#car external shades

[doritochoi]

Teacher's Pet | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x teacher!choi san

genre: pure smut, 18+, mdni ( because its always my fav)

warnings: san is in his late 20s, reader is 21 years old, public sex, unprotected sex, big!dick san, teacher x student relationship.

Every day when you left the school building, you would see your art teacher, Mr. Choi. He was sitting in the schoolyard with the other teachers, smoking a cigarette. Even if you weren't a smoker, this sight was inexplicably appealing. You noticed how the pronounced veins on his hand gripped the cigarette with undeniable elegance. It was a small detail that fascinated you every time. You didn't know exactly what attracted you so much to Mr. Choi. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, always with an air of mystery and distinction. Or maybe it was the passion he put into teaching art, inspiring you, to explore your own artistic talents. Despite the fact that you couldn't explain exactly why you were attracted to Mr. Choi, your obsession with him grew day by day. You knew everything about him, from the car he drove—a sleek black Bentley that gleamed in the sunlight—to his daily habits. Indeed, your obsession with Mr. Choi could not be explained only by the external details you observed about him. It was something deeper than that. You are seeing him not only as a teacher, but also as a protective and inspirational figure in your life. In his every gesture and every look you felt safe around him, like he was an anchor in a sea of ​​uncertainty. Being a strong and wise mentor, you wanted to learn more from him and feel protected in his presence.

It was Wednesday, 7 PM. You always waited in the hallway to see your favorite teacher. You even knew when he arrived. You waited until you heard footsteps approaching, knowing it was him because his footsteps had a distinct sound you recognized. You see him climbing the stairs, and hurriedly you enter the classroom. You sat impatiently in the chair, looking towards the door and waiting for Mr. Choi. Finally, the door opens, and he appears in the doorway, exuding an air of safety and elegance. His black jacket matched his hair perfectly, and the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed a bit of his well-defined chest. His hair framed his face impeccably, and each strand seemed to be carefully placed to highlight the fine features of his face. But the most captivating were his eyes. They were a warm, rich shade like melted caramel. In the sunlight, his eyes were shining in a charming mixture of gold and brown. His gaze, penetrating and mysterious, had the power to hypnotize you. Your eyes traveled further down, noticing his slightly transparent shirt and loosened tie. His slim waist was always a temptation for you. You wanted to feel the texture of his skin under your fingers, notice how it felt to hug that waist that seemed to be ripped from a work of art. Those pants, which sat perfectly on him, accentuating his well-defined figure, were hard to ignore. You couldn't help but turn your gaze to them, noticing how they molded perfectly to his legs and highlighted every movement of his graceful body. With every step he took, the pants seemed to draw your attention more and more, and you couldn't help but want him to get closer, to notice every detail of that charming appearance.

He sat down in the chair and you assumed he was sitting with his legs spread, imagining you could sit on his thighs and move lightly on them. This thought made you feel a little excited rubbing your thighs together. After that, he announced that the next mark would be given for a drawing that would impress him. You didn't hesitate and took out a sheet, starting to draw immediately. In less than ten minutes, you've created a perfect drawing of Mr. Choi in all his glory. His position was exactly the same as sitting on the chair, and every detail of his expression and posture was captured precisely. Mr. Choi sats up elegantly from his chair, and the subtle scent of his perfume wafted throughout the classroom, captivating your senses. With quick and sure steps, he began to walk through the students, finally stopping behind you. He bent down a little, put his hand on your shoulder, and you flinched a little from the movement he made. He looks at your drawing, smirks, then brings his lips to your ear whispering in a husky voice. "Can you meet me after class?", he said so softly that only you could heard. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You didn't even know what to answer, so you turned your gaze towards him, now staring at his features and nodded.

The hour passed extremely quickly and you have to go home, but you remembered your teacher's words. Before going to his office, you went to the bathroom. You unbuttoned 2 buttons on your shirt and lifted your skirt a little so that your red panties could be seen. You honestly didn't know what was in your head to do something like that, but you couldn't resist anymore. Seeing him so many times with that innocent face, pretending he doesn't notice you, it annoys the hell out of you. After you got your things, you headed to his office. You stopped in front of the big wooden door. That door made you to feel different things, especially since you know very well who is inside. You took a deep breath, put your hand on the doorknob and opened the door. As soon as you opened the door, you started to feel an intoxicating scent of vanilla that was present in the whole room.He was there, sitting on the chair and looking at the laptop. He looked at you from time to time, enjoying every part of your body. "I knew you would come", he closed the laptop making you startle a little. He got up from his chair now seeing how he looked. His shirt was almost undone, and his pants looked wrinkled, you didn't know what or who brought him to that stage, but he looked different. He was getting towards you, and you ended up hitting your back against the wall. You couldn't look at him, so you started lowering your head, looking at the ground. "Look at me, miss," he moved so close to your face that you could feel his breath. You didn't do what he was saying, you continued to look down, annoying him. He wasn't happy with what you were doing so he took your hands and stuck them to the wall above your head forcing you to look into his eyes. "Don't avoid the situation", he started to put his hand on your waist and then lower reaching your panties. He looks at them, then keeps playing with the material. "We both know what you want, and you know well that I can offer you everything you want", this time you could feel his breath on your neck, until you felt something wet. He kissed you in a unic style making you feel things. Mr Choi grins a little, watching how he can dominate your body and see what things he can do to you. "Tell me pretty girl, what is your on your mind?", his voice was so low that only you could hear it. His hands began to roam your body, undoing the buttons on your shirt, now remaining with only the bra visible. "Please, fuck me" ,these were your last words, not thinking twice about what you were going to do.

He picked you up in his arms, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he took you to the front of his desk, making you sit with your ass on it. His hands started going everywhere, from your firm breasts to your panties. He undid your bra, and a hand massaged your left breast, kissing you passionately. You let out a moan, making him even more excited than before, rubbing his cock against your leg as well. "Bend over ", you didn't even stop to think, because you got off his desk, and you bent over showing him an amazing view. He got down on his knees, tore your skirt, now showing only the red panties you chose for him. "Fuck, I can't wait to taste you", he starts running his hands on your inner thighs, then approaching with his lips, applying small kisses. "Stop teasing, please" , You knew he was the type of person who likes to tease, especially you. He always did this and he likes it a lot. With a determined hand, he starts and removes your panties, looking with such a charming look as if it was all he wanted. He licked his lips, started to come closer and without saying anything, his tongue was already doing its job. Mr. Choi’s tongue moved with deliberate precision, exploring every sensitive spot with a teasing slowness that drove you mad. Each flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press against his mouth. The room filled with your moans, the sound echoing off the walls, blending with the intoxicating scent of vanilla that still lingered in the air. He pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your wetness as he spoke, "Tell me how it feels, pretty girl. I want to hear every detail." You could barely form thoughts, but you managed to gasp out, "It feels amazing... please, don't stop." A smirk played on his lips as he continued his sensual assault, his tongue now circling your clit with agonizing slowness before giving it a gentle suck. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as you fought to stay grounded under the intense pleasure. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel how much you want this." , "Yes, Mr. Choi... I want you so badly," you panted, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Patience, pretty girl. I want to savor every moment of this." He continued to work you with his fingers, each thrust and curl perfectly timed to keep you on the edge. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles that had you teetering on the brink of climax. But just as you were about to tip over, he stopped, pulling his hand away and leaving you panting and needy. You let out a frustrated whimper, looking down at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Why did you stop?" He stood up, his body towering over you as he undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart race. "Because I want you to beg for it, pretty girl. I want to hear you say exactly what you want." Your eyes locked onto his, filled with desperate desire. "Please, Mr. Choi. I want you inside me. I need to feel you." He slowly lowered his pants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He stroked it a few times, letting you see just how much he wanted you too. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes locked on his impressive length. "I want you to fuck me. Please."

With a satisfied smirk, he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, teasing you just a bit more. "You’re so eager, aren’t you? Such a good girl, asking so nicely." You could only nod, your breath hitching as he slowly began to push inside you. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him. He started with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one hitting just the right spot inside you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So tight and wet." Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body trembling with pleasure. "Faster, please," you begged, needing him to take you harder. He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the familiar coil of your impending orgasm tightening with each thrust. "Oh, Mr. Choi," you cried out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "I'm so close.", "Come for me, pretty girl," he urged, his voice rough and demanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock." That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching around him as you screamed his name. He continued to thrust into you, riding out your climax, pushing you to heights of pleasure you’d never known before. As you came down from your high, he slowed his pace, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled out and flipped you over, bending you over the desk. The cold wood against your heated skin was a stark contrast that made you shiver. He entered you again, this time from behind, his thrusts deep and relentless. One hand gripped your hip while the other reached around to play with your clit, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Do you like this, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "Do you like being fucked like this?", "Yes," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I love it. Don't stop." He didn’t. He kept up the punishing pace, driving you both closer to the edge. You could feel another orgasm building, this one even more intense than the last. "I’m going to come again," you warned, your body trembling with anticipation. "Come for me, pretty girl," he commanded, his voice a growl. "Come all over my cock." With a final, powerful thrust, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, more intense than anything you’d ever felt. He followed soon after, his own release spilling into you with a guttural moan. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound your heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart. He stayed inside you for a moment longer, savoring the feeling, before finally pulling out and collapsing onto the desk beside you. You both lay there, spent and satisfied, basking in the afterglow. "That was incredible," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You were incredible, pretty girl."

