#security screens for windows

[harlequinblinds]

Where are security screens in Sunshine Coast installed?

Picture this: Sunshine Coast living, where the sea breeze dances through your home, and the sun casts its warm glow. Now, add an extra layer of security without sacrificing the coastal charm – that's where security screens in Sunshine Coast come into play. Let's explore the diverse spots where these protective screens seamlessly blend with the laid-back lifestyle.

Windows Shield: Embracing the panoramic views the Sunshine Coast offers often involves expansive windows. Security screens become the invisible shield, allowing you to keep those windows open, relishing the view while keeping worries about intruders at bay.

Balcony Bodyguards: Balconies are your personal front-row seats to the Sunshine Coast's scenic wonders. Security screens transform into loyal guards, providing a barrier against unwanted guests without obstructing the view of those breathtaking sunsets.

Sliding Door Safeguards: Sliding doors are like portals to the outdoors, and security screens stand as vigilant sentinels for these access points. Enjoy the seamless transition between indoor and outdoor living, knowing that your security isn't compromised.

Alfresco Armor: The allure of alfresco living on the Sunshine Coast is irresistible. Security screens extend their protective reach to patios and outdoor living spaces, allowing you to bask in the coastal ambiance without worrying about uninvited guests.

Entrance Assurance: The front door sets the tone for your home, and security screens make sure it's a secure and welcoming entrance. They add an extra layer of protection without sacrificing the open and inviting feel that epitomizes Sunshine Coast living.

Custom Nooks and Crannies: The versatility of security screens knows no bounds. From unconventional entry points to custom-designed spaces, these screens adapt to the unique layout of your Sunshine Coast abode, ensuring comprehensive security.

Bedroom Safety Blanket: Your bedroom is your sanctuary, and security screens in Sunshine Coast offer a safety blanket. Sleep soundly, knowing that these screens stand guard, allowing you to enjoy the coastal dreams without worries.

In the tapestry of Sunshine Coast living, security screens are the subtle threads that weave protection seamlessly into the fabric of your home. From windows to balconies and beyond, they're the guardians that let you savor the coastal lifestyle with peace of mind.

[paxtonvaldovinos]

Smart Home Solutions at Palm Beach Audio Visions

At Palm Beach Audio Visions (PBAV), we are passionate about delivering exceptional audio visual, home automation, lighting, and technology integration solutions for residential and commercial projects. From the initial concept to the final system deployment, we are dedicated to ensuring that projects are completed on time and within budget while exceeding industry standards for quality. Our team of experienced professionals brings a wealth of expertise in the high-end market and a strong focus on building lasting relationships with our clients. Feel free to visit us!

[keitheaverage]

Being a petsitter has definitely put me into some situations. Like today I couldn't get a cat to come out of his patio by calling, corralling, or picking him up (he's a new client so he's not yet fond enough of me to let me get too close for too long) so I had to put some treats outside the door and hid behind a couch for a half hour, waiting until he finally got out so I could properly lock up the house.

[neighbour-art]

The Relevance of Home Security: Securing Your Enjoyed Ones and Your Home

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Residence safety and security is an important aspect of modern-day living. With the increase of crime prices in several locations, it is vital to take procedures to protect your liked ones and your building. Mounting a residence protection system is just one of one of the most reliable ways to accomplish this. A great system will inform you as well as the authorities in instance of a burglary, making it feasible to catch the burglar as well as prevent more damage to your residential property. It can likewise serve as a deterrent to potential burglars, making your house much less of a target.There are lots of

kinds of home protection systems readily available, from basic door and home window alarm systems to extra advanced systems that consist of surveillance electronic cameras as well as activity sensors. You can pick the level of protection that best suits your requirements and also budget. It is likewise important to take various other steps to boost your house safety and security, such as installing strong doors and locks, cutting back bushes or trees that can offer cover for trespassers, and also maintaining prized possessions unseen. By taking these steps, you can help make sure that your home is a risk-free place for you and also your family members.

Read more here window screen

[ryanthedemiboy]

We are on the land where wild animals once were. This is their habitat. They deserve to have their habitat.

There was a rattlesnake in my back yard with a cat that's not mine playing with it tonight. Fuck rattlesnakes.

