#also the adidas logo

[sincaraz]

nooo maria don’t get broken in the first game of the match your so sexy ahah

#this is not a preventative post btw she already did #i do like the simple kit it’s a good look #nothing inventive but a good black and white staple #ALSO i just relaited the adidas logo is a cutout that’s fun I like that #rambles

[littlechillis]

#who needs a mannequin when you have kt #the cannon is SO pretty #also the shiny adidas logo embroidery??? #thanks for the details kt 😚 #kieran tierney #arsenal #arsenal fc

[domesticateddog]

#forgot i could do a poll. again to summarize: i love dark teal it’s my favorite color but this is more green and i hate the lime yellow logo #the light blue is very cute tho. also i already have black and white adidas slides if that makes a difference

[girlbossagenda]

How to be pretty on a lazy day

The way you dress and present yourself plays a huge role on how you perceive yourself and how others perceive you, it can also help you gain pretty privilege, but what if you are late for school or you're...just lazy? Maybe it's cold outside or you're in a tired mood. Today I'm gonna talk about staple pieces that can't be missed in a girly girl wardrobe.

୨୧track suits୨୧

Never really used them, but if they are the right color they can be BOMB, you just need to know for which style you're going for, if you are more for the street wear I suggest you to get a full pink track suit or a brown one, you can also get some with very cool logos, this to get an idea:

If you want to try something not so pink, you can change the color of your pants, wear suits with other colors but still a very feminine design or wear neon pants and a more neutral hoodie, the choice it's up to you!

Of you are more into y2k or the 90s, I suggest you to wear those velvet track suits or vintage adidas track suits!

୨୧Flare leggings୨୧

This has been rising in popularity, but low rise flare leggings can certainly highlight your look for a lazy day! It's going to make you look more clean, active and flamboyant!

୨୧Flower dresses/dresses in general୨୧

They're very feminine, and I suggest you that for shorted dresses you try to use a more flowy type and maybe a floral one too and for long dresses to keep it plain and simple, they can give a very mature and composed vibe.

୨୧Long skirts୨୧

This is similar to long dresses, but you can customize them more!

୨୧Uggs/cozy boots୨୧

They are easy to put and pull out and very comftable and match everything listed her by far.

Hiii bonitas, did you enjoy today's post? I sure did, I know a lot of you are fashionista, and I love fashion too so why not talking about it?this is the first part of another mini series, see you soon xoxo gorgeous.

-𝓐

#girlblogging #girly tumblr #it girl #hyper feminine #just girly things #just girly posts #dream girl #pink text #self care #self love #fashion #girly tips #beauty affirmations #beauty tips #beauty diary #goddess sorority #goddess tips avenue #aesthetic #girly aesthetic #coquette #lookbook #justgirlsbeinggirls #pretty privilege #fashion blog #ootd #jennifer body #megan fox #jennifer check #divine feminine #goddess energy

[charles-leclerizz]

EPISODE 01 : Start your engine

🏁 EPISODE AGE RATING : U/A 16+ [contaings swearing]

🏁 GENRE : Drama, Action, Sports, Romance

🏁 WORD COUNT : 10 K [ 10 , 366 WORDS ]

🏁 MUSIC SUMMARY : THE GREATEST BY SIA, PUMPT IT - BLACK EYED PEAS

🏁 CREDIT [S] : "BEHIND THE SCENES" BANNER, NETFLIX PLAY BAR BY ME [@charles-leclerizz], TEXT DIVIDERS BY @cafekitsune

🏁 TAGS : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon], OTHERS [@weekendlusting, @woozarts, @mellowarcadefun, @paintedbypoetry, @33-81, @kazuha-pista-badam, @inejghafawifesblog,d3kstar], IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE SEND IN AN ASK !

DIRECTORS CUT : first episode children, better get soome snacks and a drink, and i highly reccomend looking at the masterlist, aisha's profile and the porsche f1 team links, since they will explain everything. It is also recommendeed you first read the trailer, which is once again found on the masterlist below.

Masterlist · 🪷 Aisha · 🪷 Porsche F1 Team · 🪷

The opening credits of the series begin to play, revealing bold block letters reading,

“Bahrain 2025”

And in the background, the black fades to reveal an aerial view of the landmark circuit, a staple of the history that defines Formula One. As the shot zooms in, we see the morning mist rolling over the grey, freshly re-laid tarmac of the track leading up to the garages of each of the 10 teams, most of them shutdown and blocked away from prying eyes. Though, as the camera moves forward, the view widens and we can see at the very end of the line, the Porsche garage emitting a yellow glow.

The acrylic entrance leaks hues of gold whilst we finally approach the opening where we see Aisha jumping in place, a set of Bose x Porsche headphones sat on her ears, the white body and metallic automobile logo on the muffs bouncing with her movements.

She looks up from her focussed point beneath her, facing the camera that zooms in and captures the determined flare within the pools of her eyes.

 The music, already beginning its powerful bass bursts, dims and briefly we can hear her laboured breathing as she stretches her hands above her and unzips the tight athleisure jacket that she had worn previously for warmth. The adidas logo crumples as she throws it away, revealing a cropped sports bra, white with grey stripes at the sides containing an embroidered Porsche logo on her left breast.

Soon enough, the music comes blaring back and the camera merely turns to follow her body as she begins to run away from the safety of her team enclosure. The scene ends with her exiting the shot, running down the initial straight of the first ever track she will race as a formula one driver.

“Aisha, what drives you in the world of Formula One?” A deep, cryptic voice off camera asks the driver sitting in shot. She smiles menacingly and leans back against her seat, her hands planted on her elegantly crossed legs as she adjusts the low cut, ‘V’ collar of her waistcoat, the colour matching the iconic Porsche guards’ red, of the rest of her risqué pantsuit.

“What drives me?” She chuckles, a low, raspy amusement that reverberates against the stormy backdrop behind her, “The competition, the domination, it runs in my blood;” She leans forward, as if the camera crew were privy to her obvious need to achieve. Aisha’s thin, golden bangles on each of her wrist’s jingle as she goes to adjust her volumous hair, “it’s not about the winning, it’s about obliterating the finish line.” She shrugs nonchalantly, despite the aggressive competitiveness that crackles in the air.

The voice chuckles at her threatening demeanour, yet continues, “Some media outlets commented on your driving style, since F2 and F3. They say it’s violent. What’s your response?”

Aisha bites her lip, thinking on the best way to diplomatically answer the question, despite her need to curse the people who doubted her.

Instead, she sighs with faux disappointment and her wide, mascara rimmed eyes move down to her rouge and gold nails whilst one of her fingers comes to slip beneath the platinum stud that sits comfortably on the left of her nose.

“Violent?” She asks, her voice barely above a murmur, “They could’ve been more descriptive.” She rolls her eyes once before inhaling, “Try...relentless. When I’m on track, behind the wheel, it’s war. And I aim to be the last one standing, if you can’t get with the program, move out the way. Cause I’m here to win.”

Her promise of no mercy is palpable as she shifts minutely in her seat, tapping her nails against one another whilst waiting for next question.

“What about the rest of the grid?” The interviewer prompts, treading carefully with his words, “Any words for them?”

Aisha scoffs under her breath, uncrossing her legs and flipping over the golden dainty necklace that rests within her exposed cleavage, the glinting logo of her team catches the light whilst she adjusts herself.

“Why words? They’ll know what I’m here for when I pass them. They’ll feel it, the fear, the resignation. I’m a whirlwind, all they can do is get swept up in it, this season, I am not racing against them, their teams or even their car; I’m racing against their hatred of losing to me.”

She smiles at the camera, eyes crinkling at the sides as her nose scrunches, a pure juxtaposition to the threat that peeled out of her mouth like scalding, hot water.

“Before we end. For your fans, what do you want them to know?”

“Hold on for your life, they’re about to witness history on the track. Cause I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to fuck shit up.” Aisha grins wickedly and laughing loudly at the flurry of reactions off camera from the crew that stood behind the myriad of wires.

Three different scenes are overlayed one another, the first being of Lewis Hamilton, giggling at someone off screen before focussing his large doe eyes onto the interviewer who also sat behind the large camera.

The second being 3X world champion Max Verstappen, who sits heavily onto the provided stool and sips at the can of the sugary energy drink in his hand, Max stared at the camera, a bored sheen coating his crystalline blue irises as the third, and final driver’s scene overtakes his.

This time Charles Leclerc enters the identical set, the Ferrari golden boy had narrowly escaped his fans-who’s screams of joy could be heard in the background as he waved a final time and pocketed a bright red, branded Ferrari pen whilst sighing, glancing around haphazardly.

“Lewis”

Hamilton perks up at his name, smiling serenely, prompting the interviewer to continue.

“The world of Formula one is ablaze about new entry, Aisha Patel. Do you think, as a seasoned professional, she has what it takes to compete?”

Lewis whistles lowly, leaning back against his seat and wraps his arms around himself, “Damn- starting strong huh?” He snorts once before re-adjusting his posture, “Y’know, we’ve heard of her up here. And she’s talented, but obliterating F3 and F2 does not directly auto-translate to domination on our track.”

“Is that scepticism that I hear?” The interviewer chases after the hesitation in the driver’s voice, like a dog after a juicy bone.

“Call it...” Lewis arches an eyebrow as he mulls over his words, “Healthy cautiousness. I’m waiting to see how she handles the pressure after the lights go out.”

“Max”

Max hums lazily, as though he had one too many bubbling seltzers that sat, pristine on the refreshments table, “Yeah?”

“Aisha Patel.”

Max clenches his jaw at the sound of her name.

“She’s said to rival your aggressiveness on track, what are your thoughts on her joining your world?”

Max scoffs at the seemingly preposterous statement, “What about her? She’s aggressive, so what? It’s skill that matters here in the big leagues. Give a baby a steering wheel to a supercharged car, that’ll be aggressive. I’m not holding my breath for her. “

“That sounds like someone who’s threatened?” He probes the already on edge driver.

“A threat?” Max chortles as if someone had offered him a mere penny for his thoughts, “I haven’t been threatened since kindergarten. I’ll let her have her try at the status quo, take one for the team and all.”

“Charles”

The alarmingly red adorned man tilts his head inquisitively at the interviewer, his gentle smile popping his dimples.

“Miss. Patel has been said to be relentless on track, throwing caution to the wind. Your thoughts on her violent debut?”

Charles hums as he nods his head, “It’s nice to see fresh blood on track, bonne, she’s certainly caught people’s attention. Let’s see if she’s all bark and no bite.” He mummers the French praise before shrugging at the end of his sentence.

“You’re excited to compete against her?”

“Of course- who wouldn’t be? New team, new driver. The more varied the sport, the more interesting.” He answers neutrality laced into his words, despite the excited glint in his eye.

“Thank you for your insights.” The interviewer thanks the men in their tapes, each of them reciprocating with equal politeness.

“Of course,” Lewis grins and claps his hands, turning to start chatting once again as he dismounts from the chair, already walking away.

“No problem,” Max nods his head once, stepping down from his seat whilst receiving a fresh can of Red Bull.

“Cheers mate,” The camera captures Charles leaning forward to shake the interviewer’s hand whilst patting his shoulder, before detaching to go and talk to the gaggle of Ferrari personnel who had gathered within the filming shed.

The 2025 drivers had gathered onto the Bahrain track, the relentless mid-day sun beating down on them as a few of them had the pleasure of black umbrellas being held above them, whilst other’s held small hand-fans in the large palms, basking in the cool breeze that the battery powered trinket provided.

Aisha walked out, her racing shoes tapping against the tarmac as she made her way towards the others. A few Porsche employees trailed behind her, one of them stayed closer behind her, offering her a metallic, grey hand-held fan along with a chilled bottle of water.

