#high quality Drop in Anchor

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

💎No low-price competition, focus on fastener quality💎

[emmiesoverthemoon]

sweeter than this

pairing: lee felix x reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: felix takes 'trying out the dessert' to a whole 'nother level while baking with you

tags: fluff, oral f receiving, established relationship

ao3

The scent of chocolate and sugar danced through the air, curling into the warm haze of late afternoon light streaming through the kitchen window. Your hips swayed slightly to the low hum of music playing in the background, wooden spoon in hand, laughter bubbling from your chest as you stole another taste of the brownie batter.

"Hey!" Felix called from behind you, mock-scandalized. "That’s the third time you’ve ‘taste-tested’! I haven’t even had one try!"

You turned with a smirk, the tip of your finger still sticky with batter. “Quality control. Someone has to make sure it’s sweet enough.”

He leaned against the counter with that easy, boyish grin—golden hair tousled, a smudge of flour on his cheek, apron strings hanging loose behind him like he had not even bothered tied it properly. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you,” you teased, tapping his nose with your sugar-coated finger, “are just jealous.”

“Mmm.” He caught your wrist gently, eyes dropping to your hand, then rising to meet your gaze again—something flickering there. Something different. His smile softened, but made no move to fade. “You know what else is sweet?”

You raised a brow, still half-laughing. “What?”

He dipped his head, voice low, rougher around the edges now. “You.”

The word landed softly, but the look that came with it? That was a drop of fire. His grip on your wrist tightened just enough to send a flutter through your chest, and when he pulled you in by the apron, it was by no means for another frosting joke. It was to kiss you—slow, sure, deep.

Felix’s mouth was warm and patient, teasing at first, like he was savoring you the way he might those brownies you both had spent the last hour mixing together. But then he groaned, just barely, and it was like something snapped—his hand sliding behind your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you harder.

You gasped against his lips as he turned you, lifting you with startling ease and setting you down on the edge of the counter. The cool marble pressed against the backs of your thighs, a contrast to the heat that was quickly blooming everywhere else.

“You’re making a mess,” you whispered, breathless, your apron riding high, flour dusting his shirt.

His eyes were darker now, the gold of them eclipsed by something far more molten. “I’m about to make a much bigger one.”

And then—he knelt.

Just like that. No hesitation.

He eased your knees apart, eyes never leaving yours, and the way he looked at you from down there—hungry, worshipful, wrecked—it unraveled something deep and slow inside you. His hands slid up your thighs, warm palms trailing fire. He leaned in, pressing a kiss just above your knee, then higher. And higher.

“You’re sweeter than anything we could ever bake,” he murmured against your skin. “And I’ve been dying for a taste all afternoon.”

You barely managed to breathe his name before his mouth met you—and then your thoughts scattered in the wind.

His tongue found you with a patience that felt almost cruel—each slow stroke reverent, exploratory, like he was refreshing his memory of you from the inside out. He was in no rush. No, this was not some frantic, hungry thing. It was adoration, self-indulgence, obsession.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers sliding into his hair, gripping just a little when he flattened his tongue and dragged it along the length of you, only to pull back slightly and kiss your inner thigh, lips sticky with sugar and something far more intimate now.

“You taste even better than I remember, each new time is better than the last,” he said, his voice rough with want. “Sweet, soft, and all mine.”

You whimpered as he dipped back in, this time with more purpose—his hands anchoring your hips, keeping you in place when you started to shift beneath the intensity of his mouth. He was relentless now, drawing sounds from you like a song only he knew how to play, tongue curling and flicking with maddening precision.

Your back arched, one hand bracing on the countertop, the other fisting in his golden hair. His groan vibrated through you when you tugged, and the reaction made your whole body pulse.

“Baby—” you gasped, “you’re gonna make me—”

“I know,” he said, barely lifting his head, lips glistening. His eyes burned. “That’s the point.”

And then he buried himself again, faster this time, hungrier. Like he had only been warming you up before. Like he wanted to make you come undone with nothing but his mouth, to prove something—maybe to you, more so to himself. That he could do this. That no one else would ever be allowed to taste you this way. That he would be the one you would ever need.

You broke with a cry, thighs trembling against his shoulders, head falling back as your body gave in completely—sweet, aching release crashing through you.

But he was relentless.

He would not dream of slowing down.

He kept eating you through it, one hand sliding up your torso, under your shirt, finding your breast and squeezing just enough to make your breath catch again.

“You’re not done,” he said, licking his lips, eyes glazed with heat and pride. “You’re gonna give me another one. Right here. Before those brownies even finish baking.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, smirked up at you with flour still dusted on his cheek and that wicked glint in his eyes.

“You said you liked sweet things,” he murmured. “Let me give you something unforgettable.”

Felix chose not to wait for your answer—not really. The question had been rhetorical, a velvet promise disguised as a tease. His mouth was already back on you, devouring you with a hunger that felt almost possessive. Like now that he had had a taste, he could not bear the idea of stopping.

And truthfully… neither could you.

Your head fell forward as your body shivered, flushed and buzzing with the aftermath of your first release—but he was unsatisfied with just one. His boyish charm had slipped completely now, revealing something darker underneath: a man who worshipped the way you fell apart, who wanted to see how many times he could make you lose control before the oven even dinged.

“Please,” you whispered, you were unsure if you were begging for him to stop or to never stop.

“I love it when you beg,” he said, and you could feel the smirk against your skin. “But I love it more when you scream.”

Your uncertainty faded in a second, it was definitely for him to never stop.

And then he slid two fingers inside you—slow, precise, curling just right—and your entire body tightened in shock at the sudden, overwhelming pressure. His mouth never left you, tongue working in perfect rhythm with his fingers, and your breath caught, your thighs trembling again already.

It was too much, and yet not enough.

The countertop edge bit into the backs of your thighs, and the cool air hitting your flushed skin only made the heat between you burn hotter. You glanced down, and the sight of him—kneeling between your legs, broad shoulders holding you open, face buried in your body like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting—almost undid you completely.

“Look at you,” he murmured when he came up for breath, his lips slick and swollen. “So messy for me already. You’ve ruined my apron.”

“Your fault,” you managed to whisper, dazed.

“I know.” He grinned—mischievous, wicked—and kissed up your stomach, pushing your shirt higher, his fingers still slow and deep inside you. “I plan on ruining a lot more.”

You grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him up, needing to feel his mouth on yours again. He let you, rising to his feet, his fingers still buried in you as he leaned to kiss you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

The kiss was filthy, desperate—laced with sugar and heat and something deeper. You moaned into his mouth, clinging to him as his hips pressed forward between your thighs, grinding slow and hard while his fingers thrust deeper.

You were already so close again. He knew it. You knew it.

After you came undone on his working hand, he pulled it free, eliciting you to whimper at the loss—only for him to hold your gaze, slide those same fingers into his mouth, and suck them clean.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

His hands grabbed your thighs, tugged you to the very edge of the counter, and lined himself up—his voice a low growl at your ear.

“You’re gonna let me have you right here, aren’t you? Right where we made the brownies.”

You nodded, dazed, wrecked already and aching for more.

“Good,” he said, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. “Because I’m starving. And dessert’s just getting started.”

thx for reading! i hope i wrote felix well, this is my first skz fic lol

here u go ya filthy animal @burlesquerade

taglist: @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo

[woradat]

SCENARIO: FIELD BUTCHER

PAIRING – first aid, ratchet, ambulon x reader

NOTE – literally just medbot-in-order. There's no Pharma because he's gone crazy. He's not a good-old-doc to be around here. So if I decide to do a Decepticon version, we might find him there instead

and none of them like mc at first I'm telling you

F I R S T – A I D

The lights in the Lost Light’s medbay were harsh in that painfully clean way—white, clinical, and far too bright for someone used to working in the shadowy wreckage of battlefields and abandoned storage bays

You stood still, bathed in sterile light, as if the room was trying to disinfect you through sheer judgment

The walls gleamed. The floor was spotless. Instruments were arranged in neat, alphabetized rows along the wall-mounted tool racks. You were fairly certain someone had even polished the oxygen scrubbers

You, in contrast, looked like a walking oil stain

Your plating still bore the smudges of a recent field repair —one that had involved a bent servo, a crowbar, and a lot of screaming (some of it yours). There was a rag tied around your wrist for no apparent reason. A wire hung from your hip. The tray you’d brought with you—holding a screwdriver, a rusted clamp, and something that may have once been a tooth—ticked every few seconds from residual static

Across the room, First-Aid stood frozen

Not from fear. Not quite. More like the horrified tension of a bot watching someone carve up a first-aid manual page by page to use as coasters

His servo clutched a datapad so tightly that the metal casing creaked faintly under the pressure. His optics darted back and forth over the text like he was searching for some line—any line—that would explain what you were and why the hell Rodimus had let you on board

And you?

You waited

Waited exactly two minutes and seventeen seconds—yes, you were counting—before breaking the silence with your usual charm

“So” you said, rocking back on your feet

“do I pass the inspection, or do I need to fail harder to really make an impression?”

Your voice echoed slightly in the too-quiet room. The medbay didn’t know how to handle that tone—wry, reckless, thick with the kind of confidence only the truly unhinged could wield comfortably. First-Aid blinked, his optics snapping up. He looked at you like you’d just walked in wearing a cape made of patient charts

“This says” he began, voice tight and rising slightly “you performed open spark surgery using engine coolant as a sterilizer—”

“I asked him if he wanted anesthetic”

you cut in smoothly “and he said no. Or, well, he passed out, which is close enough”

He stared. You smiled

“Besides” you added with a flick of your fingers “if your patient doesn’t scream at least once, how do you know the nerves are still working?”

He made a noise—choked, strangled, high in pitch. His hand dropped to his side, the datapad hanging limp now, like the weight of your words had physically knocked the strength out of him

“That is not how we—how anyone practices medicine!”

Your stride was unhurried, yet somehow radiated the same menace as a pressure gauge ticking toward red. Not loud, but felt. Like the moment before a sneeze, or the exact instant someone realizes they’ve left the surgical clamp inside the patient

“And yet” you said, almost to yourself, as your optics skimmed across a chart still glowing faintly on the screen “they survive”

There was no real context. Which made it worse

First-Aid startled like you’d slapped him with a used energon rag. He backed into the diagnostics table so fast he nearly knocked over a sterilization wand. One hand grabbed the edge like it might anchor him to reality. The other hovered mid-air like it couldn’t decide whether to call security or the clergy

“Rodimus… let you on board”

His voice had that brittle quality of someone trying to convince himself the building wasn’t on fire, despite the visible smoke — You turned toward him with a grin like a cracked energon cube—shiny, unstable, possibly lethal “He said I’ve got potential”

you chirped, cheerfully oblivious to the rising alarm in his optics “Also mentioned something about overflow triage, vent maintenance, and ‘creative solutions to personnel shortages’ I was flattered” You mimed placing a hand over your spark. It was unclear if you were pledging allegiance or checking for a heartbeat

“You’re a hazard!”