[grandviewwindows01]

Energy-Efficient Double Glazed Windows in Adelaide

Are you looking for high-quality double glazed windows in Adelaide? Grandview Windows offers premium solutions that enhance energy efficiency, comfort, and style for homes and businesses. As trusted window specialists, they provide double glazed windows tailored to suit Adelaide’s climate and your specific needs.

[wanderinghedgehog]

The sky is angry

[northwestofinsanity]

These professors and their PowerPoints with embedded videos and massive graphic size, man... (This one wasn't even close to the file size of the one I had last week, and it still caused trouble)

[hari-100]

Affordable PVC Folding Door Solutions for Homes and Offices in Hyderabad

Welcome to Hanuman Screens, your go to destination for top quality PVC folding door manufacturers in Hyderabad! Whether you're looking to maximize space, add a modern touch, or simply enhance the functionality of your home or office, our PVC folding doors are the perfect solution. Let’s dive into what makes these doors a fantastic choice and how our pvc folding door services in hyderabad can help you achieve your interior design goals.

Why Choose PVC Folding Doors?

PVC folding door dealers in hyderabad are gaining popularity for several reasons. They offer a blend of practicality, durability, and aesthetic appeal that is hard to match. Here are some key benefits

Space Saving Design: Traditional doors swing open and require a significant amount of space. In contrast, PVC folding doors neatly fold away, making them ideal for areas where space is at a premium.

Versatility: These doors are incredibly versatile. They can be used in homes, offices, retail stores, and other commercial Places. Whether you need a partition for a large room or a sleek door for a small closet, PVC partition folding door manufacturers in Hyderabad are suitable.

Durability: PVC is a Strong material that can withstand daily wear and tear. It's resistant to moisture, making these doors perfect for bathrooms, kitchens, and other humid environments.

Easy Maintenance: Unlike wooden doors that might require regular polishing and care, PVC doors are low maintenance. A simple wipe with a damp cloth keeps them looking as good as new.

Our PVC Folding Door Services in Hyderabad

At Hanuman Screens, we offer a comprehensive range of PVC folding door services in Hyderabad to meet your specific needs. Here’s what you can expect when you choose us:

Custom Design: We understand that every space is unique. Our team works closely with you to design PVC folding doors that perfectly match your requirements. From choosing the right color and finish to determining the ideal size, we ensure that every detail is tailored to your taste and also choose the right PVC partition folding door manufacturers in Hyderabad

Professional Installation: Proper installation is crucial for the longevity and functionality of PVC folding doors. Our  experienced technicians handle the installation process with precision and care, ensuring a perfect fit and smooth operation. As leading PVC folding door installation services in Hyderabad, we guarantee top notch results.

Repair and Maintenance: Although PVC folding doors are durable, occasional maintenance might be needed to keep them in top condition. We offer repair and maintenance services to address any issues and extend the lifespan of your doors.

Affordable Pricing: Quality doesn’t have to come at a high price. We offer low pricing for our services so you get great value for your money. We also offer free consultations and quotes to help you plan your project without any hidden costs.

Customer Support: Your satisfaction is our priority. From the initial consultation to after-sales support, our team is dedicated to providing you with a seamless experience. We are always here to resolve any issues you may have and to answer your inquiries.

For what reason do Hanuman screens exist?

Choosing Hanuman Screens means opting for quality, reliability, and exceptional service. Here’s why we stand out:

Expertise: We provide a lot of knowledge and skill to every project because of our years of experience in the field. Our team stays updated with the latest trends and technologies to provide you with the best solutions. We are among the leading PVC folding door manufacturers in Hyderabad.

Quality Materials: We use only high-quality PVC materials to ensure that your folding doors are durable and long lasting. Our doors are designed to withstand daily use and maintain their appearance over time. We are recognized as one of the top PVC folding door suppliers in Hyderabad.

Customer Centric Approach: We cherish our clients and work hard to go above and beyond their expectations. Our personalized approach ensures that your specific needs are met with professionalism and care. Whether you need PVC folding door services, PVC folding sliding doors and waterproof PVC partition folding doors in Hyderabad, we have you covered.

Get Started Today!

Ready to transform your space with stylish and functional PVC folding doors? For a free consultation and price, get in touch with Hanuman Screens right now. Let us help you create the perfect interior with our top notch PVC folding door services in Hyderabad. Your satisfaction is guaranteed!