[iamasaddie]

tell her to stay away from the light

Clint x f!Reader

summary: 1982, Clint parks at the screening of ‘Poltergeist’ in the local drive-in. Somewhere between ghosts intrusions and seances, he finds a much more appealing thing to look at in the car next to him. warnings: DARK FIC, DO NOT READ IF ARE EASILY TRIGGERED! Clint POV, voyeurism, edging, unreliable narrator (?), not thoroughly edited a/n: this is my too early of a submittion to @pedgito's spring fever challenge ! it was something new for me since it's not straight up porn but i hope y'all will still be able to enjoy it!

The light reflecting from the flickering screen plays ornately on your skin, giving it a cold hue. Clint is used to seeing those colors on those he dealt with. Bluish, purplish, grayish. Lifeless. The shades he knows so well. It is odd to see now, like you are going through the premature postmortem hypostasis while your heart is still pumping hot, thick blood through your veins, and your pupils are dilating with a range of emotions.

Diane Freeling's heart-rending screams are accompanied by the hum of gasps and yelps that come from dozens of different cars. Clint can’t tell what is happening on the screen anymore. All his thoughts are focused on you. So beautiful, so pitifully lonely. No girlfriend, no boyfriend, whose shoulder you can bury your scared face in when fear takes over your body. Instead, you lean back, pressing into the seat of the old Honda as if it can save you.

Clint doesn't take his eyes off your heaving chest. The white tank top clings tightly to the skin, leaving no room for imagination. It's too hot in a cramped car with the windows closed, but as if sensing an external threat, you don't rush to roll down the windows. 

The car parked to your right is packed with a bunch of obnoxiously loud guys. They laugh every time the people on the screen or in the neighboring cars scream in horror. The fear of others is just entertainment for them. Clint had seen dozens of guys like them, pompous dicks in soccer jackets, confident as long as they were in a crowd of equally muscular jerks. However, they squeal louder than a pig on a slaughter when they finally sense the danger themselves. When the only working convolution signals them about a deadly predator, when the instinct of self-preservation screams to run. Clint laughed himself when he heard their screams, their panic, their pleas. He's who they pretended to be.

And although Clint understands perfectly well what you're afraid of, he can't help but snicker arrogantly, because you still don't know where the threat really comes from.

A foggy gradient whitens up the windows in your rustbucket – a consequence of your heavy breathing combined with the usual stuffy and humid southern night. Clint returns his gaze to the stretched canvas where the movie scenes change. He is trying not to miss your movements with a peripheral glance, while not being obvious.

Leaning over the center panel, you reach for the passenger door, and soon the window is down, and a cool air seeps inside the car. The windows in Clint's car were rolled down from the very beginning, and now the last barrier between you has been eliminated. Everything is going according to plan.

For a second, Clint feels your searching gaze on his face, and makes an effort not to turn, not to meet your curious eyes. He concentrates on the film, even though the plot has been lost to him for some time.

After a few moments, you return to your usual position, fragile shoulders pressed into the old upholstery of the driver's seat, eyes darting across the screen from one character to another, lips parted. At the same time, Clint allows himself to return to scrutinizing you. He is pleasantly surprised by the way the movie captures your attention completely. Maybe he'll come back to watch it again, it looks like the story is worth it. But now his evening is coming up with a much more attractive story.

As if you can physically feel his caressing gaze, he smoothly glides it along the column of your neck, descending below, where the neckline of your almost see-through top teases him with a view of your chest, rising and falling to the rhythm of your fear. Your skin is glowing, a thin film of sweat has left its mark on the flawless canvas. Your body, that was so hungry for some freshness, is covered goosebumps as soon as a breath of wind actually invades your car. Following with his eager gaze lower, Clint feels the familiar tension in his groin area just as his eyes land on your taut nipples. No shame, no bra. Clint loves summers in the South.

He imagines how hard your heart is beating. If he looks closely, maybe he'll see how your tits shake with the influence. He could feel how fear makes adrenaline rush through your veins. Cold sweat, slippery and salty, is now accumulating on the back of your neck. Greedily, he sniffs the air, his nostrils flaring, as if trying to completely absorb the smell of your sea.

His hand reaches for his swollen dick, but he doesn't take it out, doesn't even unzip his fly. On the contrary, with a wide palm, he rubs himself slowly, applying the perfect amount of pressure over the rough material. The movement would have made him growl if he wasn't so close to you. But he doesn't want to scare you off, so he just clenches his jaw, not letting even a sigh leave his mouth. 

The caresses over his jeans do not bring any relief. His arousal, unable to spill in the heat of orgasm, courses through his veins, teases, tickles. 

Without taking his eyes off you, he continues to torment his suffering dick. The head was so swollen that any touch felt like torture. He knows that the plain cotton boxers already have the shameful stain of his arousal on them. And it's your fault.

So beautiful, so scared. So lonely. Clint thinks about your skin prickling up with chills, but now because of him. The way your hard nipples would feel against his palms. The way you’d scream when he lets his teeth mercilessly close on the sensitive buds. The weight of your soft breasts would pull them down painfully, but his teeth wouldn’t let go of the delicate skin. In his imagination, tears are spurting from your eyes. Now he regrets that he didn't look at them after all. What color are they? Blue? Are they green? Brown? Maybe black? It didn't matter, red goes with any color equally well.

Involuntarily, and as much as his jeans would allow, his hand begins to tighten around his cock, which has been begging for release. Clint has learned to enjoy this torment caused by you. He'll pay you back in kind later.

As soon as you start fidgeting, he freezes. Only his cock is pulsing helplessly in the captivity of his pants. Your hands reach for your head, gathering up your unruly hair, trying to peel off each strand from your sweaty temples and neck. That neck. Clint bites his lip, the familiar iron taste hitting his tongue. Such a thin, fragile neck. He is sure that one hand is enough for him to wrap around it almost completely. His thick fingers will be too rough compared to your delicate skin, even if he does everything more gently than usual. There's nothing to do about it, swans like you always have breakable little necks. 

Will you gasp for air, kick him, scream for help? Will you beg? Clint's gaze returns to your face, as if trying to find an answer, but in vain. Will you ask for more? Moan with pleasure? Squirm with desire? You will. Just like all those who came before you.

Lost in his thoughts, Clint himself flinches when the drive-in descends into darkness for a couple of moments. His eyes lazily trail across the noisy field of cars until they stop on the screen. The film had come to an end, as the opening credits indicated. 

With diligence, he unclenches his fist, which was lying like a sledgehammer on his left thigh, and removes his right hand from his groin. The loss of pressure and heat almost makes him whine like a beaten dog. Steadying his breathing, he raises his palms and wraps them around the leather of the steering wheel. 

All that remains is to wait, and he does. He waits for the cars to slowly start leaving the site; he waits for you to start your car. To his delight, he notices that you're not in a hurry. Apparently, you wanted to let that group of noticeably intoxicated guys from the car on your right side go ahead. By the time your Honda makes the pitiful sound of the engine starting, the field is almost empty. Clint pretends that his car won't start. An act that he has performed dozens of times, the one that would with a standing ovation if he played it out in front of an audience. Everything is going right as he directed it, and here you are, throwing a pitying glance in his direction and pursing your bitten lips. Gotcha.

“Do you need any help?” You lean towards the window, which is still open, trying to shout over the noise of the engine. Clint just shakes his head in fake annoyance.

“Don't worry,” he rubs his eyebrow where an old scar cuts through the short hairs that are starting to turn gray. The sound of his sad laugh is frankly unnatural, but, unexpecting, you don't notice anything. “The damned thing breaks all the time, maybe it's easier to just leave it on the side of the road and walk.”

You shrug, clearly not knowing what to say to that. Clint can see the cogs turning in your head. 

“Maybe,” as if doubting your own decision, you paused for a second. Clint pulls the key out of the ignition and slams on the steering wheel, hoping that the little scene won't scare off a trusting lamb like you. “Maybe I can give you a lift to the station? You can still catch a bus.” 

He doesn't miss the way your gaze appraisingly runs over the part of his body that you can see. You're evaluating whether you can handle him if he turns out to be a psychopath. And now it’s Clint's turn to shrink, try to make himself smaller, even though it's impossible with his stature.

“Are you sure?” He adds embarrassment to his voice, a slight tremor, a question. “I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I understand what it looks like: a creepy old man in a broken-down rust bucket abuses the kindness of a young girl. Just what they write in those scary newspaper stories.”

You laugh, your shoulders relax, and he finally gets out of the car, having previously closed the windows of the Toyota he rented a couple of hours ago. Clint pulls down his shirt, covering his still painfully hard cock. Black jeans are always a good solution.

“It's okay, I'm passing through the station anyway. Besides, you don't look creepy or old at all.” You push the passenger door open, inviting Clint to climb inside.

“You haven't heard my knees pop yet.” 