“A licensed hazard” replied proudly

“Well, semi-licensed. Regionally certified. Technically. Look, I passed a test. Might’ve been psychological. Or about my psychology” You said it like it was a party anecdote. Something between “I once dated a Decepticon” and “I ate a medgel cube on a dare”

He blinked at you

You blinked back—twice as fast, like a corrupted interface just to mess with him

Then you laughed — Oh, Primus, that laugh – It ricocheted around the medbay like someone had set off a proximity mine made of bad decisions and surgical anecdotes. Loud. Inappropriate. Joyous in a way that only made sense to people who’d once stitched a spark casing back together with their teeth

First-Aid realized it in the exact moment your smile caught the edge of his attention—lopsided, easy, and radiating a kind of mischief that had no place in the tightly regulated sterility of the Lost Light’s medbay. It didn’t match the gleaming metal surfaces or the scent of disinfectant that clung to everything like expectation. It didn’t belong. You didn’t belong

Everything about you—your stance, your grin, the way your optics flicked around like you were casing the place for fun—declared you as someone utterly outside of protocol.

You stood like a joke in a surgical ward. Like entropy had decided to walk upright and wear a field medic’s badge as a joke. To First-Aid, you weren’t just unqualified. You were an infection with vocal cords. A walking contradiction wrapped in self-confidence and duct tape

“You’re not touching any patients without strict supervision” he snapped, recovering his dignity like a dropped datapad—hastily, but with determination

“Perfect! I love being supervised. Makes everything feel so... official. Adds flair. Drama. Mystery” You leaned in just a inch, enough to trigger personal space alarms “You supervise. I improvise. You keep people alive. I keep things exciting. It’ll be like a buddy cop show, except with more bleeding"

He looked like he aged three upgrades just from that sentence. You tilted your helm, expression softening into something that looked, horrifyingly, like sincerity “Unless, of course… you’re scared?”

He straightened. Field tightening. Optics narrowing. Classic reflex. You knew the symptoms “I’m not afraid”

“Excellent” you whispered “Because I absolutely am. Isn’t that thrilling?” You stepped back just enough to give him room to ventilate again—bless his overworked filters—and smiled like you’d just named a scalpel after him

He stood frozen, halfway between protocol and panic, like someone trying to treat a patient who was also on fire and beneath it all, you saw it: that tiny, involuntary twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile but a crack — first one

And you were already getting out your chisel

“They’ll get someone killed one day. But they’ll probably save two more first"

"If I keep standing close enough.. I might learn how"

He don't like you. Not in any textbook sense of the term. He disliked your methods. Your hygiene was borderline offensive. You called him "Textbook" like it was both insult and compliment, and your favorite surgical instrument appeared to be a pair of rusted pliers you refused to throw away. There was, by every metric he knew, nothing about you that should have drawn his attention so strongly and yet

He found himself noting how you adapted under pressure. How quickly you moved—not recklessly, but responsively, like someone who’d memorized chaos. He found himself listening for your voice in the medbay. Not because it soothed him—but because it kept him sharp. Awake. Alive

There was something about you that defied logic in the same breath that it completed it

He saw hands—your hands—moving with terrifying steadiness in the center of madness. He saw logic surrender to instinct, and instinct thrive. He saw you rewire a collapsed spark chamber with copper wire and what could only be described as sheer nerve

He saw you whisper something ridiculous to a bot mid-panic— “If your coolant line bursts, I’ll tie it off with tubing. You won’t die. Probably” and watched the patient laugh through the terror

He saw you fail, once

And sit beside the body for two hours afterward. Not a word. Not a joke. Not even that crooked grin. Just your hands folded in your lap, and your optics dim with something First Aid didn’t expect you were capable of: stillness

That was the day something shifted in him—too quiet to name, but too loud to ignore

R A T C H E T

The medbay, for all its polished surfaces and antiseptic precision, felt unusually tense today—as though the very air was bracing for impact. Bright overhead fluorescents beat down on sterile countertops, illuminating every instrument laid out in methodical rows, each with its own assigned place, its own specific function, its own carefully maintained integrit and then… there was you — Standing like a conceptual glitch in the otherwise orderly space, elbow-deep in a patient’s chestplate and humming to yourself like someone rearranging furniture instead of vital systems

The patient—a junior security officer from Deck Seven—looked moments away from cardiac arrest. His field fluttered in anxious pulses. You, meanwhile, appeared serene. Playful, even. Your servo hovered over a critical energon valve with a laser probe gripped like a stylus

“I’m just saying-” you said conversationally, tilting your helm slightly “if I aim just right, the whole line depressurizes at once. Instant results. High drama. Very efficient”

You shifted your grip to emphasize the stab part of the process

It was at that exact moment that Ratchet—who had up until now been engaged across the room rechecking supply records—snapped.

“stop. Stop—Primus help me—STOP!”

The bark of his voice cracked across the medbay like a circuit surge. Several instruments rattled from their trays. Somewhere in the hall, someone dropped a datapad. He crossed the space in three thunderous strides, snatched the probe out of your hand with a snarl that suggested divine intervention, and inserted it himself with precise, scathing control—clicking the pressure seals into place as if punishing the procedure itself

He didn’t look at you

He didn’t have to.

“Sit and watch, don’t touch anything unless I hand it to you” There was a silence, then the dramatic creak of a stool as you flopped onto it with the practiced flair of someone deeply accustomed to being scolded. You sprawled like a guilty schoolbot in detention—arms crossed, legs swinging, dignity entirely unbothered.

“You’re no fun” you muttered, loud enough to be heard

“No flair. No edge. Where’s the danger?”

“This is not a carnival” Ratchet snapped, still working with ruthless efficiency “You don’t get extra points for flair. You get extra lawsuits”

The words were muttered through clenched dental plates as he handed you a sterilized injector. His tone remained clipped, professional, but his optics—those infamous optics—were starting to twitch “Now. Take this. Line it up with the main coolant artery. Slowly. Deliberately. Like someone who isn’t trying to impress a Wrecker with a death wish”

You took the injector with mock reverence, pinching it between two fingers like it was forged from myth. Your optics narrowed with exaggerated concentration. One might have thought you were defusing a bomb rather than delivering medication. Then—without hesitation—stab. Click. Inject.

Dead center

Ratchet froze mid-motion. His optics flicked to the readout. Then to the injection site. Then, slowly, to you “…Huh”

You turned your helm toward him with deliberate, theatrical slowness—like a drama-bot preparing for their final monologue—one optic ridge raised in exaggerated pride. The smug curl at the corner of your mouth was pure mischief, unconcerned, untouched by caution

“Impressed?”

Ratchet didn’t miss a beat

“No” he said flatly “Alarmed”

You handed the injector back with the kind of smug grace that bordered on performance art, your smirk still annoyingly intact. “What? I can follow instructions.”

He gave you a look

“So you choose not to. 99% of the time?”

“Obviously” you said with a shrug, as if the logic was self-evident “Where’s the drama in doing everything the safe way?”

Ratchet groaned then—low, guttural, and thoroughly exhausted—the kind of sound that belonged not to a medic, but to a war veteran on his eighth recitation of “Why are you like this?”

His servo came up, pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge in a gesture that seemed less about managing his temper and more about holding his spark together with willpower alone

“You’re going to give me a stress reboot..”

You beamed, utterly unfazed “Aw, come on. Admit it. You love this. It’s like babysitting a grenade. A very enthusiastic grenade"

Every fiber of his deeply overworked frame screamed that you were a liability. A threat. A disgrace. You’d read no formal medical doctrine. You quoted battlefield myths like gospel. You told a patient—his patient—that if they died, you could “recycle the good parts" And yet. You saved them. Not with finesse. Not with dignity. Not with anything he would ever sign off on. But they lived. Their spark stabilized. Their pulse calmed. They breathed

He hated it — He hated how you looked at the result, not the method. He hated how you grinned afterward, like it wasn’t a miracle but a game. He hated how he couldn’t stop watching you work, because somehow, somehow, you understood something that textbooks didn’t teach. Worse still?

He hated how you reminded him of himself—before he got old and tired and afraid of trying things that weren’t already proven

He looked at you like one looks at a half-defused explosive with a smug attitude—and yet, he didn’t argue. Not really. Instead, with a resigned grunt and the heavy grace of someone who had long since accepted their fate, he passed you the dermal sealer. No lecture. No muttering. No carefully worded disclaimer about liability — Just a tool. And a sliver of trust—quiet, grudging, and far more meaningful than anything he’d said out loud

You accepted it with uncharacteristic silence. No sarcasm. No dramatics

Just the work

You sealed the incision with smooth, steady lines, each motion executed with a clarity that had nothing to do with instinct and everything to do with experience. The edges came together cleanly. The weld held. The patient’s vitals stabilized. Textbook

When you returned the sealer to his waiting servo, Ratchet didn’t speak right away. He examined your work with the same scrutiny he gave to battlefield casualties and self-diagnosed captains—careful, thorough, unwilling to be impressed without reason

But then, after a moment…

"That’s… good work” he said at last. His voice was quieter than usual, and it carried the faintest edge of something approaching reluctant approval

You responded with a theatrical bow—an unnecessary flourish, complete with optic twinkle “I learned from the best"

“You’ve never trained under me”

“Not formally” you said, lips quirking into a grin “But I’ve read your case files. Watched all your lectures. Stole a shrine someone made of you and rewired the lights. Y’know. The usual academic stalking"

He stared

You held his gaze like you were daring him to ask which shrine, or how recently

“You’re a legend, Ratchet” you added, tone somehow both sincere and wicked “I just prefer being a cautionary tale. The punchlines are better”

There was a long exhale through his vents—rougher this time, full-bodied with fatigue and disbelief. A snort followed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, as though his processor had tried both reactions and settled for the only one that wouldn’t kill him

“Primus help me… I’m going to miss you when you’re dead”

“Aww. You do like me”

“No, I just like knowing where the trouble is”

You winked. And that, more than anything, seemed to unnerve him. But he didn’t take the sealer back. Didn’t snap at you. Didn’t say what was obvious in the silence between his words: That somehow, against all logic and regulation, you had earned your place here and he was starting to suspect—against all odds—that the medbay might just survive you

Maybe

“They’re everything I hate and somehow, they make me wonder if I’ve spent all these cycles doing it the wrong way" "..Maybe I’ll let them stay. Just long enough to prove them wrong”