For more information please contact.www.hanumanscreens.com 

[rrs1188]

[doubleglazingvic]

5 Reasons Why Security Screens for Windows by Double Glazing Melbourne Are Essential for Your Home

In today's world, ensuring the safety and security of your home is paramount. One effective way to achieve this is by installing security screens for windows. When it comes to reliability and quality, Double Glazing Melbourne stands out as a trusted provider. Here are five compelling reasons why investing in security screens from Double Glazing Melbourne is crucial for your home:

Enhanced Protection: Security screens act as a robust barrier against intruders, deterring potential break-ins and burglaries. Double Glazing Melbourne's screens are built with high-quality materials and cutting-edge technology, providing an extra layer of security for your windows.

Durable Construction: Double Glazing Melbourne's security screens are designed to withstand harsh weather conditions and resist tampering. Crafted from sturdy materials such as reinforced steel or aluminum, these screens offer long-lasting durability without compromising on aesthetics.

Improved Safety: Apart from keeping intruders out, security screens also play a crucial role in safeguarding your family against accidents. They prevent children or pets from accidentally falling out of windows while still allowing fresh air and natural light to enter your home.

Enhanced Privacy: With Double Glazing Melbourne's security screens, you can enjoy peace of mind knowing that your privacy is protected. These screens are designed to shield your interiors from prying eyes without obstructing your view of the outside world.

Energy Efficiency: In addition to security and safety benefits, Double Glazing Melbourne's security screens also contribute to energy efficiency. By providing an extra barrier against heat transfer, these screens help regulate indoor temperatures, leading to reduced energy consumption and lower utility bills.

Investing in security screens for windows by Double Glazing Melbourne is a smart decision that offers a wide range of benefits for your home. From enhanced protection and durability to improved safety and energy efficiency, these screens provide comprehensive solutions to meet your security needs.

For More Information

Website : https://doubleglazingmelbourne.com/fly-security-screens/

Email ID : sales@doubleglazingmelbourne.com

Phone Number : 03 9002 0137

[paxtonvaldovinos]

Enhance Your Home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

In the era of smart homes, window treatments have evolved far beyond traditional curtains and blinds. Lutron, a leader in smart home technology, offers a revolutionary solution with its Smart Window Electric Shades. These innovative shades combine advanced technology, elegant design, and user-friendly features to provide unparalleled convenience and comfort. In this blog, we’ll explore the benefits of Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, how they work, and why they are a perfect addition to any modern home.

What Are Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades?

Automated window coverings, Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, can be operated from a distance via voice commands, a tablet, or a smartphone. Thanks to the quiet and effective motors that drive these shades, smooth and accurate adjustments are possible. Lutron shades, which come in various designs, materials, and hues, may blend in with any interior design while offering practical advantages like light control, privacy, and energy efficiency.

Benefits of Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

Convenience and Control: With Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, you can easily control the amount of natural light entering your home. Using the Lutron app, you can raise, lower, or adjust your shades with a simple tap on your smartphone or tablet. Additionally, these shades can be integrated with voice assistants like Amazon Alexa, Google Assistant, and Apple HomeKit, allowing you to control them using voice commands.

Energy Efficiency: Lutron shades can significantly enhance your home’s energy efficiency. They automatically adjust based on the time of day and help regulate indoor temperatures. During the summer, the shades can be lowered to block out heat, reducing the need for air conditioning. In the winter, they can let in natural sunlight, helping warm your home and reduce heating costs.

Enhanced Privacy and Security: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades offer increased privacy and security. You can schedule the shades to close at specific times, ensuring your home remains private, especially during the evening. Additionally, while you’re away, you can program your shades to open and close at different times to give the appearance that someone is home, deterring potential intruders.

Aesthetic Appeal: With many different materials, colors, and patterns, you may personalize these shades to complement your interior decor perfectly. Lutron offers solutions that can improve the visual appeal of any room, whether you prefer the sleek appearance of roller shades or the elegance of draperies.

Smart Integration: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades integrate seamlessly with other smart home systems. This means you can create custom scenes that involve multiple smart devices. For example, you can create a “Movie Night” scene where the shades are lower, the lights dim, and your home theater system is turned on, all with a single command.

How Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades Work

Lutron shades operate using advanced motorized technology that ensures smooth and quiet operation. Here’s a brief overview of how they work:

Installation: Professional installation is recommended for Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades to ensure they are correctly fitted and integrated with your home’s electrical system. A certified installer will measure your windows, help you choose the right shades, and set up the system.