You laugh again, twisting the steering wheel. Clint takes the last look at the screen. The credits stopped flashing with the names of the actors and the characters they played. The movie was over, but his evening has just begun.

tag list: @toxicanonymity @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @pascalispretty @imaswellkid @joelemillersgirl @laurrrra @kyloispunk @codenamekitten please LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG <3

[eriace]

wife me up, reo ; reo mikage

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which after her sister steals her fiancé, y/n is determined to walk into that engagement party with her head held high—and her best friend, reo mikage fake-married at her side, looking like a billion-dollar. ↷ reo mikage ; blue lock

↳ an order of cappuccino + frappuccino from @sailorstar9 in the comeback cafe event !

Y/N HADN'T CRIED. Not when she caught her sister lip-locked with her fiancé. Not when her mother said, “Well, maybe he just fell in love with the prettier daughter.” Not even when her ex sent her a “hope we can still be friends” text with a smiley face emoji.

No. Y/n didn’t cry.

She plotted.

She plotted with a vengeance, and snacks. Which is why Reo Mikage found himself sitting across from her in her living room, eating revenge-themed popcorn and listening to her dramatic villain monologue.

“I want to crash the engagement party. I want to show up glowing. Like post-breakup, revenge-body, thriving-glow. I want to make her look like a backup dancer in my story.”

Reo, halfway through a bite, blinked.

“You want me to fight her?”

“What—no! I want you to pretend to be my rich, loyal, devastatingly attractive husband and make them feel like trash.”

Reo stared.

Then smirked.

“Oh. So you want me to be me.”

The plan? Chaotic.

The execution? Somehow worse.

Because Reo, dramatic little chaos prince that he was, didn’t just fake-date her. He fake married her.

He brought rings. He made matching outfits. He sent handwritten invitations to his personal glam team for “operation: rub salt into the gaping wound of betrayal.”

By the time the party arrived, Y/n was in a silky champagne dress that cost more than her rent, hair done by someone with an accent, and heels tall enough to make her rethink her life choices.

Reo wore a smug grin and a tuxedo like it was war armor.

“Ready to ruin lives?” he whispered as they pulled up in a sleek black car that screamed I moved on and I’m thriving, thanks.

Y/n grabbed his hand and smiled sweetly.

“Let’s go make them cry.”

The moment they walked in, jaws dropped.

Her sister—dripping in glitter and guilt—froze mid-toast.

Her ex turned a shade of white that was almost impressive.

Reo, never one to waste an entrance, kissed Y/n’s hand and loudly declared:

“I’d like to toast to my stunning wife. And thank her ex for being dumb enough to let her go.”

Y/n cackled internally. Externally, she batted her lashes and held up her champagne glass.

“And to my little sister, for showing me what rock bottom looks like—so I knew what to avoid in the future.”

Silence.

Then—

“You married Reo Mikage?!” her sister squeaked, horror in her voice.

“He proposed the day after you two got engaged,” y/n said sweetly. “Some men know what they have before someone else steals it.”

Reo slipped his arm around her waist like he’d done it a thousand times. (He had. But only during Mario Kart marathons and late-night snack runs.)

“She’s a catch,” he said, voice smooth. “I wasn’t about to fumble like some idiots.”

Y/n tried very hard not to die laughing. The rest of the night was a fever dream.

People asked for their “love story.” Reo claimed they met when she threw a donut at his head for skipping her birthday. (True.)

Her ex tried to pull her aside to “talk.” Reo fake-swooned and said, “Sorry, man, my wife only cries over K-dramas now.”

Her sister tried to start a scene. Y/n fake-yawned and said, “Still stealing things that don’t belong to you?”

They left that party legends.

Back in the car, Reo finally relaxed, pulling off his tie and loosening his shirt.

Y/n sighed, tossing her heels aside.

“That was fun. Almost makes up for the trauma.”

“We should fake marry more often.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d marry you even in fiction.”

He smirked.

“Bold of you to assume it was fake.”

She paused.

Stared at him.

He didn’t look away.

Her stomach did something. Probably betrayal trauma flashbacks. Probably not.

“You’re kidding,” she said.

“Try me.”

Y/n swallowed.

“…Did we just enemies-to-lovers speedrun ourselves?”

“Technically, it was friends-to-fake-marriage-to-oh-no-we’re-in-love.”

Silence.

Then she laughed. Loud and ridiculous and real.

“God, I can’t believe I fake married my best friend.”

Reo grinned, eyes sparkling.

“Then let’s make it real.”

“What—like a real marriage?”

“Or at least a real date.” He leaned in, brushing his shoulder against hers. “I promise I don’t come with a cheating sibling.”

Y/n flushed, heart thudding.

“You do come with expensive champagne and good hair, though.”

“So that’s a yes?”

She smiled, reaching for his hand.

“It’s a hell yes.”

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[emeraldenha]

TAKE A SWING!

pairing: sporty bf!jaehyun x gn!reader | genre: established relationship, fluff | wc: +1.3k words | warnings: just jaehyun being cheesy

“Soccer?”

“No.”

“Basketball?”

“Nope.”

“Football?”

“Haven’t played it a day in my life.”

“What about golf?” Jaehyun attempts once again, turning his head to look your way as the two of you take an afternoon stroll through his neighborhood park.

Unable to return home for the holidays this year, your lovely boyfriend, Jaehyun, was ecstatic to use it as an opportunity to invite you to his hometown over break. And besides the stressful meet-the-parents dinner that awaited you the first night of your arrival, it’s all been smooth sailing from there as Jaehyun avidly showed you all his favorite places from his childhood. It’s a rush of both old and new memories overlapping simultaneously that you’re somehow able to sense despite not experiencing the former, but Jaehyun knows just how to paint the perfect picture for your mind to envision his little stories from photo album to reality.

Earlier during your walk to the park, you passed by some kids playing a seemingly competitive game of basketball on the basketball court and it washed Jaehyun with a wave of nostalgia, prompting him to reminisce on his flourishing sports life growing up.

Now, he was trying to get you to play a sport with him. Any sport. He was desperate for you to know how to play anything, badgering you with a list from off the top of his head.

“Yes, if mini golfing counts,” you answer with a chuckle, mindlessly swaying your intertwined hands back and forth. “I’ve only gone once though.”

It’s almost as if Jaehyun perfectly times stepping out into the sunlight after having walked through the shade casted by a line of towering trees, the glow on his face you can feel from him internally as much as externally.

“Perfect! Then we should go mini golfing for our next date,” he cutely declares, letting go of your hand for a second to bring you into a suffocating bear hug. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“You’re so dramatic!” you whine, but secretly, you love this side of him. When he loosens his grip on your waist, you’re greeted with his giddy, contagious smile. “You’re acting like I don’t already go out with you to games and stuff.”

His lips transform his blinding smile into a playful pout. “But you always make me explain what’s going on. Every. Single. Time.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it when I do that. You always have this sort of golden flex in your eyes when you get to talk about the things you’re passionate about.”

He then goes from a pout to a smirk.

“What was that you said? A golden flex in my eyes?”

The next day, he talks your ear off about how excited he is all morning from the moment he wakes you up to get ready up until you’re in the passenger seat of his car. He’s definitely dressed in his golf attire for the occasion too—collared pollo shirt tucked into khaki pants in all their glory.

“Are you sure you want to drive?” you ask while buckling your seatbelt, frankly a little concerned.

You were the more comfortable one with driving in the relationship and that was a well-known fact. His car was practically your car. You even drove the entire road trip to his parent’s house, no prior discussion or agreement required.

“I can do it!” Jaehyun insists, starting the engine and carefully pulling out into the street. Not too long after, he almost swerves out of the lane he was in while trying to avoid a bird flying across the windshield. You don’t understand why he was so taken aback when it’s not like the car was going fast enough to hit the bird anyways.

“It still baffles me you have a license. Was the examiner watching you while half asleep? We’re going the speed of a turtle right now,” you tease, leaning your head back against the headrest as the music from Jaehyun’s playlist only adds to the rather calm atmosphere.

Suddenly, the car speeds up causing your body to lunge forward.

“Jae, you can’t just do that either! You have to ease into it!”

You would have smacked his arm if you weren’t so petrified that it’d cause the both of you to crash.

Amused by your reaction, his laugher rings through the air as you keep your eyes peeled on the road for the remainder of the drive.

When you get to the mini golf course and start playing, you learn that you feel like a loser standing next to Jaehyun for two reasons. One, your previous mini golfing experience was essentially good for nothing. Two, because of reason number one, Jaehyun was going easy on you and was still winning by a mile.

“I suck,” you complain like a child, as much as you hate to admit.

“Come on, you’re not half bad,” he attempts to convince you, but you don’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth.

He had to say that. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s too kind. You could wack the golf ball all the way into the parking lot somehow and he’d still try to say you weren’t ‘half bad.’

“Says the guy who’s barely even trying. How do you make it look so easy?”

Grabbing your wrist to drag you to the next course without a word, he meticulously adjusts your stance, making you feel like your limbs were being possessed by a mannequin.

“Myung Jaehyun,” you warn, though it can only be followed by empty threats. You can already sense what he’s about to do, your heartbeat picking up its pace, because even though close proximity is an obviously familiar concept between the two of you, it still gets you each and every time.

Circling him arms around you from behind and drawing you into his back, his hands rest over yours on the golf club as he swings, nearly achieving a hole-in-one. You’re secretly glad that’s not the case though so he can hold onto you a little longer, but unfortunately, the ball makes it in by the next shot. You still cheer as if you had done all the heavy lifting, feigning an unaffectedness for his touch and choosing to tease him instead.