“Thanks,” She murmured, brushing the hair that managed to escape her ponytail, “It’s fucking boiling.” Aisha complained, tugging at her fireproofs whilst another employee came up to her, patting her face with a setting powder as an attempt to dry her skin.

“Can’t really help it, love.” The media admin, Sarah, pointed out removing her focus from one of the jittery interns to the driver, “Now- you’re going to walk out, fans are going to see you. Are you sure you don’t want to hide your face right now?”

Aisha cracked open the bottle in her hand, having pressed the condensation coated plastic against her forehead long enough. She faced away from 2-3 people surrounding her to peak past the acrylic barrier, onto the track, where the rest of the drivers stood haphazardly scattered around the starting position boxes that had been freshly painted onto the concrete polymer.

“It’s fine, I think I’ve already heard all their opinions on me.” Aisha groaned, fanning her face again as she kicked a non-existent pebble beneath her toe, “What could go wrong?”

She peaked out again, like a tense meerkat, only to be surprised with her teammate, Pierre chatting with his former partner, Esteban Ocon. His racing suit was already zipped up fully as he basked in the fan’s unintelligible shouts and squeals, the thick, grey fabric stretched over his body nicely as the different sponsor logos morphed to the wrinkles and dents of the cloth.

“He’s already out there.” She hissed, “Making me look like shit.” Aisha banged the back of her crown against the wall that provided her with the much-needed shelter, from both the sweltering rays and the assessing gazes of the crowd above.

“Nonsense lovey.” Sarah assured her, picking at the hem of her fireproofs and pressing a few of the sweaty, stray strands of hair back into position, “Pedro’s just catching up with some friends.”

“Pierre.” Aisha corrected, pulling up her identical suit from hanging lowly from her waist to her shoulders, thankfully she still had time to leave it unzipped.

“Whatever.” She flapped her hand dismissively, “Baguette man isn’t doing anything you won’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aisha breathed out, keeping her lips taught and still as her rouge lipstick was touched up by another Porsche jersey adorned worker, “My helmet?” She looked around, patting herself, as though it would appear out of thin air.

Sarah looked around her surrounding, panicked, before snorting and pointing to the ledge behind the group, “There ya go babe.” She leaned past Aisha to knock on the head gear.

“I’m a mess,” Aisha whined, picking up her helmet whilst rubbing the glossy exterior with an open palm, she runs her fingers over her last name that’s printed on the back.

“A hot mess.” Sarah corrected her, hooking their elbows together whilst ushering forward the teenage interns next to them- their hands shaking with apprehension as they gripped the phones in their hands, the gadget recording each moment.

Aisha stilled slightly as her foot contacted the tarmac, the crowd already hushing with undivided interest on her mere shadow. She could feel anxious sweat begin to build up on the nape of her neck, flushing her face and glistening against her skin.

Finally, after a few minutes of inner turmoil, she allowed Sarah to guide her out within the crowd of other team’s media escorts and her fellow drivers. The grandstands erupted with chaos, the rushing of footsteps- scrambling to take the first photos of her in her debut, the unravelling of flags, the patriotic colours burning against the pristine plexi-glass barriers and multiple little girls shouting happily at her image.

Aisha forced a smile onto her face, the unexpected praise soothed her blushing ears as she waved up at the viewing boxes.

“Well, well. Nobody’s ever screamed like that for me.” A voice creeped up behind her, causing Aisha to whip around with a cautionary hand on her chest.

A cheeky grin greeted her, “Lando” Aisha breathed out, leaning to the side of his stature to acknowledge the rabid paparazzi behind of them with a tight-lipped nod.

“Hey,” He greeted her, bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping the top of his helmet that sat squeezed between his arm and waist, “You nervous?” Lando tipped his head boyishly, his curls falling over his forehead, hazel eyes softening as he watched her.

“Not really,” Aisha lied, “do you need to pee?” She looked at him anxiously, watching as he stopped bouncing like a full bladdered toddler, and stood still. Lando chuckled under his breath and opened his mouth to answer, until he lurched forward under the weight of a heavy arm that hung from his shoulders.

“Little Lando Norris.” Daniel chuckled, rubbing his knuckles over the younger’s head, and snorted when Lando pushed his hand away stumbling out from his hold, “Already chatting up the newbie?” Daniel looks at Aisha with a smirk, “I think his pubes finally grew in.” He faux whispered, his voice gritty as he winked.

“I’m not chatting up anyone,” Lando smacked Daniel between the eyes before walking backwards, next to Aisha, “Just catching up.” He shrugged, side-eyeing her, gauging a reaction from her steely expression. Luckily, he got one, Aisha’s eyes widened slightly, her eyelashes fluttering to match her hearts faster pace as she slowly turned her head to meet his eyes.

“Catching up?” Daniel inquired, suddenly interested, “You guys know each other from before?”

“Yeah, we karted together.” Aisha crossed her arms over one another, before accepting a cold can of thumbs up from a staff member, “Still remember how he shit his pants.” She mumbled.

“I did not!”

“What the fuck.”

Both men exclaimed at the same time, Lando blushing a furious red and Daniel cackling loudly- leading to not only the attention from the other drivers that stood in a 200m vicinity but also Aisha snorting out her drink from her nose.

“I did not shit my pants.” Lando gritted out the last part, to stop prying ears of the other men approaching to become privy to his humiliation.

“You did though?” Aisha arched a brow at him, “I passed by you on the last lap, therefore winning-“ She poked her outstretched pinkie from her can into his puffed up chest, “And that made you so mad, that you shit your pants.”

“Oh god,” Daniel wheezed, taking support on his shorter teammate who had trotted up to join the conversation. Yuki scrunched up his face, tilting away from the force of the elder before looking at Aisha sympathetically,

“You excited?” He grinned slightly, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“Definitely. How could I not be?” Aisha looked down at Yuki, shifting her weight slightly as an attempt to lower herself, “The crippling pressure? The thousands of viewers? The weight of both of my country’s on my shoulders?” Aisha blew a nonchalant breath from between her lips whilst waving her hand in front of her face, “No biggie.”

The three men stared at her, blank expressions on their face, one of them pressed their lips together, smacking them and creating an equally awkward “popping” noise for the group to bask in.

“I meant more like, the race and stuff..” Yuki mumbled, scratching the back of his head before yelping when Daniel smacked the nape of his neck, “But yeah, what you said works too, fo sho, no doubt, no doubt.” He corrected himself hastily.

“Fo sho?” A fourth voice chimed in, this time with a French lilt to his words, “Who’s got yuki talking like that?”

Aisha looked away amusedly from the smaller driver to the voice, her eyes widened at the blaring red that adorned the man in front of her.

“My period wasn’t due until after the race.” She commented, meeting the man’s intense gaze, “Are you here to ask if I’d like to continue watching?” She tilted her head innocently.

“Ah, I see.” He scrunches his nose at her, “You’ve got our baby Yuki talking like that.”

“Hey, fuck you man.” Yuki protested, throwing his arms up with a huff.

“I know you want to,” The seemingly french-man retorted back with a shameful wink,

“You wink like you’re trying not to cry.” Lando pointed out.

Aisha clapped her hands at her revelation, “That’s what it looked like!”

Lando shrugged, as though it was obvious.

“Okay I’m sorry, I’m not here to start the next French revolution or whatever-“ She mumbled, holding out a polite hand as a civil greeting.

Though, she was not met with his acceptance immediately, instead the three men surrounding her grimaced and hissed through their teeth- Daniel shook his hand out like he had just burned himself. Aisha looked around, oblivious to the reason for their reactions and jolted her hand out to the man.

“I’m from Monaco,” He snarked, accepting her hand begrudgingly, “Not France.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” She shrugged in reply.

“Charles” he gritted out, squeezing Aisha’s hand tightly- a poor attempt to veil his distaste, “Charles Leclerc, Ferrari driver.”

“Really?” Aisha squeezed harder, taking a step back to roll her eyes over his bright red suit, “Couldn’t tell.” She snorted.

“Right, well” Lando coughed, reaching forward to peel away both of their hands simultaneously, “This was fun. Meeting new people.” He took Aisha’s hand in his but dropped it quickly when she looked down at their conjoined fingers. Lando coughed, the tips of his ears blushing a furious scarlet, before he shifted to glance at his oh-so-interesting boots.

Luckily, the situation was saved by one of the administration workers clapping their hands and speaking robotically into a megaphone, “drivers, please make your way to your positions.”

The seasoned drivers around her began to exit their conversations and walk towards the bleachers style setup at the start line of the circuit. At least 12 black, metallic chairs sat in a row behind a small plaque, displaying bold white font that detailed the circuit name and the iconic formula one logo sprawled along the edges of the display board.

“Didn’t need this fucking helmet.” Aisha hissed to herself, jogging to one of the Porsche employees that stood at the edge of the camera shot, handing off the piece of equipment, before making her way back to the crowd.

She zipped up her suit and removed the piece of elastic from her hair, letting the noir waves fall down her shoulders as she scanned the already in place men in front of her, thankfully Pierre waved at her and ushered for her to take place next to him, standing behind the pair of Mercedes drivers who were snickering at some joke the other had just told.

Aisha huffed, clasping her hands behind her waist whilst jerking her head side to side due to odd strands of hair tickling her eyes and nose, before she could exasperatedly wipe her face with her hand, a pair of fingers had come and brushed against her nose. Aisha minutely followed the soft pads across her cheek before trailing her gaze up to the origin, Lando met her eyes, his own irises blown out as his hand lingered by her cheek- his thumb twitching across her skin before he coughed and re-took his position.

“Thank you,” She murmured beneath her breath, neutralising her face against the onslaught of obnoxious camera shutters and piercing sun rays.

“No problem,” Lando nodded slightly, his eyes flicking back to her face, tracing her features with his shy stare, “You did great in qualifying, yesterday.” He hastily complimented.

Aisha tried to fight against the blush that made its way up her neck, “thank you,” she snipped, pressing her lips together as a futile attempt at hiding her girlish smile.

Lando huffed out a laugh, turning his neck to grin at her, “anytime.”

Finally, the pictures had come to a stop, and the long-barrelled cameras were packed away and the grid were herded to a large, open roof truck. Another admin worker trailed behind the last driver into the pen-like vehicle, stepping up the stairs to hang back from the railing after locking the gate, “everyone’s here?’ she asked, giving a once over the flocked in men, and woman.

“Aisha, you’ll be first to talk to Lawrence,” She met eyes with Aisha, who was already waving to the rowdy fans who had collected at the banisters of the grandstands, “And then it’ll be whoever’s closest.”

The lady nodded once when the drivers thanked her, then she caught Aisha’s gaze again and she smiled reassuringly, “See you guys around.” She waved and dismounted from the railing with a jump.

The large platform began to move as the truck silently hummed to life, Aisha moved from her comfortable position at the back of the area-leaning against the matte, black railing towards Lawrence who smiled excitedly at her approaching figure. As she knitted through the small groups of 3 drivers littered in her path, she continued to wave at the fans who shouted and screamed at each subtle view they managed to glimpse of her.

“Aisha! Hi!” Lawrence greeted her, offering his hand for her to shake and swivelled around to collect a microphone.

“Hello, hello.” Aisha grinned back, accepting the long piece of tech from him, comically rotating it in her hands observing the porous black material that had been painted with a flaring red to create the F1 logo.

“So, you’re finally here! The big leagues, and yesterday’s qualifying must’ve been very exciting.  We’ve all been so blown away with Porsche’s car, and your performance. P5 ! Amazing. Walk us through what you’re feeling right now?”

“I mean, it’s a confidence booster of course, qualifying top 5- but I think that along with that it’s proving to myself and other little girls like me that it isn’t about who you are, but what you can do, regardless of gender or background.” Aisha nods once, leaning her elbow against the railing to crane her neck around and take in the track that lay ahead of the speedily moving vehicle.