Control: Once installed, you can control the shades using the Lutron app, a wall-mounted keypad, or voice commands. The app allows you to set schedules, create scenes, and easily adjust individual shades or groups of shades.

Automation: Lutron shades can be programmed to operate automatically based on your preferences. You can set them to open in the morning to let in natural light and close in the evening for privacy. To maximize energy efficiency, sensors can also change the shades according to how much sunshine enters the space.

Why Choose Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades?

Lutron has pioneered smart home technology for decades and is known for its high-quality products and innovative solutions. Choosing Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades means investing in a reliable, durable, and stylish solution for your home. These shades enhance your comfort and convenience and add value to your property.

Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades are a fantastic addition to any home, offering a blend of modern technology and elegant design. With benefits ranging from improved energy efficiency to enhanced privacy and seamless integration with other smart devices, these shades provide a comprehensive solution for today’s smart home needs. Transform your home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades from Palm Beach Audio Visions! Experience unmatched convenience, energy efficiency, and elegant design. Control your shades with ease using your smartphone or voice commands. Schedule your consultation today and elevate your living space with cutting-edge bright window solutions!

[phantomrose96]

God's Favorite

Lucy wakes to the soft tapping of rain against her window, and she is God’s favorite. She knows this in the absent sound of her alarm, and she knows this in the yawning rumbles of thunder, and she knows this before she touches her phone alight to the notification screen.

8:43 am. Far from the 4:30 am alarm she’d needed to heed to make it to her flight. Her screen is awash with airline notifications.

She scrambles from bed. Her urgency is an apology. Lucy skips the shower and skips the hair washing and paints on deodorant before stowing it back in her carryon and calling her uber.

“Crazy weather,” her driver with the big mustache remarks. His windshield wipers swish through a river of rain.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers. She glances at her rumbling phone. She glances at the rumbling clouds. The road is clear. It shouldn’t be, not this route and not at this hour. A gas main broke somewhere up the highway that feeds this street. A freak accident. 2 injuries. It’s kept this road clear for just the locals since it happened. Lucy encounters no traffic enroute to the airport.

There are pockets of planes grounded across the runways, barely visible behind the sheets of downpour. They look like herding animals, herbivores, standing stock-still in brace against the weather. Lucy stares at them only a moment while the driver pulls her carryon out of the trunk. She grabs her jacket closed against the wind, and grabs her carryon handle, and thanks her driver. The rain does not reach her here, though the wind does.

Inside Lucy drags her bag past the help desks swarming with the orderly filings of people in disarray. Parents leaning too hard on help counters with kids pulling on bag handles. Hurried conversations and requests and arguments. The electronic boards are awash with deeply red DELAYED and CANCELED. The airport is choking. Lucy, who God loves, glides through security unimpeded.

At gate-side, Lucy finally looks to the large red board of DELAYED and CANCELED etchings to confirm what she knew without even checking her phone notifications. Gate A14. Her carryon wheels pitter and patter across tile as she walks, striding quickly, with apology.

When Gate A14 comes into view it is smothered with the weight of two or possibly three flights worth of people. There are people asleep clutching backpacks and curled on the floor. There is a four-year-old girl with her face buried in an iPad and a mother having a phone call whose clipped urgency infects Lucy. There is a man leaning over the counter to talk to the gate agent, and his hands pulse with each tensing of his fingers. “…to the hospital before she…” Lucy makes out, or thinks she makes out. She doesn’t hear the gate agent’s response, but she can read the defeated shake of her head.

Lucy’s carryon wheels clunk where the smooth tile of the terminal shifts to carpeting. She doesn’t think to grab a seat because there are no open seats. So she positions herself in a way to unmistakably say she is at the gate, threading between stagnant suitcases and kids splayed on the floor. Lucy approaches the rain-splattered windows, and like a conversation shy upon being overheard, the thunder recedes from her advance. The rain draws to a polite close. The clouds split along a seam and pull away, as if they were only ever a wave that had transiently crashed to shore. The sky is beautifully blue.

There is a stirring hopefulness in the air. Other passengers have pushed past Lucy to stand closer to the window and peer outside, as if their confirmation of the changing weather can convince the airline of what to do next.

The gate agent puts down the phone receiver of a one-sided call. She pulls the microphone close and with grainy clarity she announces, “Boarding for Flight A1874 to Detroit will begin in 10 minutes.”

