#Carpet Stretching Melbourne

[carpetrepair01]

Carpet Repair Melbourne

We offer a wide range of Carpet Repair services in Melbourne, including:

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Carpet stain removal: We can remove a variety of stains from your carpet, including pet stains, food stains, and wine stains.

Carpet colour matching: If you need to replace a section of your carpet, we can match the colour to your existing carpet.

We are a family-owned and operated business with over 20 years of experience in the Carpet Repair industry. We use only the highest quality materials and workmanship, and we offer a satisfaction guarantee on all of our work.

Carpet Patching Melbourne

If your carpet has a small hole or tear, you don't have to replace the entire carpet. We can patch up the damage and make your carpet look new again. We use a variety of techniques to patch carpets, including:

Stitching: We can stitch the hole or tear closed using a special needle and thread.

Hot-glueing: We can hot-glue a patch of matching carpet over the hole or tear.

Bonding: We can use a special bonding agent to attach a patch of matching carpet to the damaged area.

Carpet Replacement Melbourne

If your carpet is old, worn, or damaged, you may need to replace it. We offer a variety of carpet replacement options, including:

New carpet: We can install new carpet of your choice.

Reclaimed carpet: We can install reclaimed carpet, which is a great way to save money and reduce your environmental impact.

Carpet tiles: Carpet tiles are a great option for renters or homeowners who want to be able to change their carpet without having to replace the entire floor.

Carpet Repairing Melbourne

If your carpet has any type of damage, we can repair it. We have the experience and expertise to fix any problem, big or small. We use only the highest quality materials and workmanship, and we offer a satisfaction guarantee on all of our work.

[melbournecleanmastersau]

Melbourne Clean Masters offer services like Carpet Repair, Carpet Patch Repairs, Carpet Hole Repair, Carpet Re-Stretching, Carpet-Waves, Seams Repair, Bubbles, Waves and Fraying. You can drop your query at our email address or just call for the quotation. Our experts will guide you throughout the process.

[mastercarpetrepair]

[stellayuta]

Racing Hearts! - F1 Driver! Gojo Satoru (A LOTG spinoff)

synopsis: Ferrari sensation Gojo Satoru dominates headlines and social media with his unmatched driving prowess and intriguing personal life. Yet, beneath the surface, Gojo harbors a secret that could shake up the F1 world. An unrelenting F1 journalist, determined to unearth the truth, becomes his unexpected adversary—one who might finally expose the enigma that is Gojo Satoru.

content: formula one x jujutsu kaisen, eventual enemies to lovers, angst, themes of isolation, mental health themes, swearing

author's note: I've decided that we all deserve F1 Gojo as much as we deserved F1 Yuta. Hope the jjk and formula one fans enjoy this. This will be much more drama packed than LOTG. Keep following along!

word count: 2k

When the strongest roars across the asphalt, the crowd sees burning red

-

Satoru Gojo lounges lazily on his plush, red velvet, king-sized bed, eyeing his mail with curiosity. He holds a dainty pink envelope up to the light, squinting to make out the words through the paper screen. Carefully, he tears it open, revealing a letter and a photograph: a glossy snapshot of one of his closest friends and fellow drivers, Yuta Okkotsu. Yuta, dressed in a sleek, emerald tuxedo, is smiling dreamily at his fiancée, who is cradled in his arms in a princess carry. They look good, Gojo thinks. Yuta has regained his glow over the past year; in fact, he seems to have put on a few pounds of healthy weight.

Gojo fishes out the letter next. Dyed a flowery shade of baby pink similar to the envelope and stamped with red words, it reads: We are getting married, and you are invited!

Bummer. He was 99.9% sure he'd be asked to officiate. But alas.

He shakes his head comically as he reads further.

"Kindly do not bring any gifts, only your blessings. If you feel like gifting something, please donate to a charity of your choice!"

Tacky much. If he were in their place, he definitely would have asked for extravagant gifts. But given how Yuta's brain works and how much his fiancée mirrors him, Gojo isn't surprised in the slightest.

What does surprise him though is the last line in the letter, highlighting the best man and the maid of honor. The best man isn't his mates from his early racing days, Geto or Gojo. But Inumaki...

"Seriously, Okkotsu?" Gojo gawks at the letter dramatically and then shoves it away from him. Must be nice. To have a small circuit of friends, a good team, a hot fiancée, a quiet, successful life.

Must be nice.

He skeptically eyes the collection of trophies that decorate the wall opposite to his bed. Some golds from Melbourne, Suzuka, Sao Paolo, Silverstone. A few silvers and bronzes from the American and Asian legs. No driver's championship yet.

Gojo joined Ferrari at just 20 years old as their golden boy, and now, after eight years with the team, he had experienced many successful runs—but never a victory. He had finished second six times until Okkotsu entered the scene and began dominating the field, pushing him to third in the championship standings. Despite his outwardly charismatic and confident persona, the pressure of failing to deliver Ferrari their long-awaited win gnawed at him like a thousand needles.