“Pulling that move? You’re so cheesy, you know that?”

“But you like my cheesiness!” he retorts, cheekily stealing a kiss on your forehead.

A flurry of laughs erupt from both your throats as you feel a buzz through your jean pocket. You take a step away from Jaehyun for a moment to check your messages while he’s filling out the scorecard for you.

“What are you on your phone for?” He asks once he notices, and while a normal and innocent question, you notice the slump in his shoulders and his big puppy dog eyes all in a quick glance.

He wants your attention.

“Nothing. It’s Sungho. He’s just asking me how to do something,” you say and promise it won’t take long in order to console him, tongue slightly sticking out of your mouth as you draft a response to your mutual friend.

You only make it halfway through what you’re trying to say before you feel a weight on your shoulder. Jaehyun’s head has found its way there as the tip of his nose tickles the side of your neck.

“I love Sungho and everything, but can we worry about him later?” he mumbles into your skin, face probably flushed red if you were to guess. He continues, “I wanted to come here to spend time with you. No interruptions. Just for today, please.”

‘I can’t say no to him, can I?’ you think, the temptation to cave in hitting you quickly.

Rushing to finish whatever sentence you were on, you press send and write a quick follow up text to Sungho that you’ll get back to him later before shutting your phone off.

“I’m all yours,” you say, craning your head until your noses are touching. You press a lingering kiss to his lips and the blissful feeling is enough to erase the world around you. “For today, tomorrow, and every day after that, I’ll be yours.”

“My cheesiness is starting to rub off on you.”

You only shrug. “I don’t know, I think you were right. I do kind of like it after all.”

main masterlist

permanent taglist: @icysungho

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Surrounding Characters: Mr. Raymond

Age: 39

Status: Deceased

Cause of Death: Unknown

Update! Occupation: Renowned art collector; founder of Xander Sciences

Residence: Three-story mansion in Linkon City's southeastern suburbs

Appearance: Based on his silhouette, he likely has scraggly hair and some amount of facial hair on his chin?

Details:

We meet Mr. Raymond on the protaganist's very first mission (Mission HM- U-0048-3015). En route, she finds Zayne on the side of the road with his broken-down car. She gives him a lift to Raymond's residence and learns Mr. Raymond is one of Zayne's former patients.

The mission details mention a person named Henry, who is one of the Hunter's Association's clients. They also note that Mr. Raymond is Henry's employer.

During her Wanderer inspection, the protaganist detects Metaflux and follows the Resonance Trail to the collection room. There, she finds Mr. Raymond is lying unconscious on the floor.

After the Wanderer is dealt with, the protaganist notices a Metaflux-infused painting that causes hallucinations. They reasoned it could be where the Wanderer had been hiding and the reason why Mr. Raymond had been acting so strange.

Mr. Raymond is still unconscious when the helicopter arrives and Zayne accompanies him to the hospital. The protagonist then reports the painting to HQ as needing special treatment.

Key Details:

Mr. Raymond had a serious congenital heart disease, hence Zayne's medical visit.

Zayne mentions that, based on the improvement of his vital signs, Akso's equipment determined his age to be "far younger than what it actually is"

Seems to have some connection to Xander Sciences, since the protaganist overhears him trying to convince to Zayne to work for them.

The painting in question was made by Rafayel and was sold by Flux Arts.

Mr. Raymond's Mansion:

Built near the sea and mountains, the southeastern suburbs of Linkon City are home to various luxurious villas and holiday resorts. The entrance to his mansion has an ornate iron gate. Architecturally, his three-story mansion has a style of modern design and simplicity.

Courtyard:

The exterior courtyard (left) is surrounded by a large pool (right) and the water's surface covered in blue-green algae.

First Floor:

The central feature of the first floor (below) is a large fish tank containing what appears to be a Lemurian skeleton. It is surrounded by a spiral staircase to the next floor. The room also includes a sofa set and a grand piano.

Second Floor:

(We don't get any images or description of the second floor)

Third Floor:

This floor is where his art collection room (below) is located. One of his collected items is a painting by Rafayel.

Murder Details:

The case of his murder is currently unsolved and has little known information to work with. But, through multiple accounts from other characters, I've gathered the following information.

Zayne's Statements:

When Zayne calls for medical backup, he mentions the following:

"Male, 39 years old, he collapsed from shock because a Wanderer appeared five minutes ago. No external injuries. His heart rate is normal, and his pupils react normally to light,... The address is..."

Rafayel's Statements:

When the protaganist visits Flux Arts, a digital version of the painting Mr. Raymond bought was displayed in the original's place. Rafayel's disembodied voice says the following regarding the painting:

The story behind it was a dream he'd had in childhood. In it, he had turned into a fish and swam in search of a place beyond the water's surface.

But despite his efforts, he only ended up in blood-red seawater.

That dream was the first time he'd ever seen such a color and he spent many of the following years trying to recreate it. But he never really could get that same shade of red. It was always a slightly different hue.

Thomas' Statements:

When the protaganist tells Thomas what happened to Mr. Raymond and mentions a connection to the painting, his face turns pales before he quickly regains composure. He mentions the following about Mr. Raymond:

Was a renowned art collector famous for his discerning taste

He visited Flux Arts last month, was utterly smitten with the painting, and needed to buy it.

During the process of arranging, displaying, and selling the painting, more than a dozen people were in contact with it. None of them mentioned anything about a Wanderer.

Notes that Rafayel mentioned often hearing strange noises in the studio late at night, but Thomas thought he was trying to trick him.

When the protaganist detects Metaflux from the coral stones in the Flux Arts office, Thomas says Rafayel uses them to make his paint.

Joe's Statements:

Joe is a reporter from Weekly Art who was following Rafayel in hopes of getting a scoop for a future article. He mentions the following about Mr. Raymond's case:

Mr. Raymond had drowned in his bathtub

Was found by his butler Herman. But by then, it was too late.

Before he died, Mr. Raymond had made a bunch of cuts into his arms and legs that resembled "a bunch of fish scales"

[erismourn]

also. do you have any advice on how you draw exos. specifically when it comes to like breaking down their form in a 3d space. chewing on them /pos

ok so my 3 biggest tips for drawing exos:

USE A REFERENCE. the reason I can make my exos passable to look at is because I reference heavily. 3d models are best of course, but half the time I don't care to open up blender and look at them.

PRACTICE. do some exercises to get better at 3d shapes. trace some images of exos! tracing is a really good way to learn.

LOOK AT THE WAY OTHER ARTISTS DRAW EXOS. some artists I like are lavenderarts, rivaldi22, ninthriven, trialsofsaint14, monstyra, sylenth-l, and fmab. i look at what they simplify and what they don't, how they shade, and so on, and try to implement their tricks into my own style

this is one of my fav exercises that has helped me get better at understanding 3d shapes. it's smth I really struggle with - my brain doesn't picture objects in 3d space well, which makes driving a car very interesting. but this has helped.

this exercise just gives you an idea of volume and form that I really like. I'll fill up a whole sketchbook page with just these blobs for a warmup. it's great!

with that said I'll try to take you through my process of drawing an exo but please take it with a grain of salt as I'm still learning

some things to note:

despite being robots, exos are humanoid in shape. familiarizing yourself with human anatomy, ESPECIALLY the skeleton as exos have no skin, is really important

exos generally have the same shapes underneath their external plating, approximately the shape of a human skull (open a 3d model of an exo and remove its external face plating and you'll see what I mean)

the mouth on an exo is generally higher up than it would be on a human face. they don't have a nose to get in the way of the mouth, so the mouths are a little higher up

you can do whatever you want forever. there's a lot of stuff that I simplify when I draw exos - for example, I have very little patience for figuring out what the struts and supports inside the cheek/jaw area look like so I usually just draw them all the same unless I'm going really hard at it

when I'm drawing exos I try to focus on how the features relate to each other. I know where the eyes are supposed to go on a human face (about halfway down the cranium), so I know where they go on an exo. from there, it's about relating things to the position of the eyes.

I try to take note of important characteristics on an exo's face. I don't necessarily get as detailed as taking notes like in the image below, but this is a good start it you want to get familiar with exo features. I grabbed these two pics off destinypedia as an example

it's also important to remember that exos are very angular and have facial planes versus the smooth transitions we typically see with human skin. you don't need to necessarily draw them super precise - just a line hinting at the change of plane works wonders for making it look 3d.

these are very sloppy because I did them in like 2 minutes each but I hope it comes across how I've implemented what I said???

I hope this is helpful. you just gotta practice a lot, and if anyone faults you for your robot anatomy being off slightly they can go fuck themselves lol. everyone who draws knows that robots are hard to draw and shouldn't dunk on you for making mistakes. godspeed brave soldier

[drinkingasoline]

Juliette (Claude-François Cheinisse, 1958)

The last client gone, I eagerly lit my first cigarette of the day. Around me, interns and nonresidents got up in great commotion. While putting on my blazer, they came to me with a few last papers to sign, and after an endless and meandering hallway I met the doorman, an ancient vet of the 1970 war with worn stripes and faded medals. Once again, I had to answer him again that, yes, the weather was mighty fine, that no, we still didn’t know how to attach an entire left arm prosthetic, and that yes, the Doctor was very tired by a morning of appointments. Finally, as I reached the entrance, I forgot all of my aches, all of my troubles : Juliette was waiting for me, as always.