On the walkway, through the gap between the throughway and plane, Lucy sees the puddles rising with steam. They throw the iridescent spectrum of a rainbow up into the sky.

In a backlog of hundreds of flights, Lucy’s is the first out across the runway. This is because God loves her. She only wishes It loved her in a way to fix her broken phone alarm.

…

In childhood Lucy had heard “God loves you” and “Jesus loves you” in the placative ways that Sunday School teaches its children. With jingles and crayon-drawings of sheep and shepherds and a decorated ornament, crafted each Christmas Eve.

Lucy had long since fallen out of it and had thought very little of her parents’ tepid god for the last 10 or 15 years.

It was last spring, 27-years-old, that Lucy had found her way out into the marsh. Mud sucking her boots and gnats plicking in swarm against her skin. Where she sat her tailbone in the muck and folded her arms over her knees and buried her face in her legs to cry. And cry. And cry. And there with the mugginess sopping her skin and the humidity coiling her hair, God decided It loved her.

It loved her with a parting of canopy for the robin-blue sky. It loved her with the chirp of cicadas. It loved her in the way a dog circles its owner and nudges a wet snout to palm, because It was here, and It would make her feel better.

Lucy’s seat is the window seat beside the man with the tensing fingers. He fiddles with a phone in his clutch until he locks it in airplane mode and stows it, to look at no more. Lucy wonders who this man knows in the hospital, and she wonders why God doesn’t love him more than It loves her.

…

In March, Marco breaks up with her over a plate of fish that is too dry. In the moment, Lucy wonders if it’s her fault, because of the fish. But that’s not it. The signs were there, in all the subtle and stuttering moments Marco had pulled away. Each little moment like a slightly missed step, on a staircase growing ricketier each month.

Marco leaves and everything is so quiet, to the point that Lucy thinks her own sounds are pretty stupid, and pretty embarrassing while she’s coiled snail-like and snottily-sobbing into her pillowcase. She thinks absently of how she has to wash the pillowcase now, and that’s fine, because she was going to wash her linens this weekend anyway. She sobs so hard she’s almost screaming. Oh, and kitchen towels. She’ll wash the kitchen towels too.

She’s alive enough the next morning to throw all her linens and her kitchen towels on the floor of the laundry room. And maybe Marco breaking up with her is fine, because his birthday is December 25th and who wants a husband whose birthday is the same day as Christmas?

Her doorbell rings. And somehow it’s Marco again. She opens it to him, and he smells like a wildfire.

“Sorry, Lucy, this is awkward,” and Lucy believes he means it. He’s clutching a jacket around himself for what looks like security more than warmth. His apartment burned down last night. A resident fell asleep with a cigarette lit and dangling from her fingertips. Unit right below him. All his stuff burned, or filled with smoke, or is now logged up with water. He’s been sitting outside on the cobblestone for the last few hours, watching the blaze, on the phone with insurance. His landlord hasn’t responded to him yet. He’s cold, and he’s smokey, and can he shower here maybe? Can he stay for just a day or two, maybe? Sorry. This is awkward. He has no family on this coast. He really has nowhere else to go.

“Sure.” Lucy lets in Marco who smells like a wildfire. She adds the towels to her laundry list because they will smell like a wildfire too once Marco has used them. When he is clean, Lucy asks him nice questions. He asks her nice questions back. She helps him figure out something strange on the insurance form. He starts cooking dinner before Lucy realizes he’d entered the kitchen, because she was busy with the linens and the towels.

Marco takes the couch and clean linens. “Thanks, again, really. I can pay you a few days rent, when I get the insurance payout.” It’s no problem. Lucy goes to her room and shuts the door. It’s warmer here with Marco again. She wonders how long he’ll stay. She wonders if it will be for as long as she thinks the sound of him breathing in the other room is a comfort.

Something twists in Lucy’s chest. She wonders why God loves her more than It loves Marco. Lucy wonders why God didn’t love the woman with the lit cigarette who did not make it out of the building.

…

In June Lucy is desperately throwing together the haphazard makings of a financial report. She meant to stay up late to finish it, and get up early to make it beautiful, but she’s had a cold for a whole week now and the new bottle of decongestant she grabbed wasn’t “non-drowsy” like she thought.