The prince of Ferrari was yet to become their king. But perhaps, the prince will never grow up enough to be a king.

He tries to shoo the depressing thoughts away. There is no time for depression during the long-awaited summer break.

He needed to get out of the house, that would do the trick.

Gojo swings his legs out of bed, stretching lazily as his bare feet sink into the soft, imported carpet beneath him. His house, perched on a hill overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean Sea, is a gleaming example of his lavish lifestyle in Monaco. The sleek, modern architecture—glass walls, sharp lines, and white stone—gives it a futuristic edge. Even the driveway has an air of luxury, with its tasteful selection of Italian sports cars parked under the evening sun.

The dusk is warm, the salty breeze from the sea cutting through the air, ruffling his silver hair and putting on his sunglasses as he steps out of the front door.

*ka-chick*

"Huh?" Gojo's ears perk up and he looks around to see where the sound came from. Usually, paparazzi hunt their prey in a herd. They are easily recognizable by their incessant catcalling, comments and the barrage of flash noise. Maybe this was a newbie or a paparazzo gone rogue. Gojo shrugs, strikes a pose or two for this invisible photographer and continues on his merry way.

He isn't in the mood for the clubs or the cabarets today. He mostly certainly would prefer a quiet, inconspicuous bar though. He is not much of a drinker, hell he won't even drink the champagne he pops on the podium - but a bar is a perfect place to be incognito. The dim ambience and drunk people - no one would notice him.

He almost passes a shoddy looking establishment and decides to enter it. To his massive relief, it is rather empty. There a blue LEDs lining the bar counter and the ceiling. There's about two couples snogging in the dark corners of the bar and a few lone souls scattered about, too drunk in their sorrows and the alcohol to look up.

So, it's that kind of place. It might be poetic for him to be there, satoru thinks.

Gojo settles into a dimly lit corner of the bar, reclining into the worn leather booth with a relaxed yet cynical smirk. His sunglasses, still perched on his nose despite the low light, reflect the faint blue glow from the LED strips. It’s not a place one would expect to find a Formula 1 superstar like him, and that’s exactly why he’s here. Tonight, he just wants to vanish.

He signals for the bartender, a gruff-looking man with a thick beard and tired eyes. “Vodka, neat,” Gojo says, voice low and lazy. The bartender nods and moves without a word, leaving Gojo to his thoughts.

As he waits, his mind circles back to Yuta. That damn wedding invitation. It shouldn’t bother him, but it does. Yuta Okkotsu—once the rookie he used to coach on the finer points of track politics—had come into his own. Not only was he dominating on the track, but now he was settling down, tying the knot, living the kind of balanced life that Gojo had never allowed himself to dream of. Gojo could dominate in any social setting, but in his private moments, he always felt like something was missing—like he was playing a role, never truly himself.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Gojo pulls it out, half-expecting spam but instead, it’s a message from an unexpected friend.

Geto Suguru: Get the invite yet?

Gojo satoru: Sure did. Gonna go?

Geto Suguru: Well, of course. Won't you?

Gojo Satoru: I'm having second thoughts. After he picked Inumaki as his best man. What speech is Inumaki even going to give, I swear I've never heard him speak!

As Gojo waits for a reply, the bartender slides him a stout glass full of clear liquid, reeking of spirit. Gojo takes a small sip that burns his palate and throat. He never drinks, what was he thinking.

He tries savoring the bitter aftertaste and the buzz hitting his brain as he sees the shadows on his tables shift.

He looks up from under his sunglasses and stares at you who is blocking the light from reaching his table completely. His eyes narrow as he tries to make out your features through the dim, blue-lit haze of the bar. It takes him a second to register who it is, but when he does, his expression lights up, though the usual cocky grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Well, well, well..." He sings. "Look who's here."

You don't reply back and take a seat across him. The leather on your seat is cracking and reeks of smoke. Could Gojo have not picked a better place to sulk in.

His eyes crinkle at their edges as you notice a slight shift in his expression. He appears to be pitying you.

"Out for my blood again, you leech?" he asks flatly, taking another sip of his drink. You don't recall him being a drinker from your years worth of notes.

"There are better things to drink." you reply, matching his tone as the bartender appears at the table again.

"Ah, miss, anything for you?"

"A bloody mary, please."

"On your tab right, sir?" the bartender looks at Gojo.

"Hell to the NO!" He snaps. "Put her drink on her tab!"

The bartender grimaces at Gojo and leaves, mumbling.

"They'll think you're a monster. Couldn't even pay for his woman's drink?" You prod Gojo, trying to make him break.

"As if anyone would ever think I'd be dating you. Don't embarrass yourself. What do you want from me now?" Gojo demands, crossing his arms against his chest after removing his sunglasses. His piercing blue eyes refuse to look away from you.

"The people need to know... I need to do my job." you state.

"They know enough. They don't need to know any more."

You quickly bring out a notepad, a recorder and press record on it.

"Any comments regarding rumors surrounding your transfer?"