He didn’t like you – Not in the way people liked each other. But sometimes, when he saw you work—with your smudged fingers, and your muttered jokes, and your solutions that made no sense but somehow stopped the bleeding— He didn’t stop you.. instead sometimes, he took note

You were worse than the stories. You walked into medbay like you belonged there, with grease on your fingers and a grin that screamed liability You waved off his stare, offered him a bent spanner like it was a gift, and asked if his cortical relays had “always looked this grumpy”

He’d threatened to throw you out. You’d laughed and asked if he needed help with the overflow. He should’ve said no. He didn’t

He’d tried to report you, once or twice.. or six times

Ultra Magnus said you weren’t technically violating any protocols. Drift said he liked your “energy” Even Rodimus, whose opinion mattered the least, somehow mattered more when he said: “They saved someone with cable ties and chewing gum. That’s genius, Ratch. You can’t train that”

Ratchet disagreed

Loudly

With charts and yet

He saw the way you looked at broken things. The way your optics narrowed in focus—not cold, not analytical—but alive. Invested. You did see patients as puzzles that you wanted to put back together. Even if you used the wrong tools. Even if your hands were too fast, your grin too wide, your ethics questionable at best

You cared

Primus help him again, you actually cared. And it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t orderly. It wasn’t the kind of “caring” you could measure in paperwork. But it was real

A M B U L O N

It happened mid-cycle, during what should have been a routine diagnostic on the starboard maintenance corridors. One moment, there was peace—a checklist, a loose panel, the quiet hum of the ship’s gravity stabilizers – The next, a shriek of metal. A pressure wave. A storm of sparks. Ambulon hit the floor as the emergency bulkhead slammed down behind him, cutting the corridor in two like a guillotine. He staggered upright, sensors ringing—and saw you

You were already on your knees beside the injured miner, whose leg had been crushed beneath a collapsed junction panel. Energon pooled beneath him in thick, syrupy waves, bright and bubbling. His ventilations came in erratic gasps, static-laced and shallow. His optics darted in panic

Ambulon froze

Not out of fear. Not exactly. Out of memory

The panel. The screaming. The way no one had moved for him. The way no one had thought to. He stood motionless as echoes of that past clawed up through his spark

And you— didn’t hesitate

You were already elbow-deep in the panel’s edge, stripping wiring with your teeth when your cutters couldn’t reach. Your voice cut through the din like a plasma torch “Hold him still or he’s gonna bleed out through ports he didn’t know he had, and I am not losing another leg-case today, I swear by Primus’ recycled panties— MOVE”

Your tone was wild. Sharp. Irrefutably commanding

He moved

His hands found the bot’s shoulders, pressed down. He murmured stabilizers, tried to regulate field output—anything to help. Anything to ground himself. Anything to distract from the fact that you were doing everything wrong

Unsterile tools. Unorthodox technique. No scanner, no chart

And still— The bot’s vitals leveled

The bleeding slowed

You rerouted two energon feeds using leftover wire from the collapsed panel and some insulation from your own armor. Your servos never shook. Your focus never wavered and when it was over—when the miner’s spark stabilized and his frame stopped twitching in pain—you sat back on your heels, fuel-streaked and grinning like you'd just cheated death at cards

“There. Still twitching. That means I did good, right?”

Ambulon couldn’t speak

He just stared at you—at your filth-smeared plating, your scorched fingers, the mess you’d made of the scene—and realized something deeply uncomfortable: That this wasn’t carelessness. It wasn’t showmanship. It was confidence. The kind forged in fire, in loss, in the terrible intimacy of holding someone’s spark between your hands and deciding, again and again, to try..

In his experience, the phrase “Just make do” translated with chilling consistency into “This is going to get someone killed". He’d seen it. He’d lived it. He was it—once. He still remembered the wrench.

when he heard there was a new medic aboard the Lost Light—a rogue practitioner with no license, no formal training, and apparently no discernible regard for sterile procedure– for two first weeks since you arrived, he didn’t so much as glance at you in the corridors. He refused to take joint rotations, changed schedules to avoid shifts with you, and logged three formal complaints that Rodimus may or may not have used as coasters

He’d vented to Ratchet. To First Aid. To anyone who’d listen “It’s reckless” he had hissed, servo trembling around a scalpel “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. It’s a sparkline drawn in graffiti"

You were elbow-deep in a dying technician’s chestplate when Ambulon entered—his silhouette framed in the medbay doorway like a portrait of disapproval wrought in steel. The light behind him cast a stark outline, and for a moment, he looked more like a statue of order than a living medic. Unmoving. Unyielding

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to. The air shifted the moment he arrived—cooling under the weight of his expectations

You didn’t look up. Your hands were too busy, navigating the chaotic ruins of another bot’s insides with the kind of manic grace that only came from far too many near-deaths and not nearly enough sleep. A half-sterilized patch cable coiled in your fingers like a snake you meant to charm

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he said at last, his voice flat—sharp as a sterilized scalpel, but with none of the warmth of intent behind it

You snorted—unapologetic, unbothered

“Neither is most of his internal plating” you replied. “We’re all trespassers today"

Ambulon stepped further in, hands clasped tightly behind his back in a gesture so stiff it looked painful. Like every fiber of his being wanted to intervene, to stop you—but protocol had trapped him in silence. He watched as you worked: the way your fingers moved like they’d never been trained, only tempered; the way you anchored the junction in place with a firm tap of your knuckle

The mech on the table twitched. A spasm. A flicker. The faintest betrayal of life. You beamed like you'd just pulled a rabbit out of a collapsed spark chamber “See? That’s the twitch of life. Textbook success"

“That’s the twitch of residual nerve current from a poorly rerouted interface—”

“Semantics”

Ambulon exhaled through his vents—sharp, audible, like a hiss from a sealed valve being opened just a little too fast “You didn’t sanitize your tools properly. You didn’t even scan him before cutting him open—"

That made you pause. Not in guilt, but in irritation. You turned to face him, optics steady, voice edged with defiance that had been honed by far worse than judgment

“He didn’t have time for a scan” you said “He had five minutes before the energon starvation reached his neural bridge. I gave him six. That’s a net win where I’m from"

Ambulon’s jaw clenched—not visibly, but you could see it in the shift of his plating, the microadjustments of someone trained to hold still even when every part of them wanted to move

He approached slowly, optics darting between your hands, your instruments, the readouts flickering behind you—as though he could still catch the error that would make it all make sense

“Do you even remember his name?”

You blinked “Nope”

You wiped your digiy down your thigh plating, smearing a dark trail of fuel across the silver as casually as a chalkboard scribble “But I remember the position of his spark post-blast, and the way it started to slip into cascade. I remember exactly how to cradle it so it wouldn’t rupture the surrounding. That count for something?”

Ambulon hesitated, lips parted—searching for a definition, a category, a box to put you in “That’s not medicine” he said, voice low, almost lost beneath the hum of the medbay’s ambient monitors “That’s—”

He faltered

Because whatever he wanted to call it, it wasn’t wrong. You tilted your helm, a crooked smile playing faintly across your face “Field instinct. Improvisation. Controlled madness. Take your pick"

There was silence again—dense and hot between you. The only sound was the quiet tick, tick, tick of the life monitor behind you

Still alive

Still working

Ambulon’s shoulders lowered—not in defeat, but in something subtler. Something more human. The drop was minimal, almost imperceptible, yet it was there: a soft, unconscious collapse of posture that spoke of tension long held finally beginning to ebb

“I don’t understand how you do it” he murmured. The sharpness in his voice, once honed like a scalpel, had dulled—not into resignation, but into confusion, like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if what lay before them was the drop or the sky

“You ignore every established procedure. You tear up the blueprint and redraw it mid-operation. You never—never—repeat a process the same way twice"

He wasn’t accusing anymore

He was asking

You took a single step toward him. Measured. Gentle. Not to challenge. Not to provoke. But to meet him halfway. To bridge. Your voice, when it came, was quiet. Not diminished, but deliberate—as though shaped carefully around a truth you’d carried too long to let it shatter now

“Because every bot breaks differently” you said “They fracture in different places. At different angles. For different reasons. And if you treat them all the same—if you paste the same solution over every bleeding wound—you miss the thing that makes them salvageable"

You watched his optics flicker—register, resist “You think healing is math” you continued, your tone somewhere between a confession and a creed “But it’s not. It’s jazz"

Your lips curved faintly—not in mockery, but in reverence “It’s dirty, violent, brilliant jazz. You improvise. You listen. You adapt. You hit the wrong notes and find beauty in the discord. You keep going even when the rhythm fails"

He held your gaze now, steady as iron

“And yet” he said—this time louder, sharper, more certain, as if the weight of his argument was all that kept him grounded— “you treat them like scrap. Like spare parts you glue together with hope and hazard tape. You gamble with lives as if they’re puzzles to be solved, not sparks to be protected"

The words landed heavy in the air. You didn’t react. Not outwardly. You let them settle—allowed the silence to breathe around them

Then you inhaled. Long. Slow. Controlled

“No” you said at last

“I treat them like machines that deserve to keep running. Even when their frames are twisted. Even when their cores are cracked. Even when the files say they’re not worth" Your voice was soft, but it hit like gravity. Steady. Inarguable “Even when every protocol tells me to walk away… I don’t"

The room fell silent, thick with unsaid things. The soft electronic click of the life monitor behind you pulsed like a metronome for a song neither of you were quite ready to finish. You met his optics again—this time without posture, without pretense. There was no fire in your words. No sarcasm. No armor of wit — Only belief

Naked. Raw. Unshakable “Maybe it’s ugly. Maybe it’s not precise. Maybe it’s not what the manuals say it should be"

You glanced at the technician still breathing behind you “But it keeps them alive”

Ambulon didn’t respond immediately

His optics stayed fixed on yours, unblinking—like a mech trying to see through the dark and not entirely sure whether he wanted to find what waited there and then you saw it. The thing he didn’t mean to show – Not anger. Not rejection but fear. The quiet, aching kind that came from understanding—finally understanding—what you were, and what that meant for both of you

“…You scare me” he said at last

The words were barely above a whisper. But in their smallness, they struck with the clarity of truth. You didn’t laugh, didn’t smirk. You only smiled—a small, still thing, steeped in something older than pride and softer than defiance. A smile that didn’t reach your optics, because it came from somewhere far deeper. Somewhere that remembered every loss, every line you’d crossed to keep someone else breathing

“Good” you said quietly “That’s how you know I’m doing it right”

“I still don’t trust you. I still think you’re dangerous.. but maybe, just maybe… you're the first one who’d know how to fix someone like me”

It had been jammed into his frame during a particularly violent triage attempt, back when he was less of a medic and more of a shape that could carry equipment. The others hadn’t known his name. Just his alternate mode. Just what he could turn into. That was all that mattered. Not who he was, not how he processed fear

