemboweled intestines in one arm without breaking a sweat. He offhandedly tells people that an injury doesn't register as 'major' to him unless it's a skull fracture where he can feel a section of his head caved in, or a direct shot to the heart.

Because of this, he also has a very skewed idea of what 'hurt' means to him personally and how he's meant to react to it. He's internalised his handlers' assertion that because he can heal, his pain does not matter. So what if people hurt him? It's what he was built to withstand. There is a weird sense of pride he has about this, he sees it as a mark of strength, and it's partly why he's as defiantly blasé as he is about Megatron's abuse when they get in each other's faces. At the same time, it's also deeply lonely for him and he oscillates wildly between shying away from physical contact and being starved for 'good' touch at the same time.

To add to this, while he grows to harbour unspoken attraction towards Wariko which he attempted to throttle multiple times in their early says interacting with each other, he stops icing her out when she becomes the first person to acknowledge his pain, and that him being able to heal and bearing no scars from his abuse doesn't make that pain any less real. She's also his first experience with 'good' touch, which he quickly finds he cannot get enough of.

He adores musicals. In particular are The Greatest Showman, Moulin Rouge and The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

When he and Morgan are in one of their more civil moods, they play chess together in a weirdly companionable silence, as despite their mutual disdain, they understand each other the most. They're equally matched, and it's the only time where Morgan will sincerely compliment him about something, and he'd accept it without sneering or boasting. (He used to play with Sharif, who doesn't do so now as Shockwave, while Morgan used to play with Omar, so it also feels like a moment of bonding over shared loss)

He's an excellent dancer! Mostly ballroom-based which he picked up during his days as a young politician for big senate events, but he enjoys mixing things up a bit with tango or freestyle.

Has mastered walking in high heels.

He alternates between having a soft spot for Thundercracker/Teo Cortez, who he sometimes sees as a younger brother, and calling Teo out as being the 'weak link' of the Trine. He can one day be planning a heartfelt birthday party and baking a cake for Teo since Teo can no longer celebrate it with family, and the next day be screaming at Teo for messing up at target practice. He justifies this hot and cold by saying that someone like Teo isn't made for war, but since Teo insists on being here, he would rather have Teo sad or angry at him for being harsh over the work they have to do, than to have Teo dead from softness and carelessness. He was genuinely relieved when Teo finally left the Decepticons, and they do reconcile post-war.

Openly calls Tarn out for being a fanboy simp in bad Decepticon cosplay.

He never really takes Bumblebee/Benjamin Bane seriously as a fellow combatant and is constantly breaking into Omar's comm signal on the field to yell at Omar to send "your son" back home, this is NO PLACE for a child playing DRESS-UP. (Ben's "I'M 18 YOU POMPOUS PRAT" is immediately met with Stefan's "DON'T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, STOP KICKING ME IS PRIME RAISING YOU IN A BARN")

That said, despite being on opposite sides of the fence, when Ben becomes a discorporated soul, he is drawn to Stefan, who can hear him because it is Stefan, rather than Omar or even Memo and Charlie, who unknowingly first truly heard him. This goes back to when Ben was nine, and had a chance to visit the Quintesson War Museum on his birthday; his father and mother however, had no interest in exploring the exhibits with him and left him to do so on alone. On a whim, he asked a passing man, a young politician Stefan who was visiting before a conference, to help him take a picture. Stefan wanted this to be a one and done, but after asking Ben about his parents and finding out they left him to celebrate his birthday alone, he decided to chaperone Ben through the entire time that Ben was there and listened to this boy talk about everything under the sun. He didn't put much thought into this after he left, it was just a few hours of making a child happy/feel less lonely on on their birthday (he's never celebrated one! what a novelty that is), he didn't even have the presence of mind to ask for the boy's name since he himself was not given one until he was 18, but Ben never forgot.

As vain as he is, Stefan hates seeing old pictures of himself, especially those taken of him during his old senate days. He hates the boyish way he used to smile, he hates the hopeful light in his eyes, he hates coming to terms with the part of himself he felt he had sacrificed to hate over humanity on the day they razed the Senate… and how he barely recognizes the man he used to be. Wariko eventually makes him see the truth; that the man he was is the man he still is deep down.

He loves collecting plane models. He does not love putting them together, however, and it's a task he often bribes Skywarp into with offerings of muttabaq fresh off the gridle.

Sharif's old nickname for him is "Pretty Bird", Wariko calls him "Uguisu" (Japanese Bush Warbler).

Extremely protective of his armored flight suit. It was a prototype made by Sharif years ago for him--it was his first taste of flying without a helmet or within a cockpit, and he's never been able to forget that feeling. He also sees it as the last gift Sharif ever gave him before becoming 'Shockwave'. He refuses to let Morgan touch it, and the one time he did approach Shockwave to make some amendments, Shockwave told him to rubbish it for a better upgrade. He declined, and has since learned how to fix and programme the suit on his own. He won't admit it, but it feels like keeping the last physical bit of Sharif's memory alive.

Deeply in love with sky and flying in general; he embraces it as the most free he ever feels. He's up early for morning flights to catch the sunrise, and when he feels like he needs to get away from it all, he flies up high enough that ice gnaws at his face and he can't breath before freefalling through the clouds. It helps him gain a sense of perspective.

Stefan and Wariko do eventually get married, and he settles into a Way Of The Househusband role to her Lady First Delegate. They end up adopting two Cold Construct kids, Suzume and Gabriele.

If you'd like more Winblade/Starscream headcanons (because they are my power couple!), you can find them here and here!