At that moment, you witness the color leaves Gojo's face.

"W-What transfer? I am unsure what you're insinuating here."

"The rumor mill says you will be leaving Ferrari soon due to unsatisfactory performance and unreasonable team strategy. I'll quote you, please say something."

"You can't put those words in my mouth, all of that is-"

Gojo clears his throat and realizes he's now screaming, almost upright on his chair. He sits back to down.

"I am dedicated to Ferrari and their mission to win for this rest of 2024. That's all. Thank you."

You swiftly stop recording and lean over the table.

"So, what after 2024?"

"It's none of your business."

"I told you... this is my job."

"Y/N." His voice softens. "It's been nearly 7 years now. Can you not find any other driver to stalk?"

"I'm fine even if you report about my personal life." He continues. "That's less stressful than all of this."

Gojo's eyes, once sharp with irritation, soften as he leans back in his chair. His posture relaxes slightly, though his fingers still tap impatiently against the glass in his hand. The tension in the air between the two of you is palpable—years of history, unresolved tension, and unspoken words that neither of you have ever truly addressed. His last remark lingers in the dim light of the bar.

“Seven years, huh?” you say, raising an eyebrow. “And yet, here we are. You, still the untouchable star, and me, still chasing after the story that no one else can seem to tell.”

Gojo chuckles, though it lacks the usual arrogance. “Untouchable star? More like a dimming one. I can see it in your eyes. You think this is it for me, don’t you? That I’m washed up. A wasted talent. You can write about all that.”

You don’t reply immediately, watching him instead. The Gojo sitting across from you is different from the man you first met seven years ago. He was all fire and flash back then, burning too bright to let anyone close. But now, the cracks in the façade are starting to show. The endless pressure, the failure to deliver Ferrari’s long-awaited championship, and the gnawing sense of inadequacy have worn him down, whether he admits it or not.

“I don’t think you’re washed up,” you finally say, leaning back in your seat. “But I do think you’re scared.”

His blue eyes narrow slightly, the playful glint fading. “Scared? Of what?”

“Of what happens if you’re not the Satoru Gojo anymore. Of what happens when the lights go out, and the fans move on to the next rising star. What happens when you’re not Ferrari’s golden boy anymore?”

Gojo is speechless for a second after which he downs the remnants of his Vodka.

"I will resign before that happens." he declares.

"And you-" He gets up finally, covering the distance between you and him in a single stride, grabbing your jaw as he looks down at you.

"Move the hell on. It's been seven years. Get a life."

And with that, he pays for both of your drinks, takes his leave - the bar door chiming as it swings shut behind him.

"You are wrong Satoru." you whisper to yourself, letting go of the breath you were holding.

"Seven years. I have waited seven years for this."

You shimmy out your laptop from your bag and prop it open on the table. Quite a few curious eyes turn to see you.

*email sent!*

To be continued.....

[in-a-nook-with-a-notebook]

Life Could Be A Dream

Franchise: Star Wars (but modern AU)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x male reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, modern!AU, implied smut (scratch marks on Poe’s back, hickeys, mentions of nudity if you squint), fluff, established relationship, mentions of Poe being an F1 driver, no plot really just a sweet morning with Poe, did I mention fluff?

Summary: Poe always gets cuddly after a race; the more intense the race, the more he wants to be glued to your side. Yesterday's race was pretty crazy, but you’re not complaining.

A/N: This is ridiculously self indulgent, especially with the breakfast foods (I am a slut for a good serving of pancakes) also the inspiration and the song mentioned is Sh-Boom (Life Could Be A Dream) by The Sh-Booms, highly recommend listening while reading; for some reason I imagine Poe being a Formula One racer in a modern AU so voila

You blink your tired eyes open with the sun peering through the curtains of the hotel room. It’s warm and welcome on your skin. A lazy smile drifts over your face. You stretch a little before curling up under the thick blanket again; it’s smooth against your bare skin, perfect for a morning like this.

You slowly roll onto your side, turning your back to the window. Your eyes land on your boyfriend’s sleeping form. Poe is snoring softly, his dark curls tousled and unkempt. He looks so peaceful. His broad back glows in the morning light, the duvet haphazardly covering the lower half of his body. There are faint red marks near his shoulders, reminders of last night. Even after the longest, most intense races, he still has some… pent up energy.

Careful not to wake him, you lean forward and press a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. You then silently slip out of the bed, tugging on a clean pair of boxers. You’re grateful for the carpeting under your bare feet until you reach the cold tile of the bathroom. You brush your teeth, considering you can taste how bad your morning breath is, but you don’t bother fixing your messy hair. You wash your face with cold water to wake yourself up a little more, padding it dry with a facecloth. You look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes sliding over the hickeys on your neck and chest from Poe last night. Your fingers ghost over them.

After leaving the bathroom, you grab a shirt from last night. It’s either yours or Poe’s. You’re not sure, but you don’t really care all that much - it’s a shirt either way.