“It’s great that you can showcase your talent and inspire young minds, but with that said- there’s obviously a pressure that comes with entering such a male-dominated sport.”

Aisha stilled slightly, her eyes wide and unblinking for a beat, “I mean, there’s always going to be extra expectation on you when you’re breaking barriers. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to pave the way for future generation, so really, its fuels my success and goes to show that gender or race, doesn’t correlate to your ability on track.”

“Well said, and while we’re on the topic of your determination, whilst being in the spotlight almost 24/7 and the battles on track, how do you maintain focus? It must be overwhelming.”

Aisha chuckled, turning to look at the other drivers, a few of them had tuned into her interview not-so-subtle whilst others were still deep in conversation, “I mean, when you’re battling against jumbo sized toddlers, and then being put under the loving spotlight of the media, I agree, it can be pretty overwhelming sometimes. But then I remind myself, why am I here? What am I here to do? And at the end of the day, it’s just me, the car, and the track, so I really don’t mind it too much.”

She shrugged at the end of her sentence, flipping her hair over her shoulder before unzipping the thick race suit. Revealing her tight, fireproofs beneath, the Indian flag sat proudly on her shoulder whilst her team logo lay sprawled across her chest along with the sponsor logos littered across the rest of her front.

“You make it seem so easy Aisha,” Lawrence laughed, oblivious to the tension that had gathered in the young woman’s shoulders and the tightness of her eyes that had increased tenfold throughout their conversation, “Last question before I let you go, to all of  your young fans gathered here today-“ he pointed up to the bleachers that came into view on the straight that the truck was approaching, where multiple younger children stood, jumping in their spots as their Porsche hats bobbled on their heads, “-what would you tell them? Especially those who are most likely facing challenges in their racing journey?”

Aisha smiled serenely, imagining herself in the seats that sat so far away from her, what her younger self would long to hear to make her racing career just a little bit easier, “To all the younger dreamers, never let anyone else tell you your limits. They may say to stop, but you need to believe that you can keep going. Chase your passions relentlessly because if you do, then the only barriers will be the ones we allow ourselves to see. Keep fighting, because one day, you’ll see that you’re right where you need to be.”

“Wow” He sighed, hand on his heart, “That inspired me.” Lawrence laughed heartily, “Finally, maybe just a few words in your native language, now from what I know you spent at least 3 years living in India? For your education?” He looked at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

Aisha nodded happily, “Yes, I did! so you want a message in Hindi? There are so many languages in my country, but sadly I’m only fluent in Hindi, despite being Gujarati myself.”

“That would be great, please do.”

“Sabse pehle, main apne sabhi fans ko bahut saara pyaar dena chahti hoon. Aap log mere liye inspiration ho, aur main hamesha aapke saath hoon. Aap sabka support mere liye bahut important hai, aur thank you kehna chahti hoon.”

[First of all, I want to give a lot of love to all my fans. You are an inspiration for me, and I am always with you. All your support is very important for me, and I would like to say thank you.]

“Amazing, thank you so much Aisha,” Lawrence gently took the microphone away from her and offered a grateful smile before looking towards Fernando who had made his way towards the pair.

“No problem,” Aisha stepped away, patting the eldest driver’s back once before turning away and making her way towards Lando, who had already been looking towards her, waiting for her to approach him, along with Oscar and Logan who were engrossed in conversation.

The scene fades away from the three seasoned drivers and in the blackness another title appears, “RACE DAY” and following this the Porsche garage is finally revealed for the first time, much like the other teams the hard acrylic surfaces were decorated with the team colours and many engineers, technicians and workers were rushing around whilst other’s begaan to detach the hydraulic tubes from the cars in preparation for the first race of the season.

Before the first car revved up with anticipation, the halo was shown displaying the driver number and surname, “GASLY 10” and with that, the tubes were removed and the driver’s engineer pulled away, removing the iPad from Pierre’s gloved hands, allowing him to speed off towards his starting position.

The camera pans over to the second car that is yet to exit the garage, the driver within seemed to be hurriedly re-reading the car statistics, consuming that data over and over again, the scene rotates from the back of the car towards the front, where from beyond the middle column of the halo we get a glimpse of the large helmet following her heads sporadic movements, the Indian and British flag printed onto the front side of her head gear, peeped in and out of view as she handed away the tablet and she pulled on her gloves that lay waiting on the chassis in front of her.

With a confident thumbs up, she followed one of the Porsche employee’s guiding movements towards the other racers who sat in their cars, waiting for the start. Maintaining an even pace, she passed by the other cars, the exposed carbon fibre of Esteban’s Alpine in P10 and bright orange of Oscar’s McLaren in P7. She found her box waiting for her car as she pulled in and slowly removed her foot from the acceleration as she joined the grid in waiting for the formation lap.

The music faded away, to allow Aisha’s monologue to play over the still of the onboard camera, “This is it, I thought to myself, all the years of hard work and sacrifices have led up to this moment. This isn’t like F3 or F2-“ the live replay of the sleek interior of her F1 car is replaced by exhilarating moments of on track battles from her previous racing leagues, “- this is F1, where dreams are trampled on and shattered if you can’t keep up.” Her voice trembles slightly as we hear her take a deep breath in and the cars are overtaken with a new scene.

We see Aisha, in the same deep red sultry pantsuit, her side profile contrasted in the shadows as her chest rises and falls, “I remember the moment exactly, I told myself ‘Aisha, soak it in, the cheers and the feeling of other’s dreams, their expectations, cause it can make or break you.” She laughs incredulously at herself, “dramatic I know.”

“But it was electrifying, the whole thing, the thrum of the engines, the anticipation. I have never felt anything like it. But it’s everything I’ve trained for and everything I’ve wanted since I was little and racing go-karts.” Snippets of the raging, overwhelming sound of spluttering go-karts overtake the screen as one after another, we see young Aisha, drowning in an oversized sponsored uniform cut through the chequered ribbon.

“To the other drivers on the grid, it’s just the first race of the season, but for me, it’s my debut, it’s the first and only chance to prove that I’m meant to be here.” Aisha claps her hands, and the bursting flashes of her karting days cease, and we’re brought back to her, sitting in the tall stool, legs crossed over elegantly as she waves her heel back and forth, “The countdown began, and it’s lights out and away we go.”

The red lights above the Bahrain track fade away one by one, Crofty’s voice is matched with hers, and just as the sound of the engines crescendo, the scene ends.

“Right Lando- “

The young British man makes his way into the stool, wobbling slightly as he flails his hands before rocking back to stability. He lets out a relieved breath and crosses his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with the golden, volt bracelet on his wrist the Luis Vuitton logo glinting in the light from his absent-minded movements.

“Hi, yes, I’m here.” Lando looked up at the interviewer, his eyes bouncing between the 3-4 different camera’s capturing him from odd angles, “Which-“he pointed at one of them, “-which one am I looking at?”

The interviewer laughed before leaning forward and tapping the lens of the middle-most camera, “This one.”

Lando breathed out, “great” before adjusting the pillowing fabric of his hoodie and stared straight into the glass barrel in front of him, “I’m Lando Norris, and I race for McLaren Formula one team.”

“We ehm we didn’t need that. It- it’s different from Drive to Survive,”

Lando cringed and rubbed the back of his head, causing the bracelet to ride up beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, “My bad- “

“Don’t worry about it, Now-“The sound of cue cards being shuffled could be heard, “Onto the first question, we’ve heard rumours about you and Aisha, especially during your karting days, care to elaborate?”

Lando sucks air through his teeth as he smirks, “Me and Aisha…” He looks down to his hands, fingers finding purchase on the angled charm of his bracelet, “We go way back, I mean, it was either me or her who were winning the races, she was,” He sighs heavily, his eyes starry as he looks back up to the camera, “She was, no, she is everything.”

“Can’t help but notice the bracelet that you have on, anything significant?”

“It’s symbolic, I guess?but nothing too big.” He shrugs it off, hiding away the jewellery from prying eyes.

The interviewer presses their lips together, humming whilst shuffling the cards once again, “Right, of course, but some fans have already started to notice that you and she are…close.”

“Close? We’ve always been close, it’s like electric with her, it’s hard not to be attached to her talent.” Lando smirks playfully, winking at the camera, “Karting with her was so intense, we pushed each other to the limit, and I will always hold her and those memories close to my heart.”

“Seems like obsession,” They laugh.

“Oh, it most definitely is, I mean, have you seen her?” Lando flourishes dramatically with his hands, as though the woman was sitting right next to him.

We are brought back to the first driver’s briefing of the season, mere days before the Bahrain Grand Prix, Aisha had just sat down next to Pierre and began to chat amicably with her new teammate, bouts of laughter erupting from the pair momentarily.

The camera pans from the bonding partners to Lando, still hiding his head between his palms in embarrassment, though from between his ringed fingers we see his emerald irises peeking through the gaps, staring thoughtfully at the enrapturing driver who was currently fiddling with the van clef, indigo bracelets that shimmered around her wrist.

Oscar, who was also curiously watching the woman jogged Lando, snapping the man out of his trance, “Mate- you’re drooling,” He poked his teammate’s cheek.

Lando slapped away the finger that prodded his face, “I am not.”

“Whatever you say,” Oscar hummed, turning his attention back to the administrator who was flipping through a few data filled papers, bringing their mouth closer to the bendable microphone. Oscar leaned into Lando, bumping their shoulders together, “Just be careful.”

Aisha breathed out a sigh, capping the black, matte Bulgari pen, slipping it into the awkwardly small purse that hung from her shoulder. She slammed the driver’s door of her car, having just finished a load of signing and smiling with fans, her main objective was to get through the security scanners peacefully.

“Hey stranger,” A voice came up behind her, tapping her arm.

“Lando,” Aisha tried to contain the quiver in her voice, “I thought you already got in.” She adjusted the neckline of her top, the tight sleeves hugged her shoulders and left her skin exposed to the warm sun.

“I did, I just needed something from my car and then I saw you,” He grinned at her, tapping his key card against the scanner, walking seamlessly through the rotating barrier, “You look like you’re about to walk a runway.”

Aisha laughed, tucking a straightened lock of hair behind her ear, “Thanks, you look…” Aisha assessed his outfit, a pair of light blue baggy, Levi’s and one of his own merch hoodies, “normal.” She cringed at her unnecessary honesty.

Yet, Lando just laughed and nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah- compared to you.”

Aisha continued to walk through the paddock, the British driver at her side whilst she waved to those personnel that passed by. She looked down at her own clothes, a neat, navy, off-the shoulder top that hugged her chest in all the right places was tucked into a grey mini-skirt, compliments of one of the many brand ambassadors of her team, the item was paired with a thin brown, gold buckled belt along with knee-high go-go boots.

“You could say that” She conceded, adjusting the golden Porsche chain that clung to her neck, “I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” Lando pocketed his hands.

“I you wanted to get dinner. For old times’ sake?” Aisha leaned forward on one foot, tilting her head hopefully before coming to a stop and waiting for his response.

Lando beamed widely, his eyes sparkling, “Definitely, I would be an absolute idiot to turn you down.”

Aisha blushed and looked down at the bracelets on her wrist, multiple layered golden chains which reflected light against her face in the most euphoric way, “Great, I’ll ju-“

“AISHA, oh my god it’s really her, AISHA!”

A shrill, young voice erupted from behind the pair, and a group of 3-4 young girls came running up to the pair. Aisha laughed to herself, plucking out the pen once more.

“Hello,” Aisha greeted the pre-teens who surrounded her, two of them dressed in a signature papaya orange whilst the other two sported metallic, silver Porsche merch, “You guys look so good!”