They’d needed parts? He was spare

Ambulon had never liked improvisation. Improvisation meant danger. It meant desperation. It meant something had already gone terribly wrong and someone, somewhere, was about to pay for it in energon and trauma. Improvisation was not a skill—it was a symptom. A last resort wrapped in false confidence

That night, long after the alarms had quieted and the medbay returned to its usual order, Ambulon found himself standing outside its entrance — The lights in the corridor had dimmed into their late-cycle glow, casting soft amber reflections across the polished floor. Shift change had come and gone. No footsteps echoed through the hall now—only the quiet, ever-present thrum of the Lost Light’s engines, pulsing like a distant heartbeat against the walls

Ambulon stood perfectly still, his posture rigid, his arms tucked behind his back as though formality might hold back the tide of thought rising slowly inside him. He wasn't sure how long he’d been there. Minutes. Cycles. Time felt suspended—like the ship had graciously decided to grant him a pause in motion, in momentum

He stared at the floor

Thinking

He thought of how many times he had been overlooked. How often his worth had been calculated by usefulness—by utility. He thought of the term "spare part”—how it had followed him like a shadow

For all your mess—your irreverence, your recklessness, your maddening improvisations—you treated everything you touched as if it were reclaimable. As if being broken wasn’t a sentence – as if the fragments still meant something

You never said it outright. Never declared it but Ambulon had seen it. In the way you held your hands steady even as your mouth ran wild. In the way you muttered to the dying like they could hear you. In the way you never looked away from the aftermath — not even once — You believed, somehow, in rebuilding. Not because it was efficient. Not because it was clean. But because it was possible and in your eyes, even the worst-off patients weren’t salvage. They were worth it

Every single time

You treated every part—every bot—like they could be rebuilt. Even the broken ones. Even the one that others had left behind

Even him

[margeoww]

Let me be honest here, ‘After All This Time’ should be a series or at least mini series and I’m ready to drop a kidney for it.

PLEASE MAKE IT A SERIES! 😭 Also, love your writing! 🫶🏽

After All This Time

back to my main masterlist.

toto wolff masterlist

Chapter 2

pairing: toto wolff x exwife!reader

summary: Toto reflects on the highs and lows of his 20-year marriage after seeing his ex-wife for the first time in four years. Memories of love, loss, and mistakes resurface, leaving him questioning if reconciliation is still possible.

warnings: themes of emotional conflict, mentions of divorce and strained relationships.

The echoes of their reunion at the gala lingered in Toto’s mind. Sleep had evaded him as the brief conversation played on repeat, unearthing emotions he thought were buried. Seated alone in his office, surrounded by the glow of the city lights, memories flooded back, raw and unrelenting.

The First Meeting

Their story began at a charity event in Vienna. Toto was a young, ambitious entrepreneur, accustomed to being the center of attention. She, on the other hand, was an anomaly in a room of predictable faces. Her laughter, genuine and unguarded, drew him in.

—Do you always observe people as if you’re calculating your next move in chess? —she asked, her smile disarming his ego. Toto was speechless, a rare occurrence.

—Only when someone interesting appears —he replied eventually, and that was the start of everything.

The Early Years

The early days were an adventure. She celebrated his ambition, becoming his anchor amidst the chaos. She was his biggest supporter and his sharpest critic, keeping him grounded while pushing him forward.

They spent evenings walking through Vienna, laughing as though they were the only ones in the world. Their life together was filled with simple yet unforgettable moments—cooking together, debating over who cut vegetables better, or mornings when Toto lingered in bed just to hear her hum while making coffee.

But success came at a price. Formula 1 consumed Toto, demanding every ounce of his time and energy. Promises of quality time were replaced by meetings, races, and endless travel.

—It’s not just that you work too much —she said one night after yet another canceled dinner. —It’s that I don’t know where I stand in your life anymore.

That conversation marked the beginning of the end.

The Anniversary That Changed Everything

The most painful memory was their 20th anniversary. Toto arranged an extravagant dinner, hoping to rekindle what had been lost. But the tension between them was undeniable.

—Do you really think a dinner can fix years of distance? —she asked, her voice heavy with sadness.

That night ended in silence, and Toto realized it wasn’t just about time or work. It was about connection—a connection that had slowly eroded despite the love that still existed.

The Divorce

The separation was agonizing but inevitable. Though neither said it aloud, they both knew the love remained. But sometimes, love alone isn’t enough.

Their last meeting was in the lawyer’s office, signing the divorce papers. —Take care of yourself, Toto —she said before walking out. Those words, filled with affection and finality, haunted him for years.

Back to the Present

Toto exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. Four years had passed since that day, years spent burying himself in work and pretending he was fine.

But now, after seeing her at the gala, the past felt alive again. The way she looked at him—with surprise, nostalgia, and something he couldn’t quite decipher—left him restless.

Could he fix what had been broken? Or was it far too late?

As rain pattered against the window, Toto allowed himself a thought he had avoided for years: hope.

Okey okey, this is my first mini series, and Im so happy for all the support that you guys are giving to me. Thank you thank you. Hope u like it. ❤️‼️

[ecargmura]

A Terrified Teacher At Ghoul School Episode 7 Review - Uniform Power Overcomes All Hurdles

Never underestimate the power of uniforms. For Haruaki, it can make him into something even more terrifying than a youkai. I’m glad Class 2-3 knew about this and even had to use it as a last resort in order to motivate their teacher. The way he climbed that pole, swam through a pond of alligators and even traversed through hellfire because of them was hilarious. I also love how the faculty and the other classes reacted.

This episode also showcases Haruaki as a character. He’s a kind teacher and he will go out of his way for his students like how he suddenly got superhuman strength to throw logs and carry Sano and then feel bad about it to the point of him becoming a slime. Because he’s someone who cares so much for his students, he even does his best to replace Sano as the anchor for the final course of the relay race despite his huge disadvantage of being a human.

Some of the other students got their fair share of screen time. I adored all of Tamao’s screen time with the way he fell into his feline instincts with the log, but when he learned the log was what hurt Sano, he snapped out of temptation and avenged him. My favorite Tamao part was the abrupt art change that even Marshmallow points out. I also liked Yanagida. If you read the manga, Yanagida is one of the craziest characters because of his penchant for chemical reactions. Glad it’s showcased here a bit. He starts getting more screen time after this  arc, so I can’t wait to see anime-only viewers witness the terror that is the cloth youkai. I felt bad for Maeda for getting puked on. Also, Mouse-sensei getting paid in cheese is the most hilarious revelation I’ve learned so far. I also liked all of the Takahashi screen time. He’s everyone’s favorite freaky doctor for a reason.

Also, I do notice the drop in animation quality towards the end where background characters start becoming gray humans. Satelight isn’t really known for producing high quality television series—look at Cherry Magic—and I do get that there are way too many characters in the show, but at least animate the rest of Class 2-3 and not a select few.

Haruaki’s voice actor, Ryota Osaka, needs to be studied for his lung capacity and the strength of his throat. How can he scream like that? Remember that he voiced Gyutaro from Demon Slayer, where he had to produce a croaky, creaky voice. This man truly has range. I honestly can’t wait to hear him voice Tsubaki from Wind Breaker next year. Another standout voice actor is Tomokazu Sugita as Yanagida. While Yanagida didn’t have much screen time, just the fact that Sugitan is in this anime is crazy in itself.

Now that the Sports Day arc is finished, I do wonder what will be shown next. There are 24 episodes, which means a fourth of the episodes have aired so far. Will they show more arcs? What are your thoughts?

[lamaisongaga]

FASHION CREDITS: LADY GAGA BY GRAY SORRENTI FOR ELLE'S FEBRUARY 2025 ISSUE

Lady Gaga is the cover star of Elle magazine's US February 2025 issue and will also cover the UK cover of March 2025.

On the special issues she discusses her upcoming seventh studio album "Mayhem" and her engagement to fiancé Michael.

Photography by Gray Sorrenti, styling by Pau Avia, hair by Akki Shirakawa, makeup by Frankie Boyd and nails by Miho Okawara.

For the cover shot, Gaga is wearing a full look from Valentino's Spring/Summer 2025 "Pavillon des Folies" collection, inspired by the fragility and transience of existence, exploring how beauty serves as both a remedy and revelation—an ephemeral yet profound anchor that brings meaning, solace, and connection amidst life‘s chaos and vulnerability.

Black organza blouse with voluminous ruffles, fully embellished in micro faux pearls, high-waisted tights with trompe l'œil panties.

The high-waisted tech knit shorts are from Fendi‘s Spring/Summer 2025 collection and her bra is the stylist's own.

A subtle yet beautiful accent to this ensemble was given with this divine teardrop pendant diamond necklace which hails from Tiffany &Co.'s Fall 2023 Blue Book: "Out of the Blue". Tiffany is the official sponsor of the jewelry for this editorial so you‘ll see much more with the next looks!

These Valentino VLogo signature lace gloves are made from floral lace and feature a ruffle trim along with the brand's logo as a small metal plaque ($690).

So good to see Gaga tap more and more into Dior again for her latest editorials. Here, she layered two pieces from the Spring/Summer 2025 collection to create a whole new look—metallic silver embroidered bodysuit with peek-a-boo side cut-outs and black silk moiré effect trench coat.

The black chiffon cape, she threw on top, is from Patrick McDowell's Spring/Summer 2025 collection.

A very unusual yet fitting choice of footwear was provided by KNWLS who created these distressed grey leather biker-infused boots for her Spring/Summer 2025 collection.

Intertwined between her fingers and worn as a bracelet, Gaga wore this Tiffany & Co. Lock white-gold necklace  ($1,100) throughout the shoot...

...just like, for several looks, she wore their Elsa Peretti collection Amapola brooch ($1,100), which means "Poppy" in Spanish. It is made of sterling silver and red silk.

One of the more avant-garde and abstract looks is this Issey Miyake "The Beauty of Paper" Spring/Summer 2025 shaded black papyrus column dress with geometrical plissé panels (£1,265), and its matching hooded headpiece.

Drawing inspiration from washi, traditional Japanese paper, the designs embody the ethereal qualities of paper, evoking a sense of lightness and fluidity that is both calming and transformative. As models glided down the runway, it felt as though they were drifting through a dream—a world where the boundaries between fabric and paper beautifully blur.

The brooch, LG embellished her dress with, is the Tiffany & Co  Ribbon Drop brooch from the "Birds on a Pearl" collection in platinum and 18k yellow-gold with a natural saltwater white drop pearl of over 16 carats and diamonds.

Don‘t have to explain how this is my favorite look of the shoot, do I?

Both Gaga‘s oversized and rhinestone-embroidered off-white feather coat...