You wander to the kitchen, thankful the two of you had booked at an extended stay hotel; full kitchen with a big fridge, living space separate from the bed area; lots of space for you and him to stay for a while. You dig through the fridge in search of ingredients for breakfast. The two of you went out for groceries a couple days before his big race in Melbourne, so you had everything you needed to make a filling breakfast; Poe’s always hungry after a night like last night. You are too, quite frankly. You grab bacon, eggs and milk and put them on the counter, lightly kicking the fridge closed behind you. From the cabinets behind you, you collect salt, baking powder, white sugar, and a small bag of flour.

As much as you don’t like packing heavy when you travel for Poe’s races, you’ve brought it upon yourself to have some essentials so you aren’t eating out all the time. After the first few races, you pretty much put together a travel kit of cooking/baking supplies and other things you guys would usually have at home.

You grab a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon and begin mixing the dry ingredients together. You snag a normal bowl from the cupboard to mix the wet ingredients with a whisk. You then combine them together and leave it on the counter with a dishcloth over it, letting it rise. From the cabinets underneath the counter, you grab two pans; one for the pancakes when they’re ready and one for the bacon. As you set the pan on the stove to heat up, you hear shuffling from the bedroom area; Poe’s awake.

The pan warms quickly and you start laying bacon on it to fry. The sizzling meets your ears just as Poe appears out of the corner of his eye. You focus mostly on the bacon, but you can sense his presence. His arm snakes around your waist and he pulls your back against his warm, bare chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning,” you say with a smile.

Poe hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. “Morning, baby.”

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like a log, but last night was amazing…” He nibbles on your neck a little, tightening his grip around you. You chuckle, bringing your hand down to squeeze his. “Bacon?” Poe inquires, changing the subject and looking down at the pan in front of you. His chin rests on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours.

“And pancakes,” you add, gesturing lazily to the mixing bowl.

“Mmm, I love your breakfasts.”

“You love all my cooking. And baking, for that matter.”

“Because you, mi amor, are an absolute god in the kitchen.”

“You flatter me, darling.” You reach for the tongs to flip the bacon strips. “I’m assuming you’re hungry. You’re always hungry.”

“For your food, always.”

“Flirt.”

“I’m just speaking the truth here.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Want help?”

“I love you, but you can just sit there and look pretty for now.” You turn your head to fully kiss him. “I wanna cook for you.”

“You always cook for me.”

“Yeah, because, no offence, but you can’t cook for shit.”

“I’m a Formula One driver, not a chef.”

“I’m not even technically a chef.”

“You might as well be,” Poe replies, untangling himself from you. “You are probably one of the best cooks I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. And eating with. And, you know, everything else.” He kisses the back of your neck before stepping away to sit at the island, watching you fondly. “You sure you don’t want help?”

“Well, how about you set out the fruit from the fridge?”

“That I can do.”

As you get a plate out for the bacon, as well as a couple pieces of paper towel to catch the leftover grease, while Poe goes to the fridge. You feel Poe’s finger drag down your spine, sending a shiver through your body.

“Tease,” you murmur, looking at him over your shoulder. He smirks at you, blowing a kiss to you. “You wanna put some music on?”

“Absolutely.”

You transfer the cooked bacon onto the plate, then put more bacon on the pan. Poe shuffles around behind you, connecting his phone to the speaker.

Life could be a dream, life could be a dream

Do, do, do, do, sh-boom

A smile crosses your face with you hear the song and you turn to look at Poe. He puts his phone down on the counter. You both begin to murmur the lyrics under your breath.

“Life could be a dream. If I could take you up in paradise up above. If you would tell me I’m the only one that you love, life could be a dream, sweetheart, hello, hello again, sh-boom, and hopin’ we’ll meet again…”

“You look so good in my shirt,” he murmurs, coming up behind you again. He kisses your cheek, resting his hand on your hip. “I ever tell you that?”

“You’ve mentioned…” you reply, relaxing under his touch.

“I love when you travel with me,” Poe says. “Thank you for coming.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, my love.”

Poe gently takes your chin in his hand to turn your head towards him. He presses a deep kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he has a piece of bacon in his hand.

“Impatient?” You tease.

“It’s bacon. I’m hungry.”

You laugh when he takes a bite and his face lights up. “You’re cute,” you remark. His face goes red and he dips his head.

“Shut up.”

“No.” You tilt his chin up with your finger, pressing your lips to his. “You’re downright adorable, Poe Dameron.”

“You’re relentless.”

“You love me.”

“I adore you.”

You smirk. “I know.”

Some mornings, the two of you have to rush around, packing for another plane or prepping for another race, but not today. Poe’s got a free day, and he intends to spend every minute of it with you. Even if it’s just swaying in the kitchen, teasing each other. As long as he’s with you, he’s happy.