She accepted the hats and odd poster that the girls shyly handed her, “We’re so excited to see you race! You’re the only one who looks like us.” One of them spoke, her copper toned, youthful cheeks bobbed up with her smile as her long, black ponytail weaved with her excited movements.

“That’s so sweet, I think I might just win the race for you.” Aisha opened her arm for the girl to step into as they took a photo.

“Ehm, Lando, could we get an autograph as well,” Another one asked, already unfurling a second poster along with presenting the enraptured male with a sharpie.

“Absolutely! How could I resist?” Lando accepted the pen and began to sign the poster along with some newly presented items that the other two girls had produced.

“Thank you, guys, so much!” Aisha waved off the girls and turned back to Lando, already handing over her phone for him to enter in his number.

The young fans were squealing on their way back to their parents, who were just as excited for their young daughter’s interaction, “Did you guys see the bracelet?”

“What bracelet?” Another one asked, carefully rolling up her poster and handing it to her father, who tucked it under his arm and offered his hand for her to take.

“Lando’s, the one he wore for the whole of last season…” She adjusted her cap, looking confusedly at her three friends.

“Oh…I didn’t.”

“Neither did I.”

The screen faded away from Lando, sitting with his teammate whilst gawking at Aisha and we’re brought back to the present, the on-board camera of the Porsche is aimed at the lights that have just gone dark and all at once, a symphony of rubber against concrete fills the scene.

Aisha navigated turn one with ease, emerging from the throng of cars still in P5, her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she focussed every ounce within her body on the track ahead. The bright spotlights above her cast a blinding hue over the grandstands, illuminating the eager fans from around the world, their flags waved in their air as they watched with anticipation when she approached Lewis from behind, pressuring the world champion ahead as they weaved into the next turn.

Aisha aimed for the apex, seeing the slightest gap for her to slip past, as she pointed the head of her car towards the opening, she held her breath and pressed on the throttle. Aisha lurched backwards as she could feel the crackles of her under-board hit the track with each increase in speed she made, yet she managed to dodge the Mercedes car and fly down the straight, maintaining her tyres as best as she could.

The radio thrummed to life in her ear as her race engineer, James, began to speak, “Great work with Lewis, already around 1.15 behind you. Take care of your tyres for now and defend.”

Aisha breathed heavily as she continued to meet the corners and walls with barely an inch to save herself as a highly effective attempt to prevent more overtakes, “Got it.”

She continued her pace throughout the laps, the continuous build up over 20 rounds had inched her closer and closer to Carlos who was struggling in P3, his braking getting worse and worse with each sharp turn.

“James- how much closer do I need to overtake?” Aisha gritted out, flitting her eyes to the large, white metallic DRS sign that entered her limited field of vision.

“Only a bit more Aisha, it’s time to push.”

Aisha stepped harshly onto the gas, her engine thrumming all around her as she charged closer to the bright red Ferrari ahead. She could see the rubber of the tyres in front burn and smoke with every swerve. The roar of her engine filled her ears, drowning out the noise of her own heartbeat as she braced herself for the challenge, “Here we go,” she murmured, voice firm and steely with determination.

She surged her car forward, pushing her machine to the limit as she matched Carlos’ pace with precision and determination, the desert heat bore down in mirage-like waves as the two drivers danced on the razor’s edge of competition. One by one measly lap, the distance shortened until they were wheel to wheel, and all Aisha could do was grit her teeth until she could taste the tangy calcium as she continued the precipice of a wipe-out, the promise of a podium too good to lose.

Aisha’s heart pounded with exhilaration as they hurtled down the straight once again, soon enough the pair were met with the sharpest corner yet, Aisha pushed further and Carlos relented, edging away meekly to allow her to slip by. The crowd’s cheers washed over her, a wave of euphoria crashing over her senses as her heart swelled with triumph.

“WOO! P3!”

“Amazing work Aisha, halfway there. Get some distance between you two.”

“I can take on Checo,” Aisha promised, her aggressive spirit burning deeply within her core as her eyes narrowed into the back of one of the red bulls.

“Go for it, but be careful, your tyres aren’t that good.” James warned her, his voice crisp with caution.

“I got this.”

Aisha revved up once her power had flashed a promising green on the screen in front of her, “It’s time to pounce.” She promised herself whilst flicking the DRS button with her thumb, letting the flap behind her quiver open, the force launched her forward like never before as the lap count leached into the 40’s, Checo hadn’t yet pitted, neither had she, and suddenly, it was a battle of the wills.

She tried all that she could, nudging her nose into the smallest of gaps and backing out when he had angled himself predatorially, grazing her front wing enough for her heart to jump into her throat, “What the fuck is he doing? Fucking cocksucker, he wants to kill me or what?” Aisha had to remind herself to lower her voice.

“It’s within regulation, keep pushing you’re approaching DRS again.” James assured her.

The car trembled beneath her, like a jaguar waiting to pounce again after one failure, she pressed again. This time she nipped Checo’s wheel, causing for him to quickly move out of the way, narrowly missing a spin-off and allowing Aisha to speed into P2.

“FUCK YES! HOLY SHI-“

Aisha’s celebration was cut short when a dangerous thrum approached her rapidly, she attempted with all her might to duck and weave into and out of his path, but Checo was relentless, continuously rubbing against her wheels and forcing her to utilise her power.

“Fuck, fuck what the actual shit?” Aisha screeched as she continued to sloppily defend, her anger bubbling up like hot water.

The red bull growled and pounced in front of her, clipping enough of her front wheel to send her spinning. Aisha shouted with malice, throwing up her hands as her wheels began to rotate rapidly, “BASTARD!”

Her vision blurred as the world around her continued to haphazardly shift, the fans above stilled with trepidation as they watched her strangle her wheel with both hands and wrangle the car back into position.

“Okay, so that’s P5- P5, Piastri, Sainz, Perez and Verstappen in front of you,”

“Copy.” Aisha grumbled darkly, manoeuvring the vehicle so that she could continue to viciously speed down the final lap, murderously defending her position as her stomach finally settled and head stopped pounding with adrenaline.

The race ended with Crofty heartily congratulating her over the commentary,

“And Verstappen has won the Bahrain grand prix! with Checo in P2 and Sainz in the Ferrari in P3. Now the fans have spoken, and new-comer Aisha Patel has been voted driver of the day, rightfully so, securing a solid P5 finish after a challenging battle on the track. it's fantastic to see her scoring valuable points in her debut race. And let's not forget the incredible debut of the Porsche F1 Team! It's clear that they're a force to be reckoned with in the championship.”

A view of Max passing through the finish line is shown, sparks flew behind his car as he speeds through and turned into the parc ferme. Aisha is also shown, her eyes steely from within her helmet and as she stops her car she clambers out of the cockpit and rips of her headgear, a scowl evident on her usually cool face.

She pushes open the gate to the media pen, narrowly avoiding Max, who spared her a dark glance from over his shoulder before turning back to the interviewer.

“Yeah, people make stupid decisions sometimes,” She heard him answer the unintelligible question. Aisha could already feel the anger burn her throat as she whipped her head around and met Max’s eyes, he stared back, an inferno raging within his blue iris’. She opened her mouth to speak but was stopped by her Media manager, pulling her away gently, Aisha followed tearing her eyes away from the Dutchman. Yet, she could still feel his heated gaze on her.

Aisha scoffed passing by Carlos and Checo, who were conversing in fast Spanish, and headed towards the common media area, where eager and ravenous reporters began to clamber on top of one another as they caught sight of her sweaty face and stringy hair.

“Aisha! Aisha!”  They called, loud voices breaking through the microphone and blowing through the audio.

Aisha huffed and went towards the tell-tale white microphone, the sky sports logo sprawled all over the foam cover,

“Hi Aisha, congratulations on the P5 today,” Mark started, holding the microphone out for the visibly annoyed driver.

“Thank you,” She snipped, but blinked a few times before forcing herself to continue, “Y’know could’ve been a P2 finish for Porsche today, but I’m happy with both Pierre and I’s finish, at least we scored some valuable points.” Aisha robotically recounted her PR training.

“Definitely a tough break for you out there,” He nodded solemnly, “Care to walk us through what happened with Checo on lap 43?”

Aisha sucked in a breath, looking behind her where her PR person stood, arms crossed over her Porsche shirt as she shrugged, “Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing end to my race, P2 would probably be a dream, but Checo made a-“ Aisha bit her tongue momentarily, looking into the few dozen camera’s pointed at her, until she noticed Checo’s reflection walking behind her, heading to the cool-down room, “-a dickhead move absolutely dangerous, there was contact because he couldn’t use his eyes, and that caused me to spin out. It’s racing, I know, but you don’t see race winners or legends making moves like that.” Aisha hissed.

Mark stared at her, mouth agape before he recollected himself and forced a flabbergasted laugh, “Well, that’s one way to put it.” The other surrounding reporters were close to drooling at the mouth, their own mics pushed further through the gaps as they imagined the debaucherous headlines they could create from her outburst.

“How were you feeling during that moment?”

“Truthfully?” She tilted her head, “Pissed, but you probably didn’t you marky-moo, my radio probably told you that. But after I managed to regain my original position, I was more determined to just finish the race with a solid end.”

He laughed at that but stilled when Checo emerged once again from the cool-off room, “Checo!” Mark called, oblivious to the thunderous haze that overtook Aisha. She checked behind her shoulder, and her upper lip curled with malice,

“I’ll let Checo say his bit- “She murmured, “Excuse me.” And left the pen, heading towards the Porsche garage whilst avoiding eye-contact with Lucy, her fuming PR manager.

“Hey! Checo!” Aisha called out, throwing down her headphones, leaving her race engineer in concerned confusion as she approached the red bull driver, amid his team, oblivious to the storm about to hit him.

“Oh, hey Aisha-“

“Do not, hey, me.” She snarled, “What the fuck was that on track? Were you trying to kill me back there? You could’ve overtaken me in so many other ways.” Aisha approached him, prompting Checo to take a simultaneous step back, hands raised.

“It’s racing Aisha, I had to make a split-second decision.”

“We all make decisions, Perez,” She snarled, hands balling up into fists, “You don’t see Charles or Carlos or anyone with half a brain doing what you did? You messed up my race!” Aisha’s voice begins to raise, drawing attention of the red bull personnel, since the pair had manged to slowly move up to the entrance of the garage, and prompting a few camera men, who were following around Lando and Oscar to pan over to her.

Aisha groans, smacking her palm against her head a few times as a display of aggression before turning back to a very sweaty, nervous driver, “Never mind my race- you had fucking so many other options, why? Why did you decide to clip my wheel? Is it because being overtaken by a woman was so embarrassing, for red bull’s number two, you couldn’t handle it?” Aisha mocks him, before starting to approach his frozen form, a violent fire burning in her eyes and spreading to her limbs, igniting them with her fury.

Just as there was merely a centimetre between the two, a pair of strong arms hooked themselves around her elbows, holding her hand away from Checo, who had started shouting about his “personal safety”.

“Are you fucking stupid?” A gruff voice whispers into her ear.

Aisha kicks out, a futile attempt to free herself, “Let me go,” She whips her head around, her hair flying,

“Can you stop? I will literally knock you out.” The voice continues, grunting when her foot narrowly misses his groin.

“Fine-“ She huffs, going limp as she shoots daggers into Checo’s retreating back being escorted by a flurry of blue clad workers, “Fine, let me go,” She mumbles.

The man drops her onto the floor instantly, allowing her to stumble over her feet. Aisha finds her footing once more and spins around to meet his eyes, “Max?”

Max stares down at her, his eyes squinted with annoyance, “Who else? You’re in front of the red bull garage.” He rolls his eyes and steps a large stride away from her.