...and knit skull mask in ivory mohair with trailing silver metal and crystal chain banshee embroidery are from Alexander McQueen's Spring/Summer 2025 runway show, designed by Sean McGirr.

How amazing is it? Guys…has anybody met my Genie yet?

A couple of new labels also made it into this cover shoot! Here, LG lays down in nature while sporting a black leather fishnet dress with asymmetrical cut (£1,160) from ABRA‘s Spring/Summer 2025 collection which drew inspiration from 80s fitness calendars from Abra‘s parent’s‘ restaurant, fishing nets, shopping bags, and Spanish souvenir beach towels.

She added some layer and color by wearing these Falke 50 denier semi-opaque tights (£27) in "Scarlet" both as tights and as a top!

The look was completed with the aforementioned Tiffany & Co. Amapola poppy brooch ($1,100)...

...and a pair of Ann Demeulemeester Spring/Summer 2025 Siver multi-layered O-ring bovine leather biker boots ($1,900) with leather stitching trimside wrap.

It‘s been always a little dream of mine to rock more pieces from the "Dark Lord of Fashion" aka. Rick Owens, so I‘m more than excited to see this Spring/Summer 2025 "Hollywood" collection look appear in the editorial!

Megafrothy Donut top in black silk chiffon ($7.375), semi-sheer patchwork T-shirt (£455) and soccer-inspired Fog boxers ($476).

The distressed porcelain doll-inspired nude tights are from Maison Margiela‘s latest artisanal collection, Spring/Summer 2024. You might remember her tapping into this collection with a whole custom look for her last Vogue editorial past year.

Next, the fashionista wears Balenciaga sunglasses. I highly believe it‘s these Spring/Summer 2025 Bossy AF eastman acetate renew (an acetate alternative partially made of bio-based and recycled content) shades with subtle-yet-not-so-subtle logo detail ($520).

Gaga completed her dark yet sexy ensemble with these Le Silla Uma thigh-high black stretch leather platform boots featuring a pointed toe ($750).

For our last look, Gaga brought something from her own closet. In Elle's video, she stated that ILONA is her designer to watch right now, because her dresses make her feel like a porcelain doll. And this one is definitely no exception!

Also from the designer‘s "Psychosis" collection, the Lotta dress is crafted out of antique ivory French silk velvet and features a pleated tulle trim and velvet-covered buttons.

Another Valentino Spring/Summer 2025 "Pavillon des Folies" pull are her white floral lace tights which perfectly blend in with her matching gloves by La Bagagerie.

Last but not least, she wore the Acne Studios Spring/Summer 2025 croc-embossed leather elongated open-toe pumps in "Chocolate" ($950), which she previously wore in grey!

[mitsuki91]

@hamriceagenda this is for you! You inspired me.

Enjoy my Katniss/Gale for you 💖

@tumblingghosts I tag you too since you reblogged my post!

What remains

Summary:

"They’re not coming back, Katniss."

Peeta? My mother? Snow, or Coin to destroy my life from beyond the grave?

Prim?

"No one's coming back."

Stressing the obvious has always been his prerogative, and my lips curve into a bitter smile.

"But you're staying."

A moment's pause, as the icy wind rattles the bare branches above our heads.

"I'm staying. Like you."

Link on ao3:

Author notes: I can't format on tumblr. This is visually better on ao3.

It happened after the first incident.

Peeta had only been back a month. A month since I had seen him planting primroses for me, him and his sun-flavored smile.

It seemed like a day like any other, me returning from hunting and him tending the garden. The sun at its zenith and Haymitch's geese quacking. Someone had dropped something heavy just down the street and the noise had made both me and Peeta jump with fright.

Suddenly I had his hands on my neck again, his horrified expression inches from my face. Someone screamed, someone ran and snatched him away from me - someone saved me. From Peeta's murderous fury.

And so it happened, exactly one day, two hours and twenty minutes after Peeta tried to kill me a second time.

Gale came back.

***

"I thought you were in Two, immersed in your military career."

"But you needed me, Katniss."

***

Sometimes I wonder what I did wrong to deserve this.

I know my life doesn't belong to me - I knew this from the first moment Prim's name was drawn in the Hunger Games - but I wonder what the point of fighting any longer is. After all, I have fulfilled my function in this world. I have been a Mockingjay, I have been the Girl on Fire, I have been the Face of the Revolution. The last arrow shot, the end of the Games. Why am I not allowed to escape even from myself now? Why am I forced to stay, why am I not allowed to slip over the edge?

Peeta has been taken away.

'Unstable', so Capitol City declared him. How they found out is a mystery - or perhaps one of the many things I don't want to admit even to myself. A suspicion, an unspoken thing, lurking in the shadows behind me.

Because now I am no longer alone.

I am not and - I would like to abandon myself, but I can't. I cannot because he looks at me.

Gale.

And when Gale looks at me, everything about me tenses by instinct - it's the sadness in his eyes. That magnet that is impossible to ignore. A center of gravity that pulls me along, preventing me from drifting.

An anchor.

And I hate him for it, too.

***

"That's not true. I never needed you."

The flash of a smile, cruel.

"My only quality was taking care of your family. And you are what remains."

 ***

The sun burns high in the sky as July sets, even in the early morning.

Gale is with me in the woods, like every day.

In silence, like every day. He can no longer speak of injustice and revolution now - they are no longer imaginary dreams, but lived nightmares.

I ignore him, as I have become good at doing. But he does not give up. He has turned into my shadow.

I just have to not look him in the eye.

The anchor is always there, keeping me clinging to myself even as Peeta's absence burns in my soul. I can always pretend he doesn't exist, though.

If I don't look at him, he doesn't exist. If I don't talk to him, he's not real.

I know he knows it hurts me. I know he knows that what I had with Peeta was real, and that the loss of what we could have been is destroying me to the core.

Killed before I can even taste life.

But Gale is too much like me and uses the same techniques against me.

If his eyes do not let me go, I cannot disappear. If his mouth is sealed, he cannot lose to Peeta.

The world won't change until one of us gives in. And, deep down, we both know it'll be me who surrenders.

***

"We're too similar to make it work, Gale. You know that. I don't need that in my life."

A step forward, one foot crushing a dandelion.

"I won't believe you until you tell me by looking at my face."

***

The beginning of November brings a week of uninterrupted rain and a sudden frost that turns the primrose bed into a muddy, dead mush. 

I feel myself dying a little with it, watching it through the window and feeling helpless.

It is like losing her a second time. Will this torment ever end? 

Gale comes back into the house at that moment with a handful of wood in his arms and does his best to light the fireplace. I close my eyes for a second and inhale deeply, because I know that if I do it now, I won't be able to go back. But the decision is already made. It is only a question of coming to terms with what I want to do - no, what I need to do. To not lose Prim. To never let her go again. 

"Gale" I call softly, in a whisper, and I hear him stand up and turn to me.

I turn as well.

And I stare him straight in the eyes.

Because I know Prim is there. She is the ghost that inhabits those gray irises, consumed by guilt. And if I look into his eyes, I can almost see her.

If I look into his eyes, I already know that I will have to surrender.

Because nothing breaks my heart more than seeing Gale sad, and I know only one viable solution to erase the torment from his soul.

I try to resist, anyway. I enjoy my sister dancing devoured by the fire at the bottom of his eyes, and I postpone the inevitable to a new day.

***

"They’re not coming back, Katniss."

Peeta? My mother? Snow, or Coin to destroy my life from beyond the grave?

Prim?

"No one's coming back."

Stressing the obvious has always been his prerogative, and my lips curve into a bitter smile.

"But you're staying."

A moment's pause, as the icy wind rattles the bare branches above our heads.

"I'm staying. Like you."

***

'A complete separation is necessary for the serenity of the subject' is the last line penned by one of Capitol City's most renowned doctors, in a graceful and elegant handwriting.

I clasp the letter in my hands as snowflakes fall placidly around me. I didn't even go back into the house before I tore open the envelope, I just stood by the mailbox reading.

It was devastating to discover how, despite all the months that had passed, I still had hope. My mind had long since given up; my heart and soul, however, had different ideas.

I return home feeling almost light, drained while everything around me seems unreal.

It is not real. It is not real. It cannot be real because I, because I...

The letter slips through my hands and I advance towards the sofa, where Gale is taking a nap. I watch him for a moment, trapped in that suspended realm where illusion still dominates over reality, and then I realize. Enlightenment hits me.

 I never kissed Gale because I wanted to make him feel good in the past.

I kissed him because if I could become the right girl for him, even for a moment, then it meant I no longer had to be Katniss Everdeen.

I kneel beside him and grab his face. Before he can fully wake up, my lips are already on his. He won't mind coming back to the world like this, I hope.

If by kissing him I can become whoever I want, then that means I can also be the girl who was never in love with Peeta - the girl who never lost him.

***

"You're the one who wanted it."

Both of our breaths are broken, his cheeks are red and his gaze is hard as steel.

"You can't regret it now, Katniss."

***

There is an aspect of fire that I had never considered before. That destructive force that animates us, that ignites us with its desperation, can be channeled in many ways.

It was with Gale that I discovered passion.

Pain is best expressed when you can carve flesh with your nails, then lick the trails of ferruginous blood returning from orgasm. Guilt is best borne when you can at least partially atone for it when it all comes down to an irrational instinct to grab, to have, to suffer - and only the dark bruises remain, which you look at with a satisfied smile the next day.

You no longer feel the guilt of being alive during the day, if in the night you season your nightmares with sex, which seems to erase all sin.

Even Gale seems more relaxed.

There is always Prim in the back of his eyes, dancing on skulls and ashes. But she smiles, for once. She is serene and watches me live with a mysterious smile.

To have Gale is to have her and that I can never give up.

Gale smiles much more often. When we go out hunting together; we don't speak, but sometimes he holds me in his arms and the world thins out around us.

Understanding each other with a glance and without making noise has always been a prerogative of us hunters. We have known each other almost all our lives and, after all, we both live with the same ghosts.

Since I have had the courage to look, everything seems to have fallen into place.

I'm not saying my life is perfect, not this, never this. But Gale is my rock.

And with him, I know I can live one more day.

***

"Where are you going?"

He smiles, amused by the hint of panic in my voice.

"Just to the market, to buy bread."

"I'll go with you. Wait for me."

"As you wish, Katnip ."

[bravadce]

Lennox Laurrier & The

Subtle Art of Influence

Tucked behind a modest booth at the St. Vincent Jewelry Center is a legacy being quietly recut. Lennox Laurrier, armed with a G.I.A. education and an eye for precision, is redefining her family’s custom jewelry business from the bench up by balancing private clients and L.A.’s social circuit with seamless control. This isn’t inheritance, it's her own foundation set stone by stone.