A/N: I just wanted a soft morning with Poe and the song had me in a fluffy mood so I hope y'all enjoy this because I know I did! Feedback is encouraged and appreciated! Have a lovely day y'all <3

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I was completely unprepared for the interior of this 1990s 5 bd. 2ba home in Jennapullin, WA, Australia. $499K. The description says it was "painstakingly crafted from the ground up by our visionary client who sought to blend the past with the present."  Nah, this is a WTH House.

The realtor says, "Prepare to be captivated as you step into a world where magic and charm intertwine." So we enter. Uhhh. Okay...it's huge, but it does look like a DIY job. There are 14 stunning chandeliers, all sourced from Government House- you can see some of them in the hall.

What is up with the carpeting? It looks like he bought a bunch of area rugs on clearance. Forget the carpet in this house, it's too big for that- just roll it up. The columns are 150 year old dragon columns obtained from Foo Lok Restaurant.

It goes on to say, "the epitome of extraordinary living! If you're tired of cookie-cutter homes and crave a dash of pizzazz, sprinkled with oodles of character, then this property is your dream come true."

I'm speechless. It's gigantic and the ceiling looks like a bowling alley's.  But the pressed tin formerly adorned the ceilings of houses and hotels throughout Perth. So, this is the main living area with kitchen. But, why does it look like the decor isn't secure- the ceiling looks to be peeling off. The phoenixes once graced the dining hall of the Hills Street Chinese restaurant.

Look at the proportion of that exhaust hood to the double sized stove. That's a commercial exhaust, but it's way too big. I kind of like the touch of fancy framing around the windows and the large black tiles.

Now, this could've been elegant, but it's grimy looking, not well crafted, and appears to be falling apart in places.

He tried to make an elegant bath, but everything looks so grubby. Of this, the realtor says, "Picture this: fixtures and fittings lovingly sourced from iconic buildings scattered throughout our vibrant State of WA."

So, he fashioned a double sink, but the counter is just a 2"x4" (see the knot in the wood coming thru?) with gold taps in the wall, exposed old pipe, and ornate metal grates on each side. The floor looks like remnants and the panels don't fit flush around the tub.

More pieced area rugs in the primary bedroom. There's some sort of pattern in the floor under those carpets. Maybe it was some kind of sports facility, but apparently he bought the tiles at auction.

Here's the 2nd bath. Mirror looks like it's shimmed up to be flat against the wall. Don't like any of this, with the possible exception of the floor and tub.

He must've gotten some deal on these rugs.

In this 1/2 bath, he fashioned an unusual sink. Clearly, he doesn't understand the concept of a pair of curtains, b/c the windows all look to be adorned with a single stretched panel.

Here's another bedroom with silk curtains that previously hung in the Melbourne Hotel, hangin' like rags. It all just looks like a real hack job, though. He bought nice stuff, but the execution sucks.

He tried, bought some cool architectural salvage, but he just wasn't able to pull it all off. Here's a cute sink, but what's going on underneath?

Even the pool looks DIY with corrugated metal.

10.29 acres.

The property's pretty messy, though.

There's a creek, too. The whole thing really needs work. Maybe a new owner can make something nice out of it, but it will take a lot of money. To me it looks like a knockdown.

https://www.domain.com.au/406-frenches-road-jennapullin-wa-6401-2018641496

[ricardian-werewolf]

Oh, no, wait, it was supposed to be an ask, lol. Well, whichever you prefer. "Death Returneth" is my chosen title

Here you go! This was a wip of many disparate things.

Brocket Hall, 1866, January 9th.

**************

William Lamb - the Lord Melbourne - was a tricky vampire. Born in 1100, a bastard to a king, turned in 1144 by a Norman Queen. Now, he was a privileged man of letters, sciences, and war. As he sat, nestled in the cracked and worn leather of his armchair, he glared across the room at a man his own age. The man wore a high-collared cape of all black velvet and cotton and some, unknown, foreign, cloth. Finely spun, it made for him to play at being a king the same way William played at being a commoner when England came for his head.

“Aleksander.” Melbourne purred, glancing at the man the same way someone might an offending bug. The Darkling smirked. “Melbourne. It’s been… a while since we crossed paths. How are things?” He reached down to pick up his china cup of tea. Shadows swirled about his hands, plucking at the wooden coffer by his feet, tumbling across the faded and moth-hole riddled carpet. The shadows were sentient, of course, an extension of The Darkling’s will.

Melbourne twiddled his thumbs, shrugged. “England is under constant cloud-cover. It couldn’t have been better executed, Moi Soverenyi. I for one, am impressed you were able to summon at such a great distance. It’s been going better than I believed, in all honesty.”

“What did you expect to happen, Moi Korol? I never go for anything less than the most dramatic. And England needs to be taught a lesson.” he sipped his tea. The shadows yipped and writhed at his feet, the volcra, with their teeth and eyeless blob faces hovering about their master in the circle of shadow he cast.

Melbourne sniffed. “A lesson long overdue. My… Wife has seemingly mishandled the whole affair. She lets Burrows run wild, and while this is a good thing, it brings us no closer to finding the boar’s bastard of a farrow.