Her heart is beating, and she nearly twists her ankle with a misstep in high heels, and she almost loses her grip on the shoddy makings of a too-light financial report still warm from the printer. She can spin it, maybe, that it’s intentionally light and she’d simply wanted the esteemed and respected input from the executives in the room before she produces the truly polished report this evening. And when the eyebrows are raised and she is told the report is due now, maybe they will refrain from firing her on the spot since she is still the only one who can produce the report they need.

She pulls open the meeting room door as if she is not out of breath, as if her nose isn’t red from a thousand tissues. She takes her seat so hastily that she does not notice, until she looks up properly, and sees the CEO’s seat is empty.

No one speaks. No one acknowledges her entrance. Lucy hugs the warm binder to her chest.

The door latch clicks open, but Lucy knows it will not be the CEO. She heard the click of heels before the doorknob turned.

It’s his assistant with the lovely auburn hair that curls around her shoulders. Her suit is red and her eyes are red and she stands just behind the CEO’s chair. Everyone notices her in the way they did not notice Lucy.

She speaks. The CEO’s wife and daughter were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver 42 minutes ago. They’re in critical condition, and the CEO has gone to be with them. He asks everyone’s forgiveness and grace in this time. The meeting is rescheduled for tomorrow, same time, and he humbly requests if everyone in attendance can adjust their calendar to accommodate this. This is a big ask, he knows. The board will have questions, he knows. But these are extenuating circumstances. The assistant will help with any necessary reworking of everyone’s calendars. And Lucy, can you please deliver the report tomorrow? The assistant has a sympathy card, which she lays on the table along with a black pen, and she asks if anyone would care to sign it.

Lucy signs it. The card paper is so cold, compared to the warmth of the half-finished report squeezed tight against her chest. The half-finished report should have cooled by now, but God must know she’s cold and ashen-faced, and God loves her so much.

…

In July, Lucy is a perfectionist. Her mother swears she wasn’t always like this. Her high school best friend is surprised, when in town for a weekend and meeting up for coffee, by the way Lucy triple-confirms the time, and the place, and the way she wears two watches. Why two watches? he asks. Because the alarm on one watch might fail. What about your phone? The watches are the backup, if the phone dies.

There’s something off-putting in the way she talks, and the way she asks questions of him, and the way she exclaims in joy at every piece of good news he shares. Josiah glances behind himself, more and more, and it’s because Lucy stares back there like she knows someone else at the next table.

It’s all weird, and Josiah can’t help but pull away. But Lucy pulls away first, retroactively. She can always pull away retroactively, and declare to her four walls of her room how much she didn’t need that friend, like she doesn’t need Marco, or anyone else who God may drop at her doorstep like the dead bird bounty of a cat, happy to share with the person It loves.

Lucy finishes her reports early. She wiles away the sun at her office even in the summer finishing reports far before anyone could need them. She double-checks, every time. She triple-checks. Her boss pulls her into a meeting room and with hands folded on the desk, he asks if maybe she needs to take some time off. And instantly she declares to the four walls that no-one at the company is doing this to her. “I wasn’t implying that…” but she’s not looking at him when he answers.

In July Lucy returns to the marsh. She returns with stones she’s horded up and gathered in the trunk of her car. She walks through the boot-suckling mud and she weighs stones in her arms while she hurls them, and throws, and screams, and hopes one of them might strike God in Its snout.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. She throws all her weight into a stone whose sharp edge nicks bark. She hurls one through the bushes and another into the leafy canopy above. She is sopping wet and the cicadas chirp at her. “I HATE YOU!! GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” She chucks a stone which lands in the sucking muck, capsizing like a ship beneath the algae.

She throws, and her gravity heaves forward, and her boots stay stuck in the mud. So she topples elbow-deep in the mud, spattered, soaking into her chin and her shirt and her jeans and her hair. She parts her lips and tastes the earthy wetness on her skin, coppery blood, split lip. The stones are all under her. She laughs. Lucy tilts her head to the sky screaming with laughter. Joyous to tears, with the wetness drawing rivulets down the mud on her cheeks. She laughs because sopping-in-mud-and-muck is NOT the state of something God loves. This wouldn’t happen to something God loves.

Lucy goes home. Lucy showers. Lucy does her laundry. And It crawls back into bed with her. Perhaps like a scolded animal, but perhaps It did not even know It was being scolded. Lucy cannot tell.

The wine stains came out of her linens today because God loves her.

[mattscornerblinds]

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[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.