She ignored the envious looks of the med students who detailed her curves and her form without hiding it, the boldest whistling at her, though she only had eyes for the door from where I’d appear. Just as I crossed the intangible curtain that separated the hospital from the outside world and all its germs and foreign particles, Juliette started up and opened the door for me.

I sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh of relief. Juliette closed the door, left making too wide of a turn to scare off some extern she didn’t like, and took the road to the restaurant, and all this without a word: she always respected the dazed silence I was in when I left work. Only after two red lights she handed me a lit cigarette and asked me, all tenderly: “Tired?” Silence was an acceptable answer, and I knew she wouldn’t be offended over it.

I sunk into a mellow idleness of English tobacco and Juliette’s perfume. Three streets later, a taxicab that came out of nowhere and cut us; Juliette took her most strident voice to shout some vile words. I was back into the real world. It was good timing anyway as the restaurant approached. Juliette turned into the private road that led to it, picked a table in the shade, and ordered me a steak, cooked medium, and twenty liters and a lube for her.

My liaison with Juliette had already been going on for three years by that time. It was love at first sight: I took out my checkbook and exchanged, without an ounce of regret, a Citroën with absolutely no personality — she was a good touring car, but she was incapable of emoting as she was supporting a conversation outside her field. Juliette on the other hand was long to tame, to consider me her friend, and not as her master anymore. She never really talked about it, but I think she was pretty miserable before belonging to me: she was handed to some brute in the middle of her break-in, who never let her drive, who always pretended to handle the steering wheel… As soon as she understood what she was to my eyes, the agreement was complete. We mutually agreed to speak little of her past: without being one of those jerks who insist on tuning their car by themselves or those who can’t admit they drive a second-hand car, I can’t imagine imagine anyone else than me driving Juliette.

The steak and the lube were followed by a grapefruit and a spraying, and by a cup of coffee and a quick adjustment.  At that moment, a Jaguar pulled in, and to tease Juliette, I pretended to be interested by it, but she ignored this treachery with a dignified air. On the exit of the way back, before the hard bend that dominated the Seine, again, a brand new Dodge cut us off with great speed. Juliette simply said, very softly: “Debutante…” and slowed down. Two seconds later, the Dodge’s brake lights shone a bright red: too close to the edge, she had to brake sharply. Juliette overtook it with ease and laughed: “When you’re green…” She liked to show off her expertise, all while whining on about getting old and the alleged waning of her reflexes. I didn’t take seriously on that matter.

Between going to the lab and teaching my class at the university, my afternoon was without an issue. Juliette was there outside the auditorium’s building. I was tired, but mostly irritated by the hundred or so of contemptuous students that pretended to listen. Juliette sensed it, softened, took that scenic route we both liked, and then whispered: “Do you want to drive?”

I jumped to the driver’s seat. The steering wheel reached out, Juliette offered herself… We roamed this road tenderly, the one leading the other, the one into the other, feeling the same joy at every turn, each time the engine roared its thunder… Near the end, I gave her back the reins, only half guiding; she was almost completely free in her movement, I was only attentive to the soft moan of her tires…

We had to get sensible as we joined the highway again; my heart was pounding; I slid to the passenger seat to lit a cigarette… Where was the newspaper? Juliette hummed and buzzed in high spirits. Before dinner, we went to pick up Josie (it was Christine last week, Veronica before that, and before her… I forgot. It’s that they all look the same, you know… the only thing I ask of them is to sit pretty, to be a bit dopey, and to please). And on the way back, when I put my arm around the girl’s shoulders and started telling her some spicy stuff close to her ear, I picked up some knocking in Juliette’s engine purr that I understood to be a car’s laugh, discrete, soft, concealed.

Juliette and I went to sleep around one in the morning, relaxed and carefree, whistling together in unison. I didn’t think for an instant that this could be our last day of happiness.

In the middle of the night, the phone woke me up: emergency. I got dressed grumbling, selected “coffee” on the faucet, poured myself a large cup, then went down to the garage. Juliette was sleeping, brain disconnected. I called her name: she immediately switched to “awakening” mode. The starter whirred, but the engine didn’t follow its lead. A second and third attempt did as much as the first. Juliette timidly said: “Excuse me…” I calmed her, called a taxicab and a mechanic. It was her very first failing since we’ve ever met.

The taxi came: it smelled like wet dog and cigarette ash. It refused to wait til I finished: I had to walk back home. There was light down at the garage: the mechanic was examining Juliette. I didn’t want to be a bother; I went up to take a warm shower, a scalding hot coffee, and a book.

In the morning, Juliette didn’t say a word. It took a poorly controlled skid on wet pavement for her to whisper: “I’m getting old…”

“You’re not going to start talking nonsense, are you?”

She wasn’t. A bit further, Juliette, who never made mistakes, didn’t see the new wrong way sign, on the boulevard’s corner. A whistle stopped us: thankfully it was a man-cop, receptive to some arguments… Juliette took her ticket voice, the one that was so sensual, so loaded in promises it always made me a bit jealous. A minute later we were free, off with only a trembling “Be careful next time”: tonight, that cop would have sweet dreams…

I suggested a small technical review in Milan: I could have very well taken taxis for a month, but Juliette didn’t reply. She dropped me off at the hospital without a word and left without saying where. She was there at noon, waiting for me, and for an instant I could believe that everything would be like before like yesterday, like every other day — that this was simply the matter of a general revision. She handed me that lit cigarette, nearly clipped that extern she didn’t like, asked me with that soft voice of hers: “Tired?” knowing she’d get no answer.

But she slowed down to park in front of the dealership where we met, three years ago. The dealer was waiting for us, and I understood, heart in mouth, where she had gone in the morning. I wanted to talk, but she simply said: “I’m tired…” She had already sorted everything out, the only missing thing being my signature. The New One was apprehensively quiet, her chromes shining bright. She was brand new; I would have to break her in. The dealer tried talking about “taking back an older model” but I interrupted him, almost shouting:

“No, I don’t want to return her, Juliette will stay at my place. I… I’ll use her in the evening, or on Sundays. I don’t want to tire her any more, she has the right to rest.”

“It’s only a machine, Doctor. A pretty machine,” he said with a bit of pity.

I stood my ground: I would not sell Juliette. For that matter, she supported me. She said: “Sure, in the evening… or on Sundays…” absently.

She insisted I get back immediately with the Substitute, to get acquainted. She promised to return to the garage like a good car. When I bent to take my briefcase on her backseat, she told me: “Goodbye, my baby…” with her ticket voice. Never had she spoken to me with that voice. I wanted to tell her all the affection I still had for her, promise her more beautiful vacations and cruises on scenic roads… but she was already gone.

When I got to the lab with the Intruder in the afternoon, a robo-cop was waiting for me. As soon as I saw that black and white cylinder, that dumb balancing trash can on wheels, I understood.

I barely listened to his report. Incomplete phrases like: “Chased it, but… too quick… sharp corner…” in that stupid, neutral, official-sounding voice whirled round and round and round…

You’ve got to keep face, in front of a cop above all, no matter if human or robot; I still hear myself say: “It was only a machine after all, a pretty machine…”

⁂

Foreword from the original editor ✺ Juliette Suicide by the park Mark

[ivymirrorball768]

Hey, Little Songbird

Chapter 3: Strange is the call of this strange man

series summary: sejanus plinth’s great grandchild (you) gets reaped for the 69th hunger games.

warnings/notes: still a short one, chapter length and quality will increase slowly (sorry)

pairing: finnick odair x reader

wc: 1.4k ao3 link

i recommend the combined read for chapters 1-5 rather than individual

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Strange is the call of this strange man I wanna fly down and feed at his hand

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The train was extravagant, far too much so for, effectively, a cattle car to the slaughterhouse. Its walls were painted in dark shades of indigo, giving the effect of the space seeming smaller than it actually was, and the golden lighting provided an air of richness rather than homely comfort. It didn’t feel like District 4. No, everything here was an expense, a glimpse into heavens gates before they sent you sailing over to hell.

You’d only ever seen the exterior of the train before and the pristine, newly painted white and greys couldn’t serve justice to the true expanse of the lavish interior. You wondered how many children had stood here before you, how many died? how many returned to the cooling waves of district 4 after stepping foot on this death carriage? There were certainly victors from this district, in fact you knew one, your friend’s ma. She’d been in your shoes and returned.

How many hadn’t?

The escort, Ms Lovegood, noticed your staring and looked all the more eager to begin her little tour, yet she glanced sideways with a distaste towards the girl beside you. Her tearful goodbye had escalated into incessant choked sobs and she could hardly contain herself, so full of misery and fear. It was a poor sight, really. You’d doubt she’d make it through the bloodbath if she kept this up.

Of course, she was only acting how you would’ve been if you weren’t so well repressed. You couldn’t blame her at all.

The other girl, Tulip, you recalled, was much too quiet as she hadn’t spoken a word since the reaping. It was uncommon for a child to react this way, so emotionless in her plight. She didn’t seem to have any close relatives or anything to substitute the fact.

You’d heard about orphanages in District 4, but you’d never much seen one yourself as the Capitol frowned upon displaced children. They often ended out missing or dead. Orphanages were rumoured to be located nearer to the outskirts of town, separate. Maybe that’s where she was from.