“I want to push north. Can you expand the darkness, perhaps? Not into Scotland or Wales, but… I want a more… physical division between our lands and the lawless northern holdings.”

“You wish for me to create a Second Fold. Splitting England in two.” the Darkling’s lips curled into a grin. “What is the price that I would pay for such a trickily done act?”

“A right to return to Ravka, reclaim the throne, find a cult who will follow in your example.” Melbourne dropped something onto the table between them, and rolled out a long stretch of parchment written in German. “This… is what will get you home.”

Both men crossed over to stare down at the long stretch of parchment, which was in reality a blueprint for some kind of arch powered by electricity. Except the energy it needed required a nuclear explosion to work, and required advanced calculations that made no sense to the mind of the Darkling, who merely traced a finger over the inscriptions.

“Using holes in space-time, the archway uses a massive explosion of power to reach across time and space to grab a specific hole of your choosing. It’s notoriously unstable. The Nazis had attempted to perfect it to invade this world, but their return necessitated a nuclear winter. It ultimately killed them.” Melbourne traced his fingers over the arch, looking at the Darkling’s profile the whole while.

“Hm.” the Darkling nodded. “I shall take your offer. It may doom England once again, but who really needs such a backwater? Plus, once we have that bastard’s pup, you shall be unstoppable, and Richard will be forced to bend the knee and kiss your ring. All, of course, before you relieve his head from his body.”

“I can barely wait for the day.” Melbourne rubbed his hands together. “Hopefully, it’ll come sooner than we expect.”

“Oh,” the Darkling grinned. “I believe it will. Once I resurrect the fold, the Midlands will capitulate and Northern England will be quite weakened by the lack of refugees… and people.”

Melbourne smirked. “Mm,” he muttered as he sipped his tea. “And with our little detour arranged for dear King Richard, no one will be any the wiser.” He settled back down with the blueprints and snapped his fingers. The record-player he’d stolen from a Nazi officer’s house at some odd spot - 10 Downing, had been reworked to run off of a little combustion engine. The record on the tray began to play as the needle ran down the groove.

“I travelled far and wide through many different times

What did you see there?

I saw the saints with their toys

What did you see there?

I saw all knowledge destroyed

I travelled far and wide through many different times.”

“Who’s the band?” the Darkling asked as he stared into his cup of whisky.

“Something northern. Depressing. They’re new, I think. Resistors music, funneling their schiesse down south through the smuggling routes.”

“Do they have a name?”

Melbourne shrugged as he picked up the album cover.

“ ‘Joy Division,’”. He quoted, looking sideways at the black paper with the white mountain-peaks. The vampire’s lips pulled back in a snarl, and he tossed the sleeve over his shoulder, into the crackling fire. Holes the size of tumors spread across the paper, eating through it greedily. Melbourne’s grin shifted, becoming crazed.

“I’ll make sure they never make another song again…” He muttered, getting to his feet. He slugged back the rest of his drink, and departed as swiftly as he could. The Darkling stayed where he was, turning the lyrics over in his mind as the shadows deepened around him.

________________________________

Sheffield, 1866. A week later.

Cecily-Anne’s eyes opened to the sight of their blown-open roof.

She glared up at the pre-dawn gloom, and coughed. Cocking her head to one side, she could faintly hear sounds of Jane Beckett rummaging around on the floor below. Sitting up, the girl peeled off her dingy, moth-eaten blanket, and crawled across the floor on all fours. Peering out behind the blinds - which was nothing more than an old sheet nailed to the window-rim to keep out the draft and fallout debris, Cecily-Anne glared out at the street.

Deathly quiet for a Sunday morning in the depths of winter, but nevertheless, a welcome relief. The quiet meant that no one was about to loot anything in walking distance. Most of the inner-city stores had been picked clean twenty years ago, but there was still one single place largely harboring food: the old storage facilities on the east side of Sheffield, nestled in amongst the disused factories.

However, there was a reason for why that food was untouched. It came down to who was guarding it. The army had been picked off years back, and eventually fell to the corruptive greed of human savagery when faced with nuclear eradication of the masses. But one person had somehow adapted like a particularly awful fungus to this harsh, inhuman climate.

George Burrows. Sometimes simply called “The Warden,” by the uninitiated to his holy terror, the man was an ex-traffic warden gifted emergency powers by the Sheffield City Council before the bombs dropped in 1983. A seemingly expansive wormhole had then opened and sent Sheffield, her dying populace, and the nuclear bombs back to 1848.

No one had since figured out how to reverse the bloody mess, and England herself succumbed to complete societal collapse. There was reason to believe civilizations survived in the North of England. According to the few, tattered and worn posters that generous Northerners posted on rickety fences and stone walls, the self-appointed King Richard III was acting as a buffer against Queen Victoria’s rampant aggression.

____________

Christmas Day, 1865. Liverpool.