Complex Magazine, July 2025

The name that echoes through Los Angeles high society is the same one humbly displayed above the glass cases on the first floor of the St. Vincent Jewelry Center, the West Coast’s shrine to everything gleaming and precision cut. It blends in among the neighboring booths, but what’s inside sets it unmistakably apart. Vivid stones anchor each display like exclamation points in a sea of frozen starlight, each one caged in carbon. The sight of it commands your attention just as much as the lively man behind the counter does.

Adrian Laurrier doesn’t look like the type to have cut multimillion dollar deals over Kashmir sapphires or spent the last three decades carving masterpieces from raw stone. But looks, like diamonds, can be deceiving. With the sleeves of his shirt hiked past the elbows and a loupe always within reach, he runs the floor with the type of authority you only get from doing something long enough to stop second guessing. Adrian’s work built the Laurrier name into one of quiet power in the Diamond District; commonly recognized for custom pieces that whisper luxury instead of screaming it.

And now, his daughter Lennox is reshaping the legacy.

When I meet her, it’s just past 9 a.m., and the first floor is already flooded with the most experienced hagglers who make buying a competitive sport. She greets her father with a quiet exchange of updates, shorthand talk built from years of working side by side. A couple parcels from Sri Lanka are late. A three-stone emerald engagement ring was casted by a new hire and needs quality control. A long standing client is asking for pear shaped diamonds, “nothing too icy.” She scrolls through vendor emails while sipping an espresso that’s already gone lukewarm, flagging stones that have the potential to meet her standards for color and clarity at first glance. Her G.I.A. certification is an advantage in this world, equipping her with a mastery in the technical that allows her to spot heat treatment within seconds and tell you exactly why the price of gold is dropping or spiking. 

Eventually we step away from the center and into the backroom of their private studio space, a short drive but worlds away from the bustle of St. Vincent. The room smells faintly of metal and lavender polish. The floor's scattered with tool cases, wax molds stacked upon themselves, loupe cloths, and filled sketchbooks scribbled with drawings and barely legible handwriting. A stark contrast to the tools of her workbench that are arranged with a surgical neatness. This is where the dirty work happens, she tells me. She sets a spinel in a platinum claw setting, adjusting the tension with a laser focus, each movement as deliberate as calligraphy.

Sometimes she sketches by hand, other times she works in CAD, building digital prototypes dependent on client and paternal approval to come to life. Her fingers move between appliances without hesitation: ring mandrel, bezel pusher, divider compass. A recent commission is laid out beside her in wax, a grown up take on the friendship bracelets you made at ten but this time with solid gold letter beads encrusted with diamonds. She shows me a tray of colorful melee gems, no bigger than grains of sand, that she’ll be pavé setting into the charms. It’s delicate work, and she loses herself in it. No posing nor performative hustle. Just a quiet obsession with getting it right.

By early afternoon, she’s gone again; off to meet clients behind closed doors. “Privacy’s everything,” she says, slipping on a pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. These aren’t red carpet walk-ins or casual buyers. Some of them are stylists, others private collectors, and a few are names I’d need to redact if this were a legal document. She won’t let me sit in, but I don’t take it personally. In her world, trust is the real currency, and Lennox has it in spades.

At sunset, she’s back home in West Hollywood, trading her bench apron for Cavalli. Her phone buzzes with dinner RSVPs and whispered club openings. She calls it networking, and maybe it is. Because while her family name opened the door, Lennox is shaping a presence all her own, one that exists beyond the showcase lights. A fixture in the city’s social circuit, she’s just as known for her underground art world ties as she is for her ability to source untreated Burmese moonstones.

“I know what this looks like,” she says, smiling, a little sharp. “But this isn’t just partying. It’s how I built this.” She says it like a statement of fact. Like a cut grade, or a carat weight. Something you can measure. Something you can prove.

And when she does open that showroom—rumored to be near Westwood Village, though she won’t confirm—you’ll know it. Not from a press release, but from the way the right people start showing up wearing pieces that don’t need introductions.

[parasavenue]

Commercial Projects In Noida | Paras Avenue

Paras Avenue stands out as a premier commercial project destination in Noida, offering a range of unique features. The ground floor retail spaces offer an impressive 19-foot clear height, complemented by a pedestrian-friendly layout with no vehicular movement.  Its three-side access ensures high visibility, while the wide atrium and beautifully landscaped surroundings by Roha enhance the shopping experience. The exclusive 5-screen multiplex, featuring low-density seating, shares the floor with a vibrant food court. The large frontage, visible from the expressway, and a dedicated drop-off area for retail and multiplex visitors, make it an unmatched high street retail hub. In the rapidly evolving commercial landscape of Noida, Paras Avenue stands out as an outstanding opportunity for businesses and investors alike. As a premier commercial project in Noida. It boasts an advantageous location, remarkable architecture, and a plethora of premium brands already secured. Paras Avenue offers not just a business venue but an investment that promises substantial returns.

The Lease that Brands Swipe Right For One of the most compelling reasons to choose these commercial spaces is the fact that 50% of their retail areas have already been leased out to premium brands. These industry titans recognize the immense worth of the project, even at the pre-construction phase. With decades of industry leadership, the development team behind these spaces continues to attract top-tier brands, creating a promising environment for future success. Their commitment to securing space demonstrates confidence in the project's potential for growth and brand value. When reputable brands invest in a location, it signals that the area is poised for growth and can attract significant consumer interest. If you are looking for such investments then Paras Avenue should be your next big move—where brands, growth, and opportunity come together!

Investing in already leased-out projects like Paras Avenue comes with several advantages. Foremost among these is the immediate cash flow that leased spaces provide, delivering financial stability from the outset. This is particularly beneficial for investors seeking to maximize their returns without the long wait typically associated with new developments. Furthermore, with esteemed brands already committing to the project, investors gain the confidence that their investments are anchored by reputable tenants. The presence of premium brands enhances the overall appeal of Paras Avenue, attracting even more visitors and potential customers. As more consumers flock to the area, the value of the property is likely to increase, ensuring that investors benefit from a growing asset. Get Noticed: Location and Style

The strategic positioning of these commercial spaces enhances their appeal as leading projects in the area. Located near the bustling expressway, they ensure effortless accessibility for both consumers and businesses alike. This prime positioning not only guarantees high visibility but also attracts foot traffic from nearby residential complexes, educational institutions, and corporate hubs. Complementing their location is the exquisite architecture of these developments. The stunning structures are designed to provide a visually captivating environment that elevates the overall shopping experience. With thoughtfully planned spaces and modern design elements, these spaces are not just commercial projects; they are lifestyle destinations. If you're looking for something like this, consider Paras Avenue which embodies these qualities!

Dedication to Timely Delivery and Brand Integrity

At these commercial spaces, the pledge to timely delivery is a cornerstone of the operational philosophy. Investors can rest assured that their interests are entrusted to a company dedicated to maintaining high standards of quality and reliability. This commitment to excellence, combined with an already established brand presence, makes these projects highly attractive options for those looking to invest in the region's commercial real estate. In summary, with advantageous locations, architectural grandeur, and the significant presence of premium brands, these spaces represent exceptional investment opportunities. With two decades of experience in the industry, considering Paras Avenue is beneficial for both investors and businesses seeking a prime location.

[baymarine]

High-Quality Marine Products and Safety Solutions with Bay Marine

Bay Marine is a trusted leader in the marine industry, providing a diverse range of marine, safety, and environmental protection products designed to meet the unique needs of maritime professionals and enthusiasts. With years of expertise and an unwavering commitment to quality, Bay Marine stands out as the go-to supplier in Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and across the UAE for top-notch marine solutions.

Solar Marine Lanterns and Navigation Aids

Illuminate your maritime operations with Bay Marine’s advanced solar marine navigation lanterns and navigation marker buoys. Designed for durability and reliability, these products are ideal for marking navigational routes, enhancing safety, and meeting international standards. Whether you need polyethylene marker buoys, beacons, or steel navigation towers, Bay Marine offers cutting-edge solutions tailored to your requirements.

Key Features:

Solar-powered, eco-friendly navigation lights

Robust construction with weather-resistant materials

Suitable for long-term maritime and offshore use

Polyform A Series Inflatable Buoys and Fenders

Protect your vessels with Polyform A series inflatable buoys and fenders, available in a variety of sizes and designs to accommodate different applications. Bay Marine is the leading supplier of these essential marine accessories in Abu Dhabi and Dubai, ensuring your boats remain safe from potential impacts and abrasions.

Applications:

Mooring and docking protection

Navigational aids for commercial and recreational vessels

Silt Curtains and Turbidity Curtains

For effective sediment control in construction and dredging projects, Bay Marine offers high-quality silt curtains and turbidity curtains. These products come in Type 1, Type 2, and Type 3 options with customizable drop lengths, making them suitable for varying water depths and environmental conditions.

Advantages:

Durable fabrics and secure fittings

Easy installation and maintenance

Accessories such as marker buoys for enhanced visibility

Swimming Demarcation Lines and EVA Fishing Floats

Enhance water safety and operational efficiency with swimming demarcation lines and EVA fishing floats from Bay Marine. These products ensure safe swimming zones and optimized fishing operations, catering to both public and private water areas in Dubai and the UAE.

Product Highlights:

High-visibility materials for enhanced safety

UV-resistant and durable designs

Lifeguard Rescue Equipment

Prioritize safety with Bay Marine’s range of lifeguard rescue tubes, rescue boards, lifebuoy rings, and jackets. Designed for rigorous use, these products are essential for emergency response and water safety management.

Why Choose Bay Marine’s Rescue Equipment?

Ergonomically designed for ease of use

High buoyancy and durability

Compliance with global safety standards

Marine Ropes, Anchor Chains, and Fittings

Bay Marine offers a comprehensive range of marine ropes, anchor chains, and fittings, designed to withstand harsh marine environments. Whether for anchoring, mooring, or towing, our products deliver unmatched performance and longevity.

Available Options:

UV-resistant marine ropes

High-grade steel anchor chains

Customizable fittings for varied applications

Why Choose Bay Marine?

Bay Marine’s commitment to excellence and customer satisfaction ensures that you receive high-quality products and exceptional service. Our extensive product range and technical expertise make us the preferred partner for all your marine needs. Whether it’s navigation aids, safety equipment, or environmental protection solutions, Bay Marine has you covered.

Contact Us

Visit Bay Marine to explore our comprehensive range of marine products and safety solutions. Let us help you navigate the waters safely and efficiently with our industry-leading offerings.