Aisha blinks once. Twice. Before scoffing and crossing her arms, “Yeah. Thanks.” She snarks before walking away from him, leaving the dutchman standing, fuming in his spot. She manages to skip over the McLaren crowd but had attracted almost half a dozen cameras on her, the large intimidating lens’ were pushed into her face haphazardly, narrowly missing her face a few times.

Aisha had to hold herself back from stealing the cameras from their holders and smashing them onto the ground. She could feel a self-depreciating throb begin to build in her head, the memory of all the idyllic children watching her, and those who had felt represented by her made tears prick at her eyes. In that moment, with too many lens’ focussing on her quivering lip, she hoped that they wouldn’t catch the salty sadness that threatened to stream down her face

The post-race interview scene fades away, and a familiar red bull jersey is announced into the scene, the dark blue merging pleasantly with the dark grey background. We’re introduced to Checo’s frame, a placid smile on his face.

“Hi checo,” The interviewer greets the driver, who nods in acknowledgement, “Well, Bahrain was an intense time for you, especially the on track accident with Aisha, would you care to talk us through the whole thing?”

Checo clears his throat briefly, “Yeah, uhm, it was a tight battle with her, and she was holding her ground y’know, but I saw an opportunity to make a move and I took it.” He shrugged once, reverting his gaze away from the camera, “And, as an unfortunate by product, she ended up spinning out, but it’s racing, these things happen.”

“I think everyone knows that she seemed quite upset about the incident, did you have a chance to speak with her afterwards?”

“uhm, people say things when they’re angry, and Aisha was frustrated but I’m here to win races, that’s what I’ve been hired to do. Once again, it was a choice that I had to make, and it’s hard to consider everyone’s emotions while I do it.”

“Max, we recently interviewed Checo, and he had some…words to say about the situation in Bahrain, specifically with Aisha after the race. Now, we saw that you had intervened just in time, what was going on during that moment?”

Max shifted in his chair, slipping down slightly, and crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I could see that the situation was escalating, with Aisha getting increasingly angry, it would’ve ended pretty badly.”

“You sound so sure about that.”

“Trust me, I know anger when I see it, and I know that races can get heated especially when avoidable occurrences aren’t avoided, but I also think that emotional regulation is crucial to compete.” He distractedly runs a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Does this change your initial views on Aisha entering the sport? Since you were pretty, pessimistic.” The interviewer cringes just as the words escape their mouth.

“I wouldn’t say I was pessimistic,” He quickly rejects, “But I think she had something to prove, just like any of us, she isn’t exempt from it. And she, raced like any of us would’ve in the moment, so do I suddenly think of her as a saint? No, but do I think that she’s building up to something? Maybe.”

“Aisha!” A voice calls from behind her, Aisha smiles at the fans who had offered her a notebook to sign, she watched them walk away before responding,

“Yeah?” She tucks away her pen into the silver, Porsche gym bag that hung from her shoulder.

Lando jogs up to her, tapping his card against the scanner before pushing through the gate and reaching her side, “Great race, you handled it...well…” He trailed off, unsure of how to spin off his compliment.

Aisha laughs at that, throwing her head back, ”It’s okay Lando, you don’t have to say anything” She tugs at the sleaves of her tight black jacket, the hugo boss label stretched over her chest as she pulled at the fabric, “I- I can get pretty mad,” Aisha shrugs, kicking an imaginary pebble with her shoe, rustling her oversized tracksuit bottoms, the three parallel lines on both her legs fluttered with the airy clothing.

“Yeah, that probably didn’t go down to well on camera,” He itches the back of his head, “I actually came to ask if you’re staying at the same hotel as the rest of us, Oscar took my car and I’m stranded.”

“Lando…” She sighs, adjusting the strap of her bag, “If you wanted to ride in my Porsche, you could’ve just said so.” Aisha gestured to her silvery 918 Spyder, the high-end sports car shimmered beneath the spotlights of the private car park.

Lando hissed through his teeth and grinned, “You caught me.” He held his hands up, “It’s the only way I can be photographed in the car without causing an uproar.”

Aisha tilted her head at him, “Oh, so nothing else is convincing you?”

“Hmmm, that, and maybe the very beautiful and scary woman who drives it?” Lando offered, holding out his hand for her to take.

She looked down at his open palm before searching the area around them, the rest of the grid had departed long before, leaving just her car and another in the parking. Aisha squinted her eyes at the remaining automobile, a Honda NSX, the only owner being none other than a certain grumpy blonde, who was more focussed on his back seat than on the couple who still stood in the middle of the concrete.

Accepting his hand, she revelled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, soft skin against coarse knuckles, a warm aura enveloped her being as she guided them towards her car, pulling out the flat fob to click open the expensive machine.

Yet, as she watched Lando retreat into the passenger’s seat with an amazed, “oh damn.” and went to unlock the trunk to slip her duffel bag into, she felt an icy gaze glued to her back.

Aisha turned once behind her to where Max was sitting in his driver’s seat, eyes glued at first on Lando, an unrecognisable expression painted on his face before he slowly slid it up to her face, and his once oddly neutral gaze turned into an annoyed squint.

With that, the dutchman tore his eyes away from a now, slightly agitated Aisha, towards the open road and pulled out of the car park, speeding away to what she assumed would be the hotel.

“Hey,” Lando leaned over the dash, reaching for her hand that rested on the headrest of her seat, the other braced on her car door as she watched the retreating Honda, “You okay?”

Aisha jumped out of her disturbed haze, and back to where Lando was now rubbing his fingers over hers that had tensed enough to turn her milky brown skin into a pale white, “Yeah- I’m fine, just checking for reporters.”

“I’m that embarrassing?” He teased, watching her intently as she fastened her seatbelt and smiled at the sound of the purring super engine.

Aisha snorts, “No- not at all, just making sure that McLaren’s golden boy isn’t photographed inside a Porsche- with the grid’s certified crazy woman.” She pressed on the gas.

“Yeah, but…what if I want that?”

“What?” Aisha’s eyebrows knitted together; eyes still glued to the unfamiliar roads ahead as the GPS stopped squawking at her for a brief moment.

“I don’t care if you’re the crazy woman…You’re just, you. I don’t care about the rest.” Lando smiled lazily, his eyes studying her quickly flustered face.

“You’re a horrible flirt Norris.” She grumbled.

#f1 #f1 fanfiction #Max Verstappen #charles leclerc #Carlos Sainz #Lando Norris #Max Verstappen imagine #Max Verstappen fanfic #Max Verstappen fluff #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #Carlos Sainz imagine #Carlos Sainz fanfic #Carlos Sainz fluff #Lando Norris imagine #Lando Norris fanfic #Lando Norris fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 fic #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #f1 smut #f1blr #[darlingwrites]

[octuscle]

Hey! No suitcases left? I was interested into one oft the north-east from the US

First of all, congratulations on your MBA! Graduated with honors from Harvard. Pretty impressive. But I get it: with the burden of student loan debt on your shoulders, even with that cool new job as an investment banker, you still can't make any big leaps. There you go hoping for something to go with your Ivy League look. I'm afraid I don't have anything from BOS, BDL, PVD or even JFK…. But I could offer you a sports bag from EWR. Adidas logo, but says "Balenciaga" on it. Looks damn expensive! Anyway, I don't begrudge it to you. And I hope there are also sports clothes in it. Because let's be honest: You have neglected your body a little bit in the last years.

And indeed: There are sports clothes in the bag. Not the kind of stuff you wear to the gym. Street style gear. All new, all pretty expensive looking. All completely unusable for you. First of all, it doesn't fit you. And second, you won't need much else to wear for the next few months besides a dark blue suit with a white shirt. Unless you have that much time to change for sleep. I recommend you sleep naked, though. Saves time. And trust me, in your new job, you're going to need every freaking second of sleep you can get.

No matter, to put the whole thing on ebay or to sell it at a seconc hand store, you don't have the time. You put the bag in the corner of your small and expensive downtown apartment. After all, the gold chain is pretty cool. You can wear it sometime. Just to sleep tonight. Tomorrow you start your new job. You should do without such extravagances.

At night you dream wildly. About your new job. About university. But also about expensive sports cars racing in the city center. And of orgies in expensive clubs. You wake up with a very impressive morning wood. And obviously you came more than once tonight. Fuck, now you have to make up the bed. You don't have the time at all. Then breakfast will have to be cancelled. You're not too late on your first day at work.

Fuck! Where are your shoes? There, where they should be, are a lot of sneakers. And a few boots. But no oxfords, no loafers, no shoes that match your suit. You just take a pair of sneakers that look reasonably discreet. And in the rush you forget to take off the chain. When you see all the tie-wearers in the elevator, you notice it. You think about taking off the chain quickly. But that would look even less confident.

The first day at work is still fairly relaxed. A lot of organizational stuff. You are whipped into the company philosophy. You have to sign dozens of forms on compliance issues. And when the day is over, you're already wondering if this was the right decision to start here. As you leave, the partner who supervised you and the other newcomers during the day says "One more word about the dress code. You don't necessarily need a tie. And it's also okay not to wear sensible shoes, but to come in $1,500 sneakers." He's clearly looking in the direction of your shoes. "But it's only okay if it's Friday. And if you're a partner here. Ladies, gentlemen, just to remind you, it's Thursday."

The other new colleagues all know each other. Either their parents already work here. Or they've been to school or country club together. They don't even ask you if you want to join them to toast the start of your career. You wouldn't have wanted to anyway. You need fresh air now. And you walk home. Not far from your apartment, you pass a club. The bouncer looks you in the face, looks at your shoes, looks you in the face again. And nods appreciatively. He asks you if you would like to have a drink. You smile and say, maybe tomorrow. Today you just want to go to bed.

Fuck, if this goes on, you'll run out of sheets. Or you'll have to sleep with a condom in the future. As you dry off after your shower, you're surprised at how firm your belly feels. You have lost weight. Quite noticeably. But that doesn't happen overnight… However, not all shirts and suits usually disappear overnight. There are only black suits in your closet. And black shirts. Many made of shiny fabrics. Some, fortunately, made of office-appropriate fabrics. All in all, your closet looks completely different. A real chic spacious built-in closet, with all the clothes neatly lined up on identical hangers. And almost everything is black. Looks great. But it wasn't like this yesterday….

You can't think about it much longer now. You put on a black cotton shirt and a black virgin wool suit. Both from Italian designers. Tightly cut, emphasizing your slim body. And if you're already out of the ordinary, white sneakers with a black suit don't matter either. Yes, you don't look like a serious investment banker. But you look hot. Really hot! But you get the receipt immediately when you arrive at the office. The cute guy at the reception is still visibly excited and flirts with you. Your supervisor just yells "Hey, wetback, come to my office right now!" through the open-plan office. When you don't respond, there's a "You in the black shirt! Now!" Damn, you're off to a fantastic start at work.

Your boss asks you how long you've been in the U.S. and how good your English is. You answer in your best East Coast English that you were born here and that your English is quite good. Okay, replies your boss. That's good. Because they have a customer for whom it is important that you are fluent in English and Spanish. You want to answer that you had German, French and Latin in school, but you nod and answer "¡No hay problema, jefe, puedo hacerlo!" Fuck! Your boss grins, slaps you on the shoulder and hands you a folder. All the access codes for protected folders are in there. You should look at it until Monday morning. Then you have an appointment with the customer in New Jersey. Don't worry, he's coming with you. But he needs an interpreter. And he adds that if something doesn't seem quite legal to you, it probably isn't quite legal.