The Volkvolny’s masts barely rustled in the still air as she cut through the waters of the Irish Sea like an arrow. At her helm, Sturmhond raked a hand through his tangled ginger curls. His eyes scoured the sea for signs of life, of fishing vessels, anything. Yet nothing caught either his naked eye or the view from the spyglass in his fingers. Tracing a finger over the amber lens, he caught himself grimacing. All morning, they’d been charting a course through the True Sea in hope of reaching Novi Zem before dusk. Yet, a freak storm had sent them…

Here.

Wherever here was, it didn't show on any maps that Sturmhond had. No atlas could be consulted. Not even Tolya or Tamar had an idea of where they were. No familiar landmarks, zilch. He chewed his lower lip, ran a ring-decked hand over his face for the third time in 20 minutes, and consulted his compass.

The needle was pointing north, to his left. While this was reassuring to know that the freak storm hadn’t affected the mercury of the compass, it still left him wary. Tracing a thumb over the words on the back, Sturmhond slid the compass away. He turned to see how the masts were looking, craning his neck up and head back.

Suddenly, a crash shook the whole boat. The Volkvolny, a beaut of a schooner with her triple masts, was not made for sudden and alarming crashes. He’d much rather have let this happen to the whaler Alina sunk to the watery depths of the Bone Road.

At once, a startled English voice cried out with a hearty yell: “Danae, land gently!” the man yelled. The crash was seconded by a hearty roar. Sturmhond caught sight of a wing here, a thrashing tail there, and lurched to the starboard side. Looking down with Tamar and Tolya, he was shocked to find his cabin’s beautiful fabrikated french windows little more than shards. And perched in his former cabin was a massive dragon, its scales navy blue, eyes sapphire. At her neck was a pale-faced midshipman, all harsh angles and dark eyes.

“Who goes there?!” Sturmhond yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Identify yourself!”

“Midshipman Horatio Hornblower!” the man replied calmly. He grabbed the rope thrown down by one of Sturmhond’s crew, and let himself be hauled over the side, onto the deck. Landing in an ungrateful heap, Hornblower barely had time to breathe before Sturmhond was pointing a pistol in the lad’s face.

“A-and who are you?” Horatio breathed, staring up into the privateer’s eyes.

“Sturmhond. Privateer, captain of the Volkvolny.” Digging around in his pockets, Sturmhond produced a thin piece of paper emblazoned with the sealed double-eagle. “Letter of Mark.”

“W-what language is this?” Horatio blinked at it. “You speak english… Yet this is…?”

Sturmhond blinked, shocked. “I believed us to be conversing in Ravkayash, Midshipman…” his gaze skirted to the twins, who looked as surprised as he did.

“English.” Horatio muttered. “I can understand you… how?”

[kyndaris]

The Return Flight Home

In 2020, I had intended to travel overseas and revisit the United Kingdom in order to see the sights and sounds I’d missed on my first trip. COVID-19 prevented that from happening. It was only after three years of isolation and staying within the borders of Australia that I finally ventured onto a plane to take me away from the familiar. But instead of reinstating my original travel plans, I went one step further and joined a tour headed to Turkey and Egypt. Accompanying my grandmother, of all people.

And what an adventure it was!

True, it might not have been the one I had been hoping for but it was certainly something to experience, given my interest in Ancient History and love for mythologies that date back several millennia. 

Although, as it soon came to pass, many places throughout Egypt and Turkey didn’t feel like I was enjoying their own cultural history so much as also getting a dose on Ancient Greece and Ancient Rome as well. That isn’t to say it’s a bad thing. Far from it! It shows how interconnected the ancient world was with trade ad culture. On the downside, it did dampen a little of my enthusiasm to realise that many of sites we visited weren’t exactly built by the local populace but rather the remnants of another civilisation that had dominated the area in ages past.

I suppose, though, that it goes to show the complex and interconnected nature of world history. After all, no nation can truly rise and fall in isolation. History has shown us time and again how greed and the entrepreneurial spirit of humans has led to new discoveries and the subsequent shrinking of the world. 

That said, on the day of our flight back to Sydney, we made one last pit stop at the Suleymaniye Mosque as the Blue Mosque was still under renovations and not open for visitors. Smaller, it seemed than the Hagia Sophia, the Suleymaniye Mosque was decorated with a rich red carpet underfoot (that didn’t stink too much of unwashed feet) and had the usual trappings that I’ve come to associate with Baroque style mosques.

Built in 1557, it took about seven years for completion. Inside its walls, it contained medreses (a type of educational institution), a hospital, a hospice and Turkish baths to name but a few of the amenities.

For us tourists, it served as simple shelter from the drizzle that had hounded us since waking that morning. The rain, it should be known, followed us throughout the entire day with a vengeance. Even when we had finished looking at the mosque and headed to a retail outlet centre, the rain followed. All up until the time we headed to the airport for our flight back to Sydney.

As for the shopping centre, there wasn’t much difference to what we might see in Australia. What caught my eye as I wandered through the food court of the megaplex, though, was the fact that it had a Shake Shack! Of all things!