Unlike the other two, you were externally composed after the initial shock had worn off. It wasn’t unusual for your family to experience… somewhat tragic events so you’d become almost accustomed to it. Your ma called it the Plinth curse. Due to that, you were happily resigned to let fate run its course and accepted the probability of your imminent death.

Well, ‘accepted’ might’ve been a bit strong a word. ‘Ignored the prospect of, but also maintained to do nothing against the probable outcome’ was far more fitting.

If you treated this as a normal day or another new adventure then you’d find peace when you had to. Death would come quietly like the setting of the sun.

“Please, sit.” The escort smiled at each of the tributes, indicating to the seats encircling a delicate glass table adjourned with perfectly placed golden cutlery and vases of flowers.

“Thank you, Ms Lovegood.” You forced a smile, maintaining to be polite even given the nature of her role.

For a Capitol elite, she was severely taken aback by the formality whether it be about your district nature you weren’t certain, but they sure did like to treat you like animals.

“Oh lovely, feel free to drop the title. Just Pandora will do.” You nodded unenthusiastically.

As the food was spread out across the table, the slaughterhouse metaphor really started coming together. They genuinely were fattening you up before abruptly taking you to your graves. The array was enticing in appearance, yet the floral scent of the appetisers was overbearing. Just then a compartment door slid open.

“Oh and here are your mentors! I’m sure you will all get along just beautifully!” Pandora beamed in a tone achingly happy and sickeningly unaware.

The girl beside you didn’t stop her blubbering for even a moment, but managed a hopeless, “What use will that do?”. Evidently, she wasn’t well accustomed to resigning to death.

Pandora barely spared her murmur a glance, far too excited to present the mentors. Your friends mother wasn’t mentoring this year, so you wondered who it would be.

The two entered, a young boy you recognised from the year before and an older lady, you didn’t recall. Her games were likely long before your birth.

The boy had an air of superficiality to him in the way his grin faltered as it teetered on the edge of his sea-green eyes, failing to quite reach them. He was familiar enough. The same boy you’d seen for all those years. It was a shame this would be the first time you’d actually speak - in such circumstances.

From last year, it was evident that he was an able victor: adept with a trident, resourceful, charming and ultimately a glowing example of what District 4 was meant to be. But all that emphasised was how you paled in comparison.

You weren’t exactly trained for this.

A self proclaimed poet.

If ma was here she would’ve said not to underestimate yourself, but she was enticed by the same delusions as all of the Plinths - fairytales and fictions. It started with your great grandmam and her tales of a strange, peculiar but alluring girl who she’d once seen through a TV screen. She proclaimed that this mysterious girl was a true musician with charm and honour - a victor. Of course, your great grandmam took this elaborate story as a freeing fable and a reminder of the powers of ingenuity.

You saw it for what it was. A pitiful comfort and a way to pretend you were more capable than you truly were.

Occasionally, it was fun to believe in fairytales though. If the girl had won by her smarts and her words alone, maybe you could too.

Regardless of the tale you remained apprehensive about the whole ordeal. There hadn’t been enough time to really process it all from standing there like every other kid, to being reaped for death then being shoved on some train? It was a lot to take in, evidenced by the three of you exemplifying an array of hopelessness.

The young boy glanced at the lady beside him, somewhat unsure of himself. She provided a gentle smile accompanied by a nod of reassurance.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, I’m Mags and this here is Finnick.”

She looked upon you all, her district accent heavy but familiar, words quiet and homely offering much needed comfort. She continued offering some solace,

“Even with the games, I hope you find some comfort in your stay.” Her eyes scanned the three of you, taking in as much as she could as if it would be of use later.

Automatically, you stood to greet her, offering this lovely lady your hand and name with a soft but somewhat pushed smile - manners your Ma taught you. The others seemed to catch on to the need for an introduction and followed suit. Hands were shaken in an awkward formality, though it helped to be reminded of the girls names. Petunia and Tulip.

Then you turned to the boy, Finnick, offering him the same gesture. His hand shake was firmer with a guise of certainty. Your eyes met momentarily. The intensity of the swirl of colours dancing in his irises caught you momentarily off guard. Sure, Caesar wouldn’t stop talking about them during the interviews last year, but now being up close you could understand why. The beauty was so deep you could just drown.

The compliment tumbled from your lips, thankfully restraining your indulgence in his eyes. “You did well… in the games last year.”

You knew you’d needed to say something, anything. As lost for words as you often were, relying on whatever thought first jumped into your head to carry you through.

What do you say to someone who was forced to fight to the death for their district? It certainly wasn’t the honour the Capitol made it out to be.

“I’m sorry you had to though, the games are… definitely something.” The last part was riddled with uncertainty, evident in the quieter tone.

“I’m sorry you’re yet to face it.” The words left his mouth with a smooth clarity that was almost startling. It was spoken so charismatically, but served as nothing more than a reminder of your fate.

Something you never wanted.

You’d run from this as long as you possibly could. So, with a curt nod you allowed him to turn and greet the other two whilst trying to contain the spiral beginning to formulate in your mind.

It was all to come yet.

Chapter 4: I want a nice soft place to land

[ultraguardindia]

Maintaining Your PPF Coating: Tips for Long-Lasting Protection

Investing in PPF (Paint Protection Film) coating for your car is a smart decision that ensures long-term protection against scratches, chips, and other damages. However, to maximize the benefits of PPF, proper maintenance is essential. In this guide, we’ll provide practical advice on how to care for and maintain your PPF coating to ensure it remains effective for years. Whether you have PPF on car from Ultraguardindia or another provider, these tips will help keep your vehicle looking pristine.

Understanding PPF Coating

PPF coating is a transparent, durable film applied to a car's paintwork to protect it from external damage. Despite its robust nature, it requires proper care to maintain its protective properties and appearance.

There are common misconceptions that PPF maintenance is cumbersome, but with the right approach, it can be straightforward and effective.

Regular Cleaning

1. Frequency

Cleaning your car with PPF should be done regularly to prevent the buildup of dirt and contaminants. Ideally, you should wash your car every two weeks.

2. Tools and Products

Use soft microfiber cloths and pH-neutral car wash soap to avoid scratching or damaging the film. Avoid using abrasive sponges or harsh chemicals.

3. Techniques

Start by rinsing your car thoroughly to remove loose dirt. Apply the car wash soap using a microfiber mitt, and gently clean the surface in straight lines rather than circular motions to minimize swirl marks. Rinse off the soap thoroughly and dry with a clean microfiber towel to prevent water spots.

Avoiding Harsh Chemicals

a. Products to Avoid

Avoid using ammonia-based cleaners, alcohol, and other harsh chemicals that can degrade the PPF. These substances can cause the film to yellow or peel over time.

b. Safe Alternatives

Opt for cleaners specifically designed for PPF-coated cars. Ultraguardindia offers a range of PPF-friendly cleaning products that ensure safe and effective cleaning.

Protection Against Environmental Factors

UV Protection

Although PPF coatings like those from Ultraguardindia come with UV protection, parking your car in the shade or using a car cover can provide additional protection against prolonged sun exposure.

Bird Droppings and Tree Sap

Bird droppings and tree sap can be highly corrosive. Clean them off as soon as possible using a soft cloth and a gentle cleaner to prevent staining and damage to the PPF.

Road Debris and Bugs

Remove road debris and bugs regularly to avoid buildup. Soak the affected area with a gentle cleaner and then wipe it off carefully to avoid scratching the film.

Regular Inspection

Checking for Damage

Regularly inspect your PPF coating for any signs of damage such as bubbles, peeling, or scratches. Early detection allows for prompt repairs, ensuring the film continues to protect your car effectively.

Addressing Issues Promptly

If you notice any issues, contact a professional installer immediately. Minor problems can often be fixed without replacing the entire film.

Avoiding Mechanical Washes

Risks

Automatic car washes can be too harsh on PPF, causing scratches and lifting edges. The brushes and high-pressure water jets can damage the film.

Hand Washing

Hand washing is the safest method for cleaning a PPF-coated car. It allows for gentle and thorough cleaning, reducing the risk of damage.

Dealing with Scratches and Minor Damage

a. Self-Healing Properties

Many PPF coatings, including those from Ultraguardindia, have self-healing properties that can repair minor scratches and swirl marks with heat from the sun or warm water.

b. Repair Kits

For more severe damage, use PPF repair kits available from professional providers. These kits can help fix minor issues without needing a complete reinstallation.

c. Choosing a Professional Service

Look for reputable service providers with good reviews and a history of quality work. Ultraguardindia offers professional maintenance and repair services to ensure your PPF remains in top condition.

Seasonal Considerations

1. Winter Care

In winter, protect your car from salt and snow, which can wear down the PPF. Regularly wash your car to remove salt deposits and apply a sealant for extra protection.

2. Summer Care

During summer, ensure your car is parked in shaded areas to minimize UV exposure. Regularly clean off bird droppings and tree sap to prevent damage.

Conclusion

Maintaining your PPF coating is crucial for long-lasting protection and the pristine appearance of your car. By following these tips, you can ensure that your PPF coating from Ultraguardindia remains effective for years. Regular cleaning, using the right products, and seeking professional help when needed will keep your car looking as good as new. Invest in proper care to enjoy the full benefits of your PPF coating.