By the time you leave the office around 10:00 p.m., your skull is smoking. The client seems to be making a lot of dough with a lot of different businesses. Some are legal, some are a little bit legal, and some are obviously completely illegal. And your job now is to restructure the corporation so that everything looks at least perfectly legal. Actually, you thought that you were only supposed to trade a few shares here. You didn't expect anything like this. On your way home, the doorman greets you like an old friend. You ask if your place at the bar is still free. The bouncer answers with a grin, "Hermano, tu sitio en el bar está siempre libre para ti". Then you realize that you had greeted the bouncer in Spanish. You go into the club. You start to dance a bit to the salsa music. When you arrive at your place at the bar, your glass of Havana Club Maximo Extra Anejo is already at your seat. You smile at the bartender. He leans over the counter, gives you a kiss and unbuttons your shirt. "Jefe, pareces un contable cuando no muestras tu musculoso pecho." You grin, take a sip of your rum and look around. It's still quiet. But then, it's still early in the evening.

It is already dawn when you leave the club. Completely confused. You had fun all evening. Everyone seemed to know you. Twice someone gave you a blowjob in the toilet. And all this time you were not surprised. But when you went to the bathroom to wash your hands, you saw your reflection in the mirror. And it was not you. You are tanned. You have a carefully trimmed black beard. And your chest, shiny with sweat from dancing, is not only well worked out. It is also inked. When you arrive home, undressed and standing in front of the bathroom mirror in your black silk pajama pants, brushing your teeth, you take another close look at the tattoos. They are works of art. You've always been damn proud of them.

Actually, you can't afford to be, given your deadline on Monday, but Saturday belongs to sports. One hour of cardio, one hour of swimming, one hour of lifting weights. And to top it all off, an hour of boxing. In the gym, everyone calls you Balenciaga. Because of your sports bag, you're known as a sore thumb. You don't care. Here you are at home. There are few places where you've spent more time. And hey, there are worse nicknames! Your bros ask you if you're still coming to go drink unos vasos. Not today, tomorrow you have to be fit. On Monday you must not make a mistake.

On Sunday you are certainly not the only one who is in the office. But there you do not care what the others say about your outfit. You look good in the Prada tracksuit. When you step into the elevator at 6:00 in the morning, you don't see anyone yet. Not even the cleaning staff or security. You boot up your computer and continue reading business reports. Fuck, your client is a genius. It's almost impossible to recognize a pattern in the tangle and to get to the bottom of it. But slowly you see through the construct. You startle when someone grabs your shoulder. Your boss is standing behind you. And tells you that he has been watching you for an hour. It is now 8:00 pm. You are doing a good job. But now is a good time to call it a day on a Sunday.

On the way home you take a break for a glass of rum. But somehow you can't concentrate. You can't relax either. Even fiddling with the bartender's nipples is no fun. You say goodbye and go home. You can't say why, but your apartment isn't your home anymore either. Yes, that's your clothes hanging in the closet. Yes, those are your stuff in the bathroom. But everything feels wrong. You don't belong here. In fact, you don't belong in this body either. You definitely don't belong in an investment bank. You toss and turn in your bed. Until you fall asleep.

You wake up with the morning sun. One of the things you love about your penthouse is the view across the Hudson River to the Manhattan skyline at sunrise. Yes, New Jersey is not New York. But the view of New York is the better one. You take a few laps in the pool on the roof terrace. Until your assistant tells you the guys from the bank are here. They should sit down on the terrace.

You take a quick look at them. You haven't met the fellow yet. He looks like he's fresh out of college. Let's see if he's any good. You've been working with his boss for a while. He'll do anything for a line of coke. But he does it well. And you need good men around you to keep the place running.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #male transformation #muscle transformation #race change

[drpepperworshipper]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐓,, 𝐌. 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐲/𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤

- monday

“hey guys, so today i have a different kind of video for yous today. today im gonna have my boyfriend matt pick my outfits for the week. im not sure how this is gonna go at all and to be honest im kinda nervous because i have things to do this week, but im sure he won’t do me dirty. anyway enough yapping, lets go find matt.” i say to my phone.

“okay so i’ve got matt with me” i say as i pan the camera to matt and he smiles at the camera, “hi guys” he says.

“i’m gonna let him pick my outfit on his own, so i’ll be back once he’s picked my outfit” i say and let go of the red button to stop the video from recording.

“okay im gonna go sit on my bed so just come out when you’re done, and please don’t do me dirty because there is definitely some questionable clothing choices in there” i say to matt with a grin and i kiss his cheek before i exit my closet and leave him in there.

about 10 minutes later matt makes his way out of my closet with an outfit in hand, also jewellery to go with which i wasn’t expecting at all.

“okay here you go” he says with a smirk and hands me the outfit of his choice.

i lay out the clothing on my bed and look over it, taking my first look at what he picked.

the first thing that stands out to me is a black new era cap with the white logo, which i very rarely wear.

next is a black body suit with thin straps and a pair of baggy black jeans.

for shoes, it’s a pair of adidas campus ‘00 which i’m excited to wear since i’ve never wore them before.

lastly, a jacket which is an over-sized leather jacket.

“wait i actually love this” i say to matt with a huge smile as i turn back around to him, seeing him standing with a smug look and his arms crossed over his chest.

“well, let’s be real here, i have great style so like of course my outfit skills are gonna pull through” he says chuckling.

“yeah right” i say, knowing that im talking out my ass because his outfits are always good.

“okay im gonna go change” i say as i grab the clothes and go to go get changed.

once i have the outfit on i walk over to my body-length mirror and turn to the side and pull a pose and look at my outfit.

“okay now i’ve gotta film it” i say walking over to get my phone and propping it up so the camera can see my whole outfit.

“so, matt’s first outfit of the week is actually so cute, i’d wear this again definitely but now we gotta see if he can make the fits this cute the entire week. so ill see you all tomorrow to finish off this video, bye” i say picking up my phone and blowing a kiss to the camera and pressing the stop button.

- tuesday

“okay it’s the second day of matt picking my outfits for the week so he’s back and he’s actually in my closet right now picking an outfit so i will see y’all when i have the outfit on.” i say.

“it’s the second day and i’m already stuck” i hear matt say from my closet.

i let out a giggle, “well only 6 more days left” i say as i go over to my vanity and finish up the little bit of makeup i had left to do.

“okay im done” matt says, handing me the clothes.

“only took 15 minutes” i say smiling as i lay the clothes down on my bed as i look over them.

“c’mon cut me some slack, you’ve got so many clothes it’s hard to just pick one outfit” he says.

“yeah yeah” i say.

so today matt’s outfit of choice is black flares, a beige knitted sweater and my mini ugg boots.

“okay basic but cute and comfy” i say looking back at him.

“i also thought it would look cute with your glasses and since you have your hair curled it would make you look really pretty” matt says shyly.

“i love you” i say walking over and pressing my lips against his then making my way to get changed.

“okay todays outfit is basic but really cosy and cute and cosy is my favourite type of outfit and im not doing anything today i get to just lay around all day but i will see you all tomorrow for another matt outfit check” i say smiling and waving and turning off my phone.

- wednesday

“hey guys, i’m back, today i need to go grocery shopping so matt is back with me to pick another outfit” i say as i pull matt into the frame and he waves and smiles.

“okay im gonna go pick the most amazing outfit” he says laughing and walking off to my closet.

“and as usual i will see you guys when i have the outfit on” i say turning off the camera for just now.

today matt is out quicker than the other two days, “you must’ve had an outfit in mind, you were out in like two minutes” i say walking over.

“yeah, i saw this outfit on your instagram and you looked so good so i got a part of the outfit for you today but i switched up the shirt”

“oh right” i say chuckling and looking at the outfit.

which is, blue basic baggy denim jeans, a black tube top and a red over-sized adidas jacket with my white air forces to go with.

“this is literally my new favourite outfit” i say as i walk out of my bathroom.

“you like it?” matt asks, i nod with a big smile on my face, “i love it so much and i love the jacket, this is never something i would reach for like ever” i say as i lean up on my tippy toes to reach matt’s lips as i give him a peck then walk over to my phone and begin my tiktok.

“okay this is my new favourite outfit, what do we think guys? personally i love it, i think it compliments my body really well and that’s not something i say very often but overall this is my favourite outfit so far that matt has picked for me. and yet again i will see y’all tomorrow for another fit check” i say.

- thursday

“hey guys, so today me, nick, matt and chris are going out with friends for some dinner tonight so matt better make this outfit cute, i mean no pressure matt but it better be cute” i say talking to him and the camera.

“i’m actually really confident with this outfit choice tonight” he says.

“so you have it prepared already again?” i say shocked.

“of course i do” he says walking into my closet and walking back out instantly.

he brings out a lacey black tank top, a black mini skirt the same leather jacket from the other day and black heels with my mini black bag.

“oh okay woah, we’re going with lace tonight.” i say a little shocked with the choice.

“i can pick another outfit if you want?” matt says.

“no, no, this is a cute fit i actually love it, im gonna go change” i say walking into the bathroom.

i walk back out and i see matt’s eyes slightly widen, “i did fucking great. you look so fucking good.” he says walking up to me and placing his hands on my waist and leaning down and pressing a kiss to my lips.

i giggle and slightly pull back, “thank you matt, and yes you did really good this outfit is so pretty” i say making my way over to add another clip to my tiktok.

“okay so as i said tonight we’re going out so matt had a little bit of pressure on his shoulders but he pulled through with such a nice outfit, i didn’t know he could put together such nice outfits but this is definitely by far my favourite” i say and continue talking for a few more seconds about the outfit.

- friday

date night.

friday is mine and matt’s date night and tonight we’re going to dinner then bowling or something like that so tonight’s outfit needs to be the best of all.

“hey guys welcome back to day five of matt picking my outfits, only two more days to go but tonight it’s date night so i hope this is going to be a really cute outfit but let’s see what matt comes up with tonight. he’s been in my closet for about 10 minutes now, i think he might be struggling tonight but let’s hope he pulls through” i say.

“i’m here. this outfit, i personally think is going to look so good on you and i know ive said that every day but seriously this is gonna look so good” he says smiling and handing me the outfit.

“okay, but it better be really cute because it’s date night” i say.

“don’t worry, i made sure it was really cute for date night” he said chuckling.

“first dress of the week and this is the most flattering dress ever on me so thank you” i say as i look at the tight black dress that goes just above mid thigh.

“oh boots, i love” i say looking at the cherry red leather boots.

“oh my god, this jacket has got to be the warmest thing ever.” i say picking up the over-sized cherry red leather jacket.

“wait this looks so much cuter than i thought it would” i say as i make my way out of the bathroom to see matt looking down at me with a huge smirk on his face, “you like?” i ask him.

“i fucking love it. you look so good” he says running his hands over his face.

“damn i’m really feeling this fit tonight” i say to my phone.

“so this is date night outfit, which i’m really feeling like i love this like look how cute this is” i say as i turn around and give a whole view of the outfit.

“i’ll see you all tomorrow, for the last two days of matt picking my outfits for the week. this has been so fun so far and the fits are all really cute but saturday is normally chill day so it probably won’t be anything amazing but i will see you all tomorrow” i say waving to the camera.

- saturday

“there’s been a change of plan tonight y’all, so yesterday i said it will probably be a chill night but we all decided to go to this party that we have all been invited too, so let’s see what matt has picked tonight”

“oh fuck yes, i’m so ready to go literal hoe shit with this fit” i say getting hyped at the outfit matt handed me.

“woah, steady there.” he says furrowing his brows.

“kidding but this is a bad ass outfit, i’ve not wore one of these fits in months and im so excited” i say making my way to get changed.

“okay y’all im back with the fit and i feel so amazing tonight, i dont know its something about when i wear these kind of clothes a different wave of confidence comes over me and im here for it but its a little revealing but nothing i haven’t wore before but i will see you all tomorrow for the last day of matt choosing my fits, i love y’all bye” i say switching off the camera as i get ready to leave for the party.

- sunday

the last day of matt choosing my outfits.