[kedsandtubesocks]

erika erika erika!! i am dropping by with a few things i find pretty bc april is so very pretty to me! 🍞🌻💭🌷☀️🫧✨🌱💗🍓 how are you?? i hope the month is lovely to you 🥺

i also come back with a curious sel question 🤓 a more technical writing one but, what is your anchor point to writing a character like gojo? what part of him do you like exploring and what quality of his stays the same to you across any universe you put him in? 🥺

SEL HI MY APRIL FLOWER 🥹🌻🌼🌸💐🌷💕

Those sweet April vibes are so precious thank you for sharing and for being such a sweet treat!!! April really is such a lovely month and you’re such a great reminder of that bb 🥺💕

I’m still on that post eclipse high so I’m like “THE COSMOS ARE WILD?!” so that’s how I’ve been LOL

Now to your question!!

what is your anchor point to writing a character like gojo? what part of him do you like exploring and what quality of his stays the same to you across any universe you put him in?

But okay… Sel… as the kids like you say, you COOKED with this!?!? 😮‍💨 what an incredible question and thank you for wanting to ask me??? 🥺

Okay! So the parts of Gojo I love exploring are strangely enough his humanity (if this makes sense omg rip) like the way he interacts with others in any universe and how he shoulders his ties and connections with others I think is so interesting to see in different scenarios! His humanity is so unique and tied distinctly to his abilities and who he is as a sorcerer! So then getting to see how that works in different situations & even sometimes when he’s not a sorcerer has been such a great way to just explore his character more (unfortunately) LOL

And to me his most persistent quality that I believe doesn’t change no matter where or when you drop this moron into, is how silly he can be 😔

He’s such a weird guy and has a weird way of interacting with people and he’s such a peak Sagittarius with how he holds his energy and loves to giggle and even be a bit of a pest but it’s out of a way of wanting to connect with people, he’s so SILLY AND I HATE HIM abdudbehGSYSGHS

The silliest of gooses 🫠

But then again, after all the rambling did… maybe I am just as bad of a silly goose 🤡🫠

Also wow do I heckin’ love you so much Sel thank you again for this amazing message 😭💕🦋✨

[marinesupplyonline]

Gear Up Right: Must-Have Marine Supplies and Safety Essentials for Aussie Boaters

If you're heading out on the water, preparation makes all the difference. At The Marine Centre, we help boaties across the country gear up with high-quality products built for Australia’s rugged marine conditions. Whether you're planning a weekend fishing trip or a long-distance cruise, having the right gear on board ensures a safer and more enjoyable time at sea.

We stock a wide range of marine supplies Australia boaters trust. From ropes and anchors to bilge pumps and navigation tools, our products meet Australian standards and deliver long-term performance. No matter your vessel size or experience level, you'll find everything you need under one roof at The Marine Centre.

When it comes to boards, we supply premium fibreglass boards for water sports lovers and marine professionals alike. These boards offer durability, strength, and stability – perfect for the Aussie lifestyle. Whether you're catching waves or working off a boat, our fibreglass boards stand up to salt, sun, and serious action.

Safety on the water is non-negotiable. That's why we offer top-grade marine safety equipment that keeps you and your crew protected. Life jackets, EPIRBs, flares, first aid kits – all of our safety gear complies with marine regulations and gets the tick of approval from seasoned skippers. You should never compromise on marine safety equipment, and with our expert team’s guidance, you won’t have to.

We know boating is more than just a hobby – it's a lifestyle. That’s why our crew at The Marine Centre takes the time to listen and recommend the best fit for your boat, your trip, and your budget. Whether you're shopping for routine maintenance or planning a major upgrade, we’re here to help.

Drop by in-store or browse online and discover the most trusted marine supplies Australia has to offer. Get your boat seaworthy and ready for any adventure.

Source

[cleverhottubmiracle]

The sneaker world has seen its fair share of hype waves and reinventions. But the quiet rise of the laceless Adidas SMII-LS feels refreshingly different. Released with little fanfare—no flashy campaign, no celebrity co-sign—these slip-ons have steadily become one of 2025’s most unexpected breakout hits. Originally built for martial arts, the SMII-LS wasn’t made with streetwear in mind. Yet somehow, its sleek leather silhouette, clean lines, and no-lace simplicity have landed it squarely in the rotation of style-forward men. Minimalist but striking, it’s disrupting the sneaker scene with the calm confidence of something that doesn’t need to shout to be seen. Adidas SMII-LS: A Sleek Step Forward in Sneaker Design Photo: Adidas Shop the Adidas SMII-LS here Unlike the flashier sneakers dominating Instagram drops, the Adidas SMII-LS doesn’t clamor for attention—it earns it. Its appeal lies in the details: a soft full-grain leather upper, subtle three-stripe branding, and, most strikingly, a completely laceless design. The result is a silhouette that feels both futuristic and timeless—effortless to wear, yet undeniably elevated. Originally born from Adidas’s Taekwondo line, the SMII-LS was built for agility and all-day comfort. But this season, it’s stepped far beyond the training mat. The martial arts roots still echo through its lightweight frame and responsive sole, yet its presence now feels right at home on city streets and style mood boards. In many ways, the SMII-LS marks a quiet turning point in sneaker culture—one that values function over flash and embraces a new kind of cool. Why the SMII-LS is Trending Now Photo: Adidas The laceless Adidas SMII-LS sneakers that men are gravitating toward this year speak to a broader shift in style, one anchored in minimalism, ease, and intentional comfort. Slip-on sneakers aren’t exactly new, but what sets the SMII-LS apart is its seamless blend of sport and sophistication. There are no oversized logos vying for attention, no bulky silhouettes throwing off your fit—just one sleek, low-profile form that slips effortlessly into any wardrobe. Even without a high-wattage US celebrity rollout, the sneaker found its way into the fashion spotlight. Thai actor and style icon Bright Vachirawit wore the SMII-LS to Paris Men’s Fashion Week, pairing it with a leather jacket and relaxed jeans. The look quickly went viral, turning the understated sneaker into a quiet flex coveted by stylists and trendsetters alike. Soon after, fashion insiders like Iris Law followed suit, proving that this wasn’t just a niche pick—it was the start of a new wave. A Sneaker Built for the Modern Man Photo: Adidas In today’s fast-paced world, the last thing men want is a sneaker that slows them down—and that’s exactly where the SMII-LS shines. Its laceless construction makes slipping them on feel like second nature, ideal for airport runs, packed workdays, or spontaneous plans. Meanwhile, the smooth leather upper delivers a clean, polished finish without sacrificing comfort. Add in the responsive sole, originally designed for martial arts agility, and every step feels surprisingly light. But what truly elevates the Adidas SMII-LS is its effortless adaptability. Running errands? They’re game. Grabbing brunch? Still flawless. Dressing them up with cuffed trousers and a sharp blazer? They more than hold their own. This quiet versatility is what makes the SMII-LS not just a trend, but a modern wardrobe essential. Styling the SMII-LS: Less Effort, More Impact Photo: Adidas The styling potential of the SMII-LS is impressively versatile. On off-duty days, they pair effortlessly with joggers and a hoodie for a clean, athleisure-forward look. Heading somewhere with a dress code? Swap in tailored trousers and a structured knit polo, and they instantly elevate the outfit without missing a beat. No matter the setting, the SMII-LS adapts with quiet confidence. That chameleon-like quality is exactly what’s making it a favorite among stylists and streetwear insiders. Whether worn sockless in the heat of summer or layered with chunky socks under wool trousers in cooler months, the silhouette brings subtle polish to any ensemble—never loud, always considered. A Quick Look at the Details Photo: @chaos_2021_/Instagram The SMII-LS currently comes in sleek colorways like crisp white with black stripes, all-black, bold hues, and understated neutrals for earth-tone enthusiasts. Priced at $100, it hits that sweet spot between affordability and elevated design, making it a smart, mid-tier investment for anyone seeking quality without the luxury markup. The fit runs slightly narrow, so if you have wider feet, consider going up half a size for optimal comfort. Maintenance is refreshingly simple. A quick wipe with a slightly damp cloth keeps the leather looking sharp, while occasional conditioning and the use of shoe trees can help preserve the shape and extend the life of the sneaker. The Verdict: Is the Adidas SMII-LS the Future? Photo: Adidas Shop the Adidas SMII-LS here If the past few seasons have made anything clear, it’s that sneaker trends are shifting toward simplicity. And in that space, the SMII-LS stands confidently, though quietly. It doesn’t shout for attention. It hasn’t been overhyped. But it is smart, well-designed, and rooted in both utility and style. That balance is precisely what’s allowing it to outpace the more traditional lace-up silhouettes. In a time when sneaker fatigue is real and every new release feels louder than the last, the SMII-LS delivers a welcome reset. For men seeking versatility, ease, and a fashion-forward edge (minus the fuss), this is your cue to step in. Final Thoughts The laceless Adidas SMII-LS sneakers that today’s men are falling for aren’t just another fleeting trend—they signal a deeper shift in how we approach everyday style. With roots in martial arts, a slip-on silhouette that redefines convenience, and a modern, minimal aesthetic, the SMII-LS is set to outlast any hype. So if you’re after that one pair that can take you from quick coffee runs to creative meetings—no laces, no fuss—consider this your sign. Adidas just delivered the answer. Shop similar designs Featured image: Adidas For the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @stylerave Nike Unveils This Year’s Pair Of Air Jordan 12 “Melo” Sneakers !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[norajworld]