[shadedempsey]

Shade was hitting his bong in his car, probably not an ideal place to his bong, but that's where he was in the realm of things that seemed like good ideas currently. Honestly he'd just had it in his hand and forgotten he did until he'd gotten in his car and there it was. So he took a long hit before buckling into his passenger seat. Safety first and all.

It was supposed to stay there until he'd gotten to his destination, but low and behold there was a red light and it was the longest red light known to fucking man. It was an unholy length of time. Maybe time was moving different because he was so fucking high off his ass and on a few, number, of other drugs, but that was neither here nor there. Regardless the choice was made. It wasn't until he was blowing out a massive lung of smoke that he realized next to him was a squad car.

The long 'fuuuuuck' was mouthed from him in a billow of smoke cleared and he squinted. As a high profile citizen of Krovs town, or person of intrigue, as Shade liked to refer to himself. He stared at the man next to him.

"The fuck is this guy." He didn't realize his internal monologue was now external. That was the level of fucked up Shade currently was. "Obviously, this is bullshit." He snorted because he knew all the cops in town very, very well and this one he didn't. He'd have known if there was a new one. Kaden or Ransom would have told him. They wouldn't dare hire someone without telling him. Sacred cop petty criminal trust bond could not be broken.

So the cambion kept on driving after buckling up his bong again, safety first and all, in his white, with blue racing stripes, half built up '65 ford Shelby mustang going as near to the speed limit as he could, which was mostly 15 to 20 over depending how many people were around until he pulled up to his restaurant parking in his reserved spot. He was the owner after all. He realized the cop car was still there.

"Oi, you a stripper or some shit, cause high noon on my sun dial." He called out as he got out of his car and saw the officer coming his way. It had to be a stripper.

@vanquishings

[deanwax]

OC Favourites Tag

Cheers for the tag, @ahordeofwasps!

RULES: Share your OC's favorite colour, shoe choice, season, animal, pastime.

Open tag + no-presh nudge to @zestymimblo, @winterandwords, @da-na-hae, @ulysses-blues and @carfarm

I'm gonna do this one with Shins Malone from my novel, Impressions of Aure. :)

Colour: Out of all of life's palette, Shins continuously finds himself drawn to various shades of purple. Velvet, wine, plums, contusions - you name it. He's not one to dress himself in much other than black or plain colours but he will be intrigued by others who incorporate it into their appearance. In canon, this is Thierry Michaels' suits. In AU, he likes the purple hair of @shallowpariah's OC, Jacob.

Shoe: Why talk about shoes when you can talk about FEET? Shins is a double amputee, both legs below the knee joint. He has osseo-integrated prostheses where a metal implant in his bones has an external abutment that prosthetic limbs are attached to with an allen key. When he's not wear short, flat stubbies for bathing and other everyday home stuff, he wears a pair of black plastic prosthetic limbs with a row of metal spikes down the shins. Shoe-wise, he favours a short riding boot that won't get in the way of said spikes.

Season: The season of VENGEANCE (HAHAHAHA)-- nah for real, Shins enjoys the colours of Autumn. He's almost something of a leafer, if you consider driving past the forests at twice the speed limit on country roads the same as leaf peeping.

Animal: Like many Alphas in the Company, Shins never really had the opportunity to attach to any pets and he was never sought any out. After seeing Von Stuck's Lucifer, he did have an interest in studying bats for the anatomy of their wings, but it was short-lived.

Pastime: Shins is a keen hobby mechanic, lovingly tending to the town cars used by both the Company and the Michaels familia. His favourite vehicles, however, are his Ducati motorcyles, modified with hand controls so he's able to drive them without the use of his feet. He drives very, very fast.

[foxydude]

So, the SADDEST thing happened. I finally found a ST rp forum, wanted to do a nasty Billy and *sob* found out that Steve's player is focused on Steddie. That's not a bad thing actually (I also think that Steddie is a cute ship, even if I'm much more a Harringrove shipper myself) but what I don't like in fandoms (and that does concern every fandom I've been in since I began hanging on the internet) is that shippers tend to be focused on monogamy (aka ideal love ?). So, there are a lot of jealousy problems. So, I don't know if I want to stay on that forum but I wanted to share the story I've written for Billy-boy as it was the first time I wrote in english for a rp forum and I'm quite happy with the story I created for him. And I'm so DESESPERATE for some quality Harringrove roleplaying. I'm so glad, though, that there are so many great things on tumblr. ----------------------------------------------

He should be happy that the grin that shows on his face is still the same, never fully reaching his eyes, as cold and sharp as the deep sea next to which he has grown. At least, the grin allows an external eye to look away  from the bruise, tainted with a murky shade of yellow, he  has on the jaw. 

Great, does Billy Hargrove think, before he puts out the end of his cigarette in an old can of beer that he shoves under his bed (because Neil hates his smoking habit. Just like Neil seems to hate everything about him, actually).

When you get into a fight, no matter who your opponent is, you are still the one to decide how the story will be told. Will you be the sore loser or the troubling adversary who refused to back down, even at the most decisive moment ?

Billy has always made sure everybody knows the answer to that question, despite the bruises that often show on his face. But first of all, he had to be assured that himself wouldn’t be ashamed of these marks : he made them the proof of his pride, the testimony of his fighting spirit.

His grin grows wider, showing the white glistening of his teeth. He likes the way he looks, his blond curls reminding him of something that has trouble to take shape. Sometimes, Billy can still hear the remnants of a laugh, a charming, feminine trill that had stayed with him for the last ten years.

« Baby, don’t forget to wash the sand off your feet before you get in the car. »

It’s only a memory, but it’s actually the sweetest he has in stock, the only one he can remember perfectly because he kept playing it in his head for all these years. Even if Billy forgot how to play nice with other people (who was that kid who used to be friendly toward others, anyway ? Just a ghost from his past), something in him prevented him from erasing this memory from his thoughts. 

But it’s easier to act as if it never existed, as if his life began the day his mother disappeared. Easier, also, to act like he is the thoughest guy around, the rudest douchebag who has ever walked on earth. And, man, these things were way easier to manage when he still lived in Cali, even if he already had to babysit the gremlin Neil told him to call sister. Sadly enough, Billy has lived too long on his own to remember what the concept of family could mean.

In Cali, at least, he had friends. Not real ones, of course. But they were fun to mess with, and, sure, the girls were easy when you knew how to handle them. And there was sun, a briliant, devoring sun that kissed his skin all summer and made it look like gold until fall arrived.

In comparison with Cali, Hawkins is just another shity town, a dumpster full of dickheads and stupid cows. How do you want to rule when the only people available are the dullest ones, their faces grey with the lack of sun ? Every time he encounters them, Billy wants to scream because everything in their attitude is so fucking boring. Actually, they should be grateful he showed up around : they could use the entertainment he’s willing to provide them for free.

But it wasn’t always like this.

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, his smirk threatening to break.

You know it wasn’t always so easy to feel self-confident, do you ? 

The question he asks himself brings a bittersweet shadow in his blue eyes.

If he hadn’t gone that far that night, maybe he would still be living in Cali. At least, if he had the courtesy to be wasted, Neil wouldn’t have reacted so harshly. If the memory of the beach is his most precious one, what happened this dreadful night is the worst one he has. Bill can still feel the taste of his own blood in his mouth, mixed with the tears he has shed when Neil had shoved his face against the wall. Max had been woken up by the sound of Neil beating him up and he couldn’t meet her gaze. Because he was weak, dirty, because he was messy. 

“You’re no son of mine.” said the bastard, his mouth hard 

It still stings.

He takes another cigarette out of his pack, lits it.

Don’t linger on that, you have better things to do, does Billy tell to himself, because if he doesn’t get ready to party, no one will come to look after him anyway

And the smile is back, that smile that could make everythings melt to the ground.

Let’s make tonight better than yesterday.

[volublelemur]

trying to figure out ways to make my shack less of an oven

looking up tips for tents seems waaay more feasible than those for actually finished buildings

so my goals for improvement to my living space are:

some kind of external shield to provide shade cuz I have NONE

a bucket of ice to add to my fan to blow around cooler air

maybe those shiny things ppl use in their cars windshield so I can reflect light of the roof

open another window hole so I can have a cross breeze

idk why my first thought is literally the most difficult everything after 1 seems easier

[kajalsawant434]

Smart Glass Market Overview: Trends, Growth, and Forecasts

The Smart Glass Market has witnessed substantial transformation over the past decade, driven by technological innovation, growing energy efficiency requirements, and rising consumer expectations for convenience and automation. From switchable windows in office buildings to high-tech sunroofs in luxury cars, smart glass is redefining how we interact with built environments. This article offers an in-depth overview of current trends, market growth, and forecasts shaping the global smart glass industry.

What is Smart Glass?

Smart glass, also known as switchable glass or dynamic glass, refers to glazing materials that change their light transmission properties in response to external stimuli such as voltage, light, or heat. These materials can switch from transparent to opaque or tinted states, allowing users to control light, privacy, and heat without mechanical shades or blinds.