“hey guys, today is the last day of matt choosing my fits for the week and i’ve literally enjoyed doing this so much. there hasn’t been a bad outfit in sight which im kind of shocked at but we might do this again in the future but we could do it like i choose matt’s fits but who knows but let’s get onto the last fit. today is definitely going to be a chill day so let’s hope it’s a lounge fit.” i say as i wait for matt to come back out of my closet.

“and for your final outfit sweetheart, is just plain sweats and a long sleeve” he says with a cute smile and hands me the final outfit.

“thank god, because i’m literally going to lay around all day” i say as i make my way to get changed.

“okay so as i said today is gonna be a lazy day, matt pulled through with a comfy fit which im so glad for. but its just grey sweats and a grey long sleeve but thats all for this video and i will see you all whenever i next post but i love you all and you’re all beautiful, stay safe bye guys” i say as i blow a final kiss to the camera and i press post.

i posted my video a few hours ago and everyone seems to love it so far. i turn to matt who is laying on the other side of me, “thank you for doing that video with me” i say as i lean over and kiss his cheek.

“of course, anything for you and it was really fun i enjoyed it a lot and you looked so good in every one of those outfits, my love” he says as he peppers a bunch of kisses all over my face as i giggle and squirm under his body.

“i love you” he says as he presses a final kiss to my lips.

“i love you so much more” i say and lean up and kiss his lips then he falls down beside me and i lay my head on his chest.

#matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

[veskscans]

‘Enemy of Mine’ by Kazuma Kaneko and Megumi Shiraishi, 1999. Scanned at 800 DPI, 5244x8106.

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xwyT5lNIiE8myFIEtK0QaPQk05DgXwsL?usp=share_link

This piece was drawn as a pre-order poster for Persona 2: Innocent Sin. It prominently features Tatsuya and Apollo as they float in the darkness against the glow of Nyarlathotep's tower, their forms having somewhat fused so that Tatsuya is wearing half of Apollo's mask and half of Tatsuya’s face can be seen beneath Apollo’s armour. Their complimentary images suggest interconnectedness; both sides, person and persona, need to exist complimentary to be considered complete, sort of as two sides of the same coin. Their poses here also are somewhat evocative of the yin and yang symbol.

Notice that the face within Apollo’s mask is actually that of Shadow Tatsuya, which is where the obvious meaning of the title, ‘Enemy of Mine’, comes in. It’s to be taken very literally from Tatsuya’s perspective, as in ‘the enemy of myself is myself’.

Side note, I also found that exact same watch Tatsuya is wearing, it’s a black-and-white Adidas AL200. Zoom in close enough on the Google Drive scan and you can quite clearly make out the Adidas logo and text on the watch. Plus, since Kaneko loves Nike so much, I’m sure those shoes are inspired by some sort of ‘90s Nike Air shoe.

#megaten #megami tensei #smt #persona #persona 2 #tatsuya suou #kazuma kaneko #atlus

[loveshotzz]

What's our greasy boy wearing today that's gonna make my head spin?

🔧🚘

It’s raining over here so in my mind today he’s wearing an over sized, worn in faded black hoodie he’s had for years. It’s got some peeling racing logo on the back, and a plain white tee underneath, just some hanes cotton one.

Cause it’s a chilly he’s wearing his favorite grey sweats, the kind with the long white draw string. he’s being a little lazy today though so despite the rain he’s got on black ankle socks that he wears with his adidas slides. His hair is a mess, he just rolled out of bed and did nothing with it. He’s also got a single silver stud in his left ear.

#asks #palmtreesx3 🌴 #i guess it’s never really over #steve harrington #mechanic!steve

[safety-pin-punk]

I have a bunch of clothes that used to belong to my brother. They're all hand me downs (fantastic news) but they have a bunch of branding and logos and stuff (less fantastic). Some of it is easier to cover up with smaller logos, but others have really big logos on them or have other identifying features (like the three stripes along the legs of adidas sweatpants) and im not sure how to cover it effectively. I just worry that somebody is going to think I'm a poser for wearing it even though none of it was my choice and I haven't given a single penny to those companies because none of the clothes are new. Any advice?

I have gotten so many asks recently from people worried about being labeled a poser. And I think I'm going to make a big separate post one day just talking about this mindset and what to do about it. But the long story short is that you simply need not care what others think.

But to your question anon, if you do want to cover it effectively or even just make them blend with punk aesthetics, my advice would be to diy them. Cover with patches, add embroidery, use them for fabric for a completely different project. Instead of hiding obvious branding, try to find ways to show it off but with an obvious note of hating the companies. Like adding a BUNCH of anti nazi shit to adidas clothing. Instead of trying to hide it, make it a statement piece that will spark conversations about the history/problems with company xyz.

But also. Dont feel like you have to. YOU know that you are adhering to punk values simply by wearing hand me downs. Not gonna lie, I wear all kinds of hand me down/thrifted shit that is not inherently punk. One of my favorite combos is my 'land of the free home of the brave' shirt with literally anything that is anti-gov. It confuses people. It sparks conversations. Its thrifted. Its anti fast fashion. Its about not giving a shit what someone is going to say and doing it anyway. Because you know its good. If someone is gonna give you trouble for it, then they dont seem like the type of person you should waste your energy worrying about anyways.

#anon Im sorry this post got kinda overrun with the whole 'stop caring about being a poser' thing. Just had to get that out before I forgot #mail tag

[the-bjd-community-confess]

It is so funny how some people are genuinely wondering and questioning why recasters are upping their prices more and more, some even above legit prices... As if it had not been criminally obvious: Recasters don't give a shit about you. They want CASH and nothing else. Their customers are not relevant to them in the slightest, only when it means money will be flowing lol.

They only do 'customer care' because they know it will get dumb people to think "ooh they wanna offer affordable dolls for people with less money :)" Quick question for people who think that, do you also think Santa is real? It was so evident that recasters would eventually up the price. Their strategy is basically being competition for real artists until they eventually go out of business and then they can up the price. Why else was that Ery doll way more expensive than the other recast dolls right from the start? They do not give a f about customers. They are not artists who put care into each doll and even the packaging. They are just scammers and I am tired of people trying to defend them. 

If you willingly buy recast that is entirely your choice and I don't judge but don't pretend like "It is just as good as legit". Imagine a Sneaker convention or something and someone just comes in with fake adidas shoes where the logo is upside down. That dude would make a fool outta himself trying to pass them off as real and saying the quality is just as good as the real brand. That's what y'all recast people sound like.

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #Community Counterfeits #Recasters

[lover-of-mine]

I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and now I can't stop laughing because the doodle pants have the devils logo, I have my devils tanktop on because I had to take a vaccine today and it was the easiest tanktop to reach, and I am also wearing my devils beanie. I also have black and red adidas on. And black and red nails. I am I devils billboard oskaoksaoksoaksoaksoka

#paKSAKOSKOAKSOKAOSKA #HELP #thoughts thoughts thoughts

[riptide-if]

What are the fashion senses of the ROs? What do they wear on a day to day basis?

ANON. im seriously so glad u asked u dont understand.im actually going to attatch the long descs i wrote of their everyday outfit (like in a vn..) also theres more fashion/makeup inspo on their boards on my pinterest! there's also boards for bg charas on there:33 so if u r interested in lee's band or aria there u go;p

HILO: an orange tank top with a ruffle trim paired with an off white maxi skirt. A pair of dark brown double strap sandals are on their feet. A gold ring with an infinity symbol is on the pointer finger on their right hand, accompanied by two thick threaded bracelets; the first one being yellow and orange, and the other [MC fave color] and orange. They have long almond shaped acrylic nails; colors varying. They tend to get a new set every three weeks. They wear a pair of orange bead earrings with a gold moon charm on the left ear and a gold star charm on the right ear. A pair of gold hoop earrings goes through their upper lobes in both ears.

LEE: a black shirt that’s cropped just above their stomach, with a graphic of a black skull outlined with white. A black zip-up hoodie is either halfway zipped up, tied around their waist, or discarded. A black and grey striped fingerless glove is covering one hand the other is covered in an assortments of rings including a silver skull ring and a silver ring with a red garnet stone, gifted to them by MC on their one year anniversary. Elijah wears short black cargo shorts while Elaine wears a black cargo miniskirt. They both have (optional) distressed tights underneath them. They wear two black earrings on each upper ear, a pair of silver skull earrings, two black rings on their lips, silver eyebrow stud piercing, silver septum piercing, and a silver star shaped tongue ring.

NOEMIA/NIKITA: a white long sleeved compression shirt is worn underneath a yellow, purple, and white color block windbreaker; either unzipped or balled up and put in their bag. A pair of black athletic shorts with a white adidas logos in the corner is covering their legs. They normally carry a yellow crossbody bag with an assortment of different pins on it (bisexual flag, mang, surfboard, bmo, spiderman, no pain no gain, shark, pufferfish, wave). They wear a pair of green pair of star skate shoes over a pair of colored socks; always mismatched. An anklet with white beads is around their right leg, a similar one with teal beads underneath it. A gold ring with a white teardrop shaped opal ring given to them by their grandma sits on a leather chain around their neck. Two to three hair ties are always around their wrists.

ARLO: an untucked white short sleeved t-shirt is usually worn under his rotation of lightly colored button ups, sweater vests and cardigans. A pair of light denim overalls is over it; with some barely visible paint stains here and there. He wears a pair of black oxford shoes with this. On his wrists are a few braided leather bracelets. He wears a gold vintage coin necklace around his neck along with matching small gold hoop earrings. A thing elastic headband is sometimes holding back his bangs while he works.

as for key words in my notes i have; hilo is whimsical, lee is emo (lol), n is sporty, and arlo is cozy!

#inbox #about: hilo kalua mahoe #about: lee ferguson #about: n azevedo #about: arlo song #arlo's is kinda short but he's a simple guy #hilo actually dresses very nice looking! #as in approachable #but if ppl ask where their shirt is from they WILL gatekeep #n is an army btw.. if u even care #PLEASE LOOK AT THEIR BOARDS THO

[anystalker707]

Pouring rain

Pairing: Gerard x [gender neutral] Reader Word count: ~ 1 700 Genre: Angst / Comfort Summary: Bitter sweet reencounters A/n: slowly going back to writing not proofread

MASTERLIST

          It was a gloomy Sunday. The whole week had been hot when the temperatures suddenly dropped again, and it was all humid. None of the layers of clothes I had put on were doing well enough in that cold wind of incessant rain. The most it would do was to reduce itself to a drizzle, some sort of mist that ended up soaking through your clothes if you stood out there for too long.

Working at that diner across the city wasn’t the best thing ever, but sometimes sacrifices were needed if you wanted to save up and have that little dream come true. I knew the day would be gloomy, but I also knew the Sunday tips tended to be the largest.

The way back home was a little depressing. I gave up on using the lame old umbrella I had brought with me in my backpack. I opted for just going with the hood of my jacket over my head to at least have the excuse I’m trying to keep dry despite my slow steps. Before I could really notice, I was taking the most extended way home. Maybe it was a great break from the same study-work-sleep routine that pursued me every day of the week, even more so with such weather.

Droplets hit my face, cold, accumulating on my lashes until I blinked them away. The cold air was sharp in my lungs, and even sharper around my torso. The shivers went from my thighs to my back to my scalp. Those shitty clothes. I could’ve at least picked it better. Perfect weather to sleep or at least stay at home, and everyone fucking knew that. A car or a person would pass by only occasionally, always rushed.

Green mountains that once completed the landscape of the city, towering in the distance over the smaller buildings or appreciated from the highest spots, were now reduced to nothing. The thick white curtain of clouds would only give the mountains a break when the wind picked up enough to disperse them, but still, it wouldn’t be for long. Everything seemed to be covered in a light sheet of clear white that would become more opaque whenever the drizzle evolved into proper rain.