The sneaker world has seen its fair share of hype waves and reinventions. But the quiet rise of the laceless Adidas SMII-LS feels refreshingly different. Released with little fanfare—no flashy campaign, no celebrity co-sign—these slip-ons have steadily become one of 2025’s most unexpected breakout hits. Originally built for martial arts, the SMII-LS wasn’t made with streetwear in mind. Yet somehow, its sleek leather silhouette, clean lines, and no-lace simplicity have landed it squarely in the rotation of style-forward men. Minimalist but striking, it’s disrupting the sneaker scene with the calm confidence of something that doesn’t need to shout to be seen. Adidas SMII-LS: A Sleek Step Forward in Sneaker Design Photo: Adidas Shop the Adidas SMII-LS here Unlike the flashier sneakers dominating Instagram drops, the Adidas SMII-LS doesn’t clamor for attention—it earns it. Its appeal lies in the details: a soft full-grain leather upper, subtle three-stripe branding, and, most strikingly, a completely laceless design. The result is a silhouette that feels both futuristic and timeless—effortless to wear, yet undeniably elevated. Originally born from Adidas’s Taekwondo line, the SMII-LS was built for agility and all-day comfort. But this season, it’s stepped far beyond the training mat. The martial arts roots still echo through its lightweight frame and responsive sole, yet its presence now feels right at home on city streets and style mood boards. In many ways, the SMII-LS marks a quiet turning point in sneaker culture—one that values function over flash and embraces a new kind of cool. Why the SMII-LS is Trending Now Photo: Adidas The laceless Adidas SMII-LS sneakers that men are gravitating toward this year speak to a broader shift in style, one anchored in minimalism, ease, and intentional comfort. Slip-on sneakers aren’t exactly new, but what sets the SMII-LS apart is its seamless blend of sport and sophistication. There are no oversized logos vying for attention, no bulky silhouettes throwing off your fit—just one sleek, low-profile form that slips effortlessly into any wardrobe. Even without a high-wattage US celebrity rollout, the sneaker found its way into the fashion spotlight. Thai actor and style icon Bright Vachirawit wore the SMII-LS to Paris Men’s Fashion Week, pairing it with a leather jacket and relaxed jeans. The look quickly went viral, turning the understated sneaker into a quiet flex coveted by stylists and trendsetters alike. Soon after, fashion insiders like Iris Law followed suit, proving that this wasn’t just a niche pick—it was the start of a new wave. A Sneaker Built for the Modern Man Photo: Adidas In today’s fast-paced world, the last thing men want is a sneaker that slows them down—and that’s exactly where the SMII-LS shines. Its laceless construction makes slipping them on feel like second nature, ideal for airport runs, packed workdays, or spontaneous plans. Meanwhile, the smooth leather upper delivers a clean, polished finish without sacrificing comfort. Add in the responsive sole, originally designed for martial arts agility, and every step feels surprisingly light. But what truly elevates the Adidas SMII-LS is its effortless adaptability. Running errands? They’re game. Grabbing brunch? Still flawless. Dressing them up with cuffed trousers and a sharp blazer? They more than hold their own. This quiet versatility is what makes the SMII-LS not just a trend, but a modern wardrobe essential. Styling the SMII-LS: Less Effort, More Impact Photo: Adidas The styling potential of the SMII-LS is impressively versatile. On off-duty days, they pair effortlessly with joggers and a hoodie for a clean, athleisure-forward look. Heading somewhere with a dress code? Swap in tailored trousers and a structured knit polo, and they instantly elevate the outfit without missing a beat. No matter the setting, the SMII-LS adapts with quiet confidence. That chameleon-like quality is exactly what’s making it a favorite among stylists and streetwear insiders. Whether worn sockless in the heat of summer or layered with chunky socks under wool trousers in cooler months, the silhouette brings subtle polish to any ensemble—never loud, always considered. A Quick Look at the Details Photo: @chaos_2021_/Instagram The SMII-LS currently comes in sleek colorways like crisp white with black stripes, all-black, bold hues, and understated neutrals for earth-tone enthusiasts. Priced at $100, it hits that sweet spot between affordability and elevated design, making it a smart, mid-tier investment for anyone seeking quality without the luxury markup. The fit runs slightly narrow, so if you have wider feet, consider going up half a size for optimal comfort. Maintenance is refreshingly simple. A quick wipe with a slightly damp cloth keeps the leather looking sharp, while occasional conditioning and the use of shoe trees can help preserve the shape and extend the life of the sneaker. The Verdict: Is the Adidas SMII-LS the Future? Photo: Adidas Shop the Adidas SMII-LS here If the past few seasons have made anything clear, it’s that sneaker trends are shifting toward simplicity. And in that space, the SMII-LS stands confidently, though quietly. It doesn’t shout for attention. It hasn’t been overhyped. But it is smart, well-designed, and rooted in both utility and style. That balance is precisely what’s allowing it to outpace the more traditional lace-up silhouettes. In a time when sneaker fatigue is real and every new release feels louder than the last, the SMII-LS delivers a welcome reset. For men seeking versatility, ease, and a fashion-forward edge (minus the fuss), this is your cue to step in. Final Thoughts The laceless Adidas SMII-LS sneakers that today’s men are falling for aren’t just another fleeting trend—they signal a deeper shift in how we approach everyday style. With roots in martial arts, a slip-on silhouette that redefines convenience, and a modern, minimal aesthetic, the SMII-LS is set to outlast any hype. So if you’re after that one pair that can take you from quick coffee runs to creative meetings—no laces, no fuss—consider this your sign. Adidas just delivered the answer. Shop similar designs Featured image: Adidas For the latest in fashion, lifestyle, and culture, follow us on Instagram @stylerave Nike Unveils This Year’s Pair Of Air Jordan 12 “Melo” Sneakers !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s) if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments); if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n;n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0'; n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script', ' fbq('init', '496558104568102'); fbq('track', 'PageView'); !function(f,b,e,v,n,t,s)if(f.fbq)return;n=f.fbq=function()n.callMethod? n.callMethod.apply(n,arguments):n.queue.push(arguments);if(!f._fbq)f._fbq=n; n.push=n;n.loaded=!0;n.version='2.0';n.queue=[];t=b.createElement(e);t.async=!0; t.src=v;s=b.getElementsByTagName(e)[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(t,s)(window, document,'script',' fbq('init', '1453079628754066'); fbq('track', "PageView"); Source link

[defencebirdnetseo]

Industrial Bird Net in Ahmedabad – Defence Bird Net

When pigeons and other urban birds infiltrate industrial sites, they leave behind droppings, damage goods, and pose serious hygiene concerns. For factories, warehouses, and infrastructure in Ahmedabad, Defence Bird Net offers industrial-grade bird netting solutions designed to keep facilities clean, safe, and bird-free.

Why Choose Industrial Bird Netting?

Durable Installation: Made from UV-stabilized HDPE or stainless steel mesh, these nets withstand extreme weather without degrading.

Custom Coverage: Tailored nets protect rooftops, loading docks, parking areas, open industrial sheds, and ventilators—where bird access is a risk.

Humane & Permanent: Completely safe for birds, nets provide an unobtrusive long-term solution.

Cleaner, Safer Environments: By preventing bird droppings, industrial netting reduces slips, contamination, and costly cleanup.

What Makes Defence Bird Net Stand Out

Industrial Focus

A specialist in industrial bird netting, Defence Bird Net understands the needs of defence, aeronautics, warehousing, hospitals, and food-processing sectors.

Premium Materials

They use high-grade UV-resistant mesh in black or milky white—ensuring both strength and near-invisibility.

Expert Installation

Options like built-in zips and fully stretched setups allow for easy maintenance and durable coverage.

Proven Track Record

With 2,000+ clients, including high-security sites and industrial clients, Defence Bird Net delivers reliable, maintenance-free avian protection.

Installation Areas in Ahmedabad

Industrial rooftops and side walls

Warehouses and loading zones

Machinery spaces and ventilation shafts

Hospital wings and air-handling units

Defence and aviation installations

Comparative Insight

Other Ahmedabad-based net providers also offer bird-proofing solutions:

Tilva Enterprise: Custom industrial nets, strong UV-resistant material, 1,000+ clients

Feather Guard: Offers traditional and nearly invisible industrial nets, pricing from ₹9–₹29/sq.ft

Safety Net Company / Safetynet / RC Netting Solutions / MR Birdnet: Supply HDPE and nylon nets, spikes, invisible grills—primarily residential & commercial

Why choose Defence Bird Net? They specialize in industrial-grade installations, offer high-security application experience, and combine material quality with advanced installation techniques.

How to Get Started

Site Assessment – Defence Bird Net will survey your premises to design a suitable netting solution.

Material Recommendation – Options include UV-stable HDPE or premium stainless steel / polyethylene blends.

Installation & Maintenance – Clean installation with support for future access via zips or anchored access points.

Head Office: House No. 667, Bridge Ranchorpura, Near Bopal Gam Ambli, Ahmedabad, Gujarat 380058 Phone: +91‑77780 33994 Email: info@defencebirdnet.com

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Strength in Style: Why the Black Stainless Sink Is the Centerpiece of Today’s Kitchen Design

A New Standard in Kitchen Fixtures

Today’s kitchens demand more from every detail. Sinks are no longer chosen as an afterthought — they are now functional design elements that help define the overall space. The black stainless kitchen sink reflects this evolution. With its matte black finish, durable construction, and timeless versatility, this fixture is reshaping what homeowners expect from a sink. It’s not just about utility — it’s about style, performance, and longevity.

1. What Is a Black Stainless Sink and Why Is It So Popular?

The black stainless sink is crafted from high-quality stainless steel and finished with a matte black coating applied through Physical Vapor Deposition (PVD). This industrial-grade process chemically bonds the color to the metal, ensuring long-term durability and surface protection.

It’s growing in popularity due to:

Its resistance to fingerprints, scratches, and water spots

A deep, refined appearance that blends seamlessly with modern design

The ability to serve as both a visual anchor and a practical work area

The result is a sink that performs just as beautifully as it looks.

2. Performance Where It Matters Most

Functionality is non-negotiable in any high-use kitchen. The black stainless kitchen sink is designed with durability at its core. It handles daily tasks with ease — accommodating heavy cookware, resisting heat from boiling water, and enduring frequent cleaning.

Performance advantages include:

Low-maintenance upkeep thanks to its smudge-resistant finish

Thick-gauge steel for a solid, premium feel

Sound-reducing undercoating that minimizes noise from running water or dropped items

It’s a design investment that makes everyday tasks more efficient and enjoyable.

3. A Flexible Finish: Black and Stainless Steel Sink Styling

The black and stainless steel sink combination is an ideal choice for homeowners who want versatility without sacrificing style. Whether you’re incorporating stainless appliances, matte hardware, or wood textures, this finish brings balance and contrast to a space.

This combination works well in:

Modern kitchens with minimalistic layouts

Transitional interiors mixing classic and contemporary elements

Open-plan spaces that require visual cohesion between materials

With its ability to adapt to evolving trends, the black and stainless steel sink is a future-proof design decision.

4. What to Look for When Buying a Black Stainless Kitchen Sink

While the finish may appear similar across models, quality varies significantly. Lower-cost versions often use painted finishes that peel or fade. A high-quality black stainless kitchen sink should include:

PVD-coated matte black finish — not surface paint

16- or 18-gauge stainless steel construction

Reinforced insulation and undercoating for sound control

Anti-condensation treatment on the exterior to prevent moisture issues

Choosing a well-constructed sink ensures performance that matches its bold presence.

5. Why the Black Stainless Sink Is a Smart Long-Term Upgrade

A great sink does more than serve a function — it sets a tone for the entire kitchen. The black stainless sink offers a rare combination of low maintenance, visual appeal, and everyday strength. Over time, its ability to maintain a clean, professional look without constant effort saves both time and frustration.

Key long-term benefits:

Increased resale appeal due to modern finishes

Reliable performance in busy households

Compatibility with a wide range of countertop and cabinet materials

It’s a design upgrade that supports real life — without compromising style.

A Sink That Does More Than Blend In

The black stainless kitchen sink represents a shift toward smarter, more thoughtful kitchen design. It’s a bold statement, a practical solution, and a lasting investment in one of the most-used areas of your home. For homeowners who want more from their kitchen — more style, more resilience, more value — the black stainless sink is the clear choice.