Key technologies include:

Electrochromic Glass

Thermochromic Glass

Photochromic Glass

Suspended Particle Devices (SPD)

Liquid Crystal Displays (LCD)

Market Size and Growth Potential

The Smart Glass Market was valued at approximately USD 5.3 billion in 2024 and is projected to surpass USD 11 billion by 2030, growing at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 11–13%. This robust growth is attributed to increasing demand across various industries such as automotive, construction, aerospace, healthcare, and consumer electronics.

Key Growth Drivers:

Rising demand for energy-efficient buildings

Advancements in smart city infrastructure

Integration with Internet of Things (IoT) and automation systems

Enhanced user comfort and privacy control

Favorable government policies promoting green technologies

Major Trends Reshaping the Smart Glass Market

1. Energy Efficiency and Sustainability

Smart glass is gaining popularity in both commercial and residential sectors for its ability to reduce energy consumption by minimizing reliance on HVAC systems and artificial lighting.

2. Expansion into Automotive Industry

Premium automotive brands are incorporating smart glass in sunroofs, side mirrors, and rearview windows to enhance comfort and reduce glare, UV radiation, and internal temperature.

3. Growing Adoption in Smart Buildings

As smart homes and smart cities gain momentum, dynamic glass is being integrated into building management systems for intelligent lighting and temperature regulation.

4. Increased Demand in Aerospace and Healthcare

Airlines and hospitals are adopting smart glass for passenger and patient privacy, better light control, and improved aesthetic appeal.

5. Rise of Smart Mirrors and Display Surfaces

In the consumer electronics and retail sectors, smart mirrors are being used in virtual try-on solutions and interactive displays.

Regional Insights

North America holds a dominant market share, led by early technological adoption and green building mandates in the U.S. and Canada.

Europe is driven by stringent environmental regulations and architectural innovation.

Asia-Pacific is emerging as the fastest-growing region, fueled by urbanization, real estate expansion, and government-backed infrastructure development.

Middle East & Africa show increasing interest due to extreme climatic conditions and luxury real estate development.

Competitive Landscape

The Smart Glass Market is highly competitive and innovation-driven. Leading companies include:

Saint-Gobain

View Inc.

Gentex Corporation

AGC Inc.

Smartglass International

These firms are investing in R&D, strategic partnerships, and mergers to expand their global footprint and improve product offerings.

Forecast to 2030 and Beyond

Several projections shape the future of the Smart Glass Market:

Increased affordability as production costs decline

Higher adoption in public transportation (metro systems, airports, buses)

Integration with AI and building automation platforms

Expanding product applications in education, retail, and hospitality

By 2030, smart glass will be a standard component of modern infrastructure and transportation, delivering both environmental and economic benefits.

Conclusion

The Smart Glass Market is on a high-growth trajectory, supported by global trends in sustainability, technological advancement, and smart infrastructure development. As the industry evolves, smart glass will become integral to how we build, travel, and interact with our environments. Businesses and consumers alike stand to benefit from investing in this dynamic, future-ready technology.

[doublegpainters]

Reviving Homes with Color: The Rise of Professional Painting Companies in San Diego!

San Diego, known for their idyllic beaches, and soon, their favorite, all year, is also a city that appears to be an aesthetic attraction, dental and out of the house. Consequently, the professional paint services in San Diego have evolved from a simple trade combining crafting, client competitions, and innovation. Rather than an external successful jerk or dilate treatment that reprimands inside, the owners draw experts to revitalize their living spaces. There are different architectural style presents a unique challenge for the exceptional entrepreneur. A company of paint in San Diego not only provides a new layer of painting, Detailed consultations, bids, an expert color match, superficial preparation, and finish selection with local preferences.

The salted air, intense exposure to the sunrise, and the insights in the homes in the region require the best techniques of painting company in San Diego that can resist these conditions. Entering the house; painting is one of the most effective ways to improve the atmosphere and functionality. A fresh painting job can illuminate a room, create a mood, or increase property value. The San Diego owners often invest in internal painting when preparing for revenue, renewal, or simply updating the appearance and feeling of their spaces.

This painting company offers color consultation services and digital layouts to help the owners display the final result before a single brush. This service level is particularly valuable in areas of the center of San Diego of San Diego in sore the quality also makes a return. It adds depth and character, giving houses, to scenario as well as a custom and luxurious sensation.

Trends in House Painting San Diego Residents

The color plays a significant role. The only many for tranquilized shades for creative tones or rooms of painters, House painting San Diego is a durable painting option that makes your home attractive and long lasting. Although the time is ideal for external life, it can destroy a house. UV rays, the moisture, and casual salon exposure can aggravate unprotected surfaces. This is where the external home frame becomes essential.

San Diego Painting companies specialize in nursing homes with sustainable and high-performance clothes. They often start with the washing machine, throw out the old paint, repair the car, and depart before applying premium paint. In addition to the protection, the call section is a primary motivator. The property values are high, an external and essential well-being. The San Diego frame professionals do not stop at aesthetics. If you focus on creating the crafty ends, using clean techniques, low paint, attention to the environment, and attention to details.

The Best Services Offered by Home painters in San Diego

Leading companies also show a list of completed projects, summarizing their quality and work. Employing a home painter in San Diego is not only about the color change - it's about improving how you live in your living space. Professional Home painters San Diego offer the experience of a manager's stress, join the team, and provide a clean work environment.

Great painting, garages, and the front door of an individual's house increase your visual value and charm. With many options available, the entrepreneur's choice is to go to the services of Double G Painting & Contracting. This company must be considered, approved, and have positive views by customers. Experience in local districts is also a plus, because these painters are more likely to understand the architectural styles of the architects and the weather requirements.

Conclusion

The paint industry in San Diego is folded. Thank you for appreciating the attention paid to professional crafts and their impact of perfect services. Possession of litter to create a comfortable environment, the business of professional paint firms will play an essential role in beautifying quarters. Whether you are preparing to sell, update a palette for decades, or want to fall in love with your house, working with a reliable paint company to bring your vision to life. After all, a slight color is fading in a city where age is essential; a subtle color is going away.

[carcovers]

Car Covers That Defy Dust and Weather!

When it comes to protecting a vehicle, a good car cover is more than just a sheet—it's a shield. For car owners without the luxury of a garage or a permanent structure, exposure to dust, sun, rain, and wind can quickly deteriorate a vehicle’s exterior. Thankfully, a new generation of car covers, carport kits, and car shelter cover is changing the game—offering durable, weather-resistant protection that doesn’t compromise on ease of use.

Why Vehicle Protection Matters More Than Ever

From harsh UV rays to acidic rain, external elements are relentless. Over time, these factors can dull paint, rust metal surfaces, and degrade rubber seals and trim. Car covers are a cost-effective and efficient solution to maintain a car’s value and appearance, especially for those parked in open driveways or under trees.

Unlike older designs, modern car shelter covers are now engineered with high-performance fabrics, UV blockers, and anti-mold coatings. Whether you're in a dry and dusty region or facing coastal humidity, today’s covers are built to withstand it all.

The Rise of Carport Kits: Semi-Permanent Shelter for Long-Term Care

For owners seeking something more robust, carport kits offer a semi-permanent solution. These easy-to-install structures provide shelter for one or more vehicles and act as a protective buffer against environmental damage. Made from galvanized steel or powder-coated aluminum frames, paired with UV-treated canopies, carport kits are a popular choice for homes without enclosed garages.

They not only protect from rain and dust but also provide shade, helping reduce interior heat and prevent dashboard cracking or upholstery fade.

What Sets Modern Car Covers Apart?

Today’s car covers combine advanced material technology with smart design features. Some benefits include:

Breathable fabrics that prevent moisture buildup

Elastic hems and tie-down straps for a snug, wind-resistant fit

UV-resistant coatings for sun protection

Compatibility with various vehicle types—sedans, SUVs, trucks, and more

Some even come with mirror pockets or lock-and-cable systems for added convenience and security.

Real Feedback from Real Users

“I live near the coast, and my last car suffered major paint damage from salt in the air. I switched to a weatherproof car cover last year, and the difference is night and day. It’s been through storms and still holding up perfectly.” — James W., Miami, FL

“We assembled a carport kit in our backyard last fall—it took one weekend, and now both our cars are shaded and protected year-round. No more worrying about hail in the spring or leaf stains in the fall.” — Elena T., Boulder, CO

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q: Are all car covers waterproof? A: Not all of them. It’s important to choose a car cover labeled as water-resistant or waterproof, especially if your car is stored outdoors.

Q: Can I install a carport kit without professional help? A: Most carport kits are designed for DIY assembly with clear instructions, but it depends on the size and type. Larger structures may require an extra pair of hands or professional assistance.

Q: Will a car shelter cover damage the paint? A: Quality car shelter covers use soft inner linings that prevent scratches. It's crucial to clean your car before covering it to avoid trapped debris causing damage.

Q: How long do these covers typically last? A: Depending on material and exposure, a well-made car cover or carport kit canopy can last 3–7 years or more with proper care.

Conclusion - Choosing the Right Solution for Your Needs

Whether you're looking to shield a classic car, protect your daily driver, or set up a weatherproof structure in your yard, there's a solution to match. Car covers offer convenience and portability, while carport kits provide semi-permanent protection for more demanding environments.

Meanwhile, car shelter covers strike a balance between the two—great for seasonal needs, travel, or temporary setups. No matter the choice, the goal remains the same: protect your vehicle from the elements with materials that last.