Perhaps I chose the most extended way for a reason. I knew it when I saw him. I’d been avoiding him for long enough; it became pointless.

Isolating myself was good until it started becoming boring, and I craved some of that agitation my life had, even if that hurt me in the end. I wouldn’t go back to what things were before all the fall-outs, the mismatching schedules, and friends moving away for better college opportunities, but a taste of it wouldn’t hurt.

Despite the cold weather, he stood under that damn tree in the park, observing god knows what. The trail of smoke coming from his mouth showed the old habits were still there. His eyes followed me as I walked by, and I knew they still followed me when I turned back on my heels and walked to him, even if my own eyes were on the wet ground.

Those same worn-down sneakers, loose Adidas sweater pants, and some hoodie with the logo of a random band already faded. All in black, but in shades that didn’t match.

Gerard inhaled, about to say something that was suddenly substituted by a groan when I hit him with the plastic bag I carried—there was nothing much, just a few candies from the diner. Nothing that would hurt. Maybe I wish it would. Secretly.

“Ow! ‘The fuck’s wrong with you?” Gerard glared, eyes narrowed and eyebrows knitted together. Hazel eyes and pale skin that gave me that painful tug on the heart.

“‘The fuck’s wrong with you?” I copied his tone and hit him with the plastic bag again, snatching a chain of curses from him. “Dude, you’re so ridiculous! You fucking suck!” Those weren’t exactly the first words I wanted to tell him in months, but I didn’t know what else to say. The words just came out naturally, and knowing me well enough, he’d easily catch on to the hidden intentions.

Gerard sighed as he dropped the cigarette butt to the ground, and it soaked on the wet soil; he still stepped on it, out of habit. A groan came from him as he rubbed his face. “You’re always showing up to ruin days.”

We didn’t part on good terms, that’s true, but none of those would stop us.

“Shut up and be thankful.” I glared at him up and down.

Despite the lack of words, Gerard’s eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in every detail and probably gathering the clues to build a small notion of what had happened all this time I was away.

“Thankful that—”

And he never finished whatever he was going to say. He pressed his lips together and looked away the moment I glared at him. Ghosting everyone when things started to go down wasn’t the best option, but it doesn’t matter now that I was there, right? Gerard probably knew it better than anyone else in the friend group did. He would also simply disappear whenever he wanted.

Sighing deeply, I crossed my arms over my chest, letting my lips curl up into a smirk that didn’t really hold any humor. “You’ve grown more handsome, or is it just an impression?”

Gerard narrowed his eyes, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve grown more annoying.”

“Oh, please,” I scoffed, “you just aren’t so used to it anymore.”

There was no response. Gerard rolled his eyes, leaning back against the tree. His eyes were on me but then looked at something beyond, and I heard the raindrops starting to fall again. Unlike earlier, they were thicker; they started sporadically until they were absolutely soaking the ground.

“No shit,” I sighed as I stood more under the tree, stepping closer to Gerard in the hope the tree would help us. It didn’t, really. Even if less, the rain still managed to get through the leaves. The way the rain was starting to make currents down the sides of the streets made me decide to grab my crappy umbrella.

“Fucking hell!” Gerard’s voice was muffled by the sound of the rain as he watched me struggle with the umbrella—it got a little stuck as I tried to open it, some ribs getting stuck and making its shape look even worse.

“Don’t like it?” I glared at Gerard. “Then fucking solve it yourself!”

Gerard took the umbrella and held my wrist with his free hand. His grip tightened before he started running down the street, pulling me along with him. The rain ended up soaking us more anyway, but Gerard didn’t stop, nor did he give me a chance to. Fucking Gerard. Fuck him. Maybe there was no other choice but damn it.

Gerard and I were absolutely soaking wet when we finally stopped, standing on the porch of his house with our backs against the wall. My fingers were already numb before, but now they were actually aching. We stepped in some puddles while running, so my shoes felt so gross.

Still, there was some comfort at the moment. The pain and discomfort were making me feel something.

The sounds of our heavy breathing were the only sound filling the air aside the pouring rain hitting the ground and the roof tiles.

“So?” Gerard whispered as he looked at me. He seemed even paler than usual; his cheeks and nose bright red. He probably was as cold as me.

“Hate you,” I said, my voice weak from the cold and running, and faint under the sound of the rain.

Gerard scoffed and laughed, looking away. “Keep lying to yourself.”

I shook my head, and finally broke out of that trance, looking around. The porch was still the same as it was all that time ago.

“Wanna come inside?” Gerard nodded to the front door.

“I just wanted to get in touch again, not to dive right back in,” I said with a chuckle.

“And you will disappear all over again.” A sigh escaped his lips, and he rolled his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands back. “I know it can be kinda hypocritical, but I hate when you do it.”

I furrowed my eyebrows and eyed Gerard up and down. Little shit. Not that he’s wrong, no, but I always have the urge to disagree with him. Annoy him and win him with arguments.

Gerard snickered as he stepped closer. “You’re still so bitter. Maybe even more.”

“Ah, don’t act like you’re a saint,” I chuckled.

Gerard was so close, for some reason. Did I step closer as well?

Gerard’s lips were so warm against mine. It was a nice contrast in comparison to the cold rain. His hand even cupped the side of my neck a little, his thumb under my jaw to guide the direction of my head as he deepened the kiss. His hoodie was soaked, but I still held onto it gently, pulling him closer by the collar. That was a feeling long forgotten until now. All those kisses after sneaking away at parties or seeing each other after a text was sent during an extra lonely night.

The long kiss was cut off into gentle and repetitive pecks until Gerard’s lips were glued to mine again. Gerard mumbled something I couldn’t really understand, but it didn’t matter. He stepped closer and kissed me again, holding the kiss for a little longer.

My tongue ran along Gerard’s bottom lip, and his mouth immediately parted open. His mouth tasted fucking disgusting with that damn cigarette taste along with whatever he had drunk before. God, how I fucking hated Gerard. He deepened the kiss gently, his tongue pressing to mine.

Suddenly, the porch lights turned on. Donna always did that whenever it hit 5:30 pm. Either way, it put the ground under my feet. The rain sounded louder, and the cold was suddenly so much worse.

“See you, Gerard,” I whispered. I could stay there for longer, yes, but I didn’t want to face Donna again. She was too sweet. And what else would I do to Gerard? I would’ve probably slept over if I continued there, and the morning would have been filled with headaches and regrets. I’d go back home with his clothes and leave them in the bottom of the drawer after doing the laundry. Routines suck.

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

#my chemical romance #gerard way #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #gerard way x reader #mcr x reader #oneshot #imagine #writing

[stylechronicles]

The Birthplace of a Cultural Revolution: Exploring the Origins of Hip-Hop and its Influence on Fashion

Welcome to our blog, where we embark on a journey to uncover the origins of hip-hop and its profound impact on both music and fashion. In this post, we delve into the birthplace of this cultural revolution, tracing its roots back to the vibrant streets of the South Bronx. We'll also explore the close connection between hip-hop fashion and street style, highlighting how the fashion choices of early hip-hop pioneers became intertwined with the very essence of the genre. So, let's rewind to the past and uncover the rich history that birthed hip-hop and shaped its unique sense of style.

The Birth of Hip-Hop:

Hip-hop emerged during the 1970s in the South Bronx, New York City, as a creative and expressive response to socio-economic challenges faced by African American and Latino communities. Its inception can be attributed to the fusion of various elements, including DJing, MCing (rapping), graffiti art, and, of course, dance. The neighborhoods became a breeding ground for innovation, and the streets served as the backdrop for this cultural movement.

Street Style and Self-Expression:

Hip-hop culture has always been rooted in individuality and self-expression. Early pioneers expressed their identity and creativity through their clothing, which laid the foundation for the iconic hip-hop fashion and street style we know today. In the face of limited resources, they repurposed and personalized clothing, creating their own unique looks that set them apart from mainstream fashion.

Influence of African and African American Aesthetics:

Hip-hop fashion draws inspiration from African and African American aesthetics, paying homage to cultural heritage and ancestral roots. Bold and vibrant colors, patterns, and prints reminiscent of traditional African garments found their way into the fashion choices of early hip-hop artists. This infusion of cultural elements became a defining feature of hip-hop fashion.

Rise of Sneaker Culture:

Sneakers have become synonymous with hip-hop fashion and street style. From Adidas to Nike, Puma to Converse, sneakers became a symbol of identity and status within the hip-hop community. The love for sneakers grew hand in hand with the rise of breakdancing and the need for functional footwear that could withstand the demands of dance battles and energetic moves.

Branding and Logomania:

Hip-hop fashion has a close relationship with branding and logos. As the genre gained popularity, artists started sporting clothing adorned with recognizable logos, transforming fashion into a form of self-promotion. Brands like FUBU, Karl Kani, and Sean John became synonymous with the hip-hop fashion movement, representing not just style but also entrepreneurial success within the community.

Influence on Mainstream Fashion:

Hip-hop's influence on fashion extends far beyond its grassroots beginnings. As the genre gained mainstream recognition, elements of hip-hop style started to influence high fashion runways, streetwear brands, and pop culture. Baggy pants, oversized hoodies, bucket hats, and gold chains all found their way into the fashion lexicon, transcending cultural boundaries and becoming iconic symbols of hip-hop style.

Conclusion:

Hip-hop's origin lies in the vibrant streets of the South Bronx, where a fusion of artistic expression gave birth to a cultural revolution. The fashion choices of early hip-hop pioneers became intertwined with the essence of the genre, fostering a unique street style that celebrated self-expression, cultural heritage, and individuality. Hip-hop fashion's influence on mainstream culture is a testament to its enduring power. From sneakers to branding, streetwear to logomania, hip-hop has left an indelible mark on the fashion world. So, whether you're donning a fresh pair of sneakers,rocking a statement logo, or embracing the vibrant colors and patterns of hip-hop fashion, remember that you're not just wearing clothes—you're paying homage to a cultural movement that continues to shape and redefine fashion as we know it. Let your fashion choices become a testament to the spirit of hip-hop, where individuality, creativity, and self-expression thrive.

#hip hop #hip hop fashion #black culture #hip hop style #hiphop fashion #street wear #streetwear #hip hop clothing #hiphop clothes #hiphop clothing #hip hop influence #Sneaker Culture #rap music #rapper #urban #urbanwear #styleblogger

[constantly-deactivated]

What the FBI was looking for in the Mar-a-Lago raid?

Nuclear Futbal - Destruction Of The Democrat Party

Backup DNC server was in Ukraine & THAT'S why the democrats panicked when Trump placed the call to President Zelenskiy of Ukraine on the EXACT same server

It's why the Radical Left pushed for impeachment & demanded to have the server & Trump told 'em to hit the road & "You can have the transcripts ONLY"

Everything Hillary Clinton scrubbed from her servers, would be on that blackmailed backup server.

No wonder we're sending BILLIONS

As I understand, that server ALSO had the location of CIA asset Tim Osman aka Osama bin Laden

Putin served the ball to President Trump & literally told him, "Now, the ball is in your court" -> Soccer Serve(r)

ADIDAS THEMSELVES announced the ball had a Wi-Fi logo on it as it had a transmitter chip inside to transmit info to nearby cell phones to access videos & information on players, for fans that held their phone close to the ball.

#pay attention #educate yourself #educate yourselves #wake the fuck up #wake up #wake up america #wake up people #wake up world #do your own research #do your research #do some research #do your homework #government tyranny #government lies #government corruption #exposing the truth #think about it #think for yourself #think for yourselves #exposing evil #exposing lies #exposing corruption #lies exposed #fall cabal #the evil within #question everything #ask yourselves #ask yourself #knowledge is power