We don’t even have a Shake Shack in Australia yet! So, how come Turkey has one of the most popular East Coast burger chains and Australia doesn’t? It’s completely outrageous and I demand that a Shake Shack or an In-N-Out be properly established in Sydney.

They even have a Popeyes (although Google tells me that there is one in Melbourne)!

Other than the food court, I also saw shops that could be found in Australia as well as a few international brands. There was even a bookstore, the first I’d seen while overseas. Granted, it wasn’t just a bookstore but it had books as well as video games on display. For the first time in twenty or so days, I got a taste of actual normalcy!

I also caught sight of a spiffing leather jacket. Red, like the blood that would flow from when I’ve decapitated my enemies, and it was rocking a detachable hood. Sure, it cost 5000 Turkish lira, and was a little on a the expensive side. But you know what? I bought that sucker because it was screaming my name. And yes, it was a bit tight around my girth but I can always wear it unzipped...

Besides, they also say that leather stretches! And I was wearing multiple layers before trying it on.

Which, I know, sounds like excuses considering that it was XL but I’ll be the first to readily admit that I am on the overweight side of things. But only just a little! And...you know, that my face is too round. Which is why I hate photos and why it’s been tough on the dating scene as I have a minimal amount of photos that star me in them. Also, posing is an issue. How ought one stand? What should these upper appendages called arms be doing? Is it still acceptable for me to be doing the classic ‘v’ sign or is that too stereotypical of every Asian ever?

Gah! I’m having a meltdown over photographs!

What was I writing about?

Ah, yes, the last day in Turkey. Well, after downing a burger from Shake Shack - which, honestly, was my favourite meal during my entire trip - it wasn’t long before we waved a fond farewell to Turkiye. On the drive to the airport, we parted with the remaining lira we had, tipping the driver and the tour guide, Abdullah, for their services.

And then, it was a short-ish flight to Dubai before we were on our way back to Sydney (wherein I managed to sneak in Woman King and HBO’s adaption of the Time Traveler’s Wife starring Rose Leslie). 

Overall, I must say, that the trip was one that I’ll remember fondly. While it had its ups and downs, I still learned a lot and got to see more of the wider world than if I’d still been too afraid to leave Australia. Books and movies and documentaries can bring the world to me but there is something about actually going out there and seeing things for myself that makes travelling so eye-opening and special. A picture might say a thousand words, but they’re almost always especially curated to evoke a feeling. Actually walking beside remnants of the past, interacting with the locals and trying their food is an entirely different experience. And one I hope to continue to experience now that the rest of the world is back on the menu.

COVID-19 might not be gone (and it might never be gone) but that shouldn’t stop people from living their best lives and seeing what the world has to offer. True, there might be limitations based on a person’s socioeconomic status and the physical capabilities, but for those that can, it’s something that can change you. 

The world may be small in the grand scheme of things, but it’s also so much bigger than just a pretty blue bauble hanging in the heavens. There is a rich history here that is begging to be uncovered to its fullest extent. And from what I’ve learned from travelling, as well as reading a history book as I travelled, the progression of the human race as a whole is all about engaging with their culture, beliefs and way of life rather than crushing it all under an imperialist heel or the misguided attempts of defending one’s interests.

We can all learn from being a little bit more open-minded and tolerant of the ideas of others rather than falling back into a tribal mentality of us versus them. As history has shown, it never works well and it’s all fuelled by self-interest. Open dialogue is the real path forward to success. Here’s hoping people can see that before they allow themselves to blindly trot down the path of mutual destruction.

Now, to end it all with inexplicable photos of animals. Mostly cats.  Why? Because both Turkey and Egypt had way too many feral animals on the prowl. So, while they may appear cute, do not approach! You can, however, take quality photos of them from a distance.

[cleanmaster42]

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Why a Special Occasion Limousine is the Ultimate VIP Experience?

Transform your next special occasion in Melbourne from ordinary to extraordinary with a special occasion limousine. Imagine arriving at your event in style and comfort, leaving the stress of traffic and parking behind. A special occasion limousine service elevates your experience, creating unforgettable memories for you and your guests.

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[samedaymelbourne]

Is Your Carpet Waving at You? Discover How to Flatten Those Waves

Carpet waving, often humorously referred to as your carpet "waving at you," is a common issue faced by many homeowners. This phenomenon occurs when carpets lose their tension, resulting in unsightly bumps, waves, or ripples across the surface. Not only can this be a tripping hazard, but it also detracts from the overall appearance of your rooms. In this detailed guide, we'll explore the causes, prevention strategies, and solutions for carpet waving, ensuring your flooring remains as welcoming and flat as the day it was installed with the help of Carpet Cleaning Melbourne services.

What Causes Carpet Waving?

Several factors contribute to the development of waves in carpeting. Poor installation is a primary culprit, often resulting from inadequate stretching or securing of the carpet during the installation process. Additionally, environmental factors like humidity and temperature fluctuations can cause the carpet fibers and backing to expand and contract, leading to loosening over time. Regular wear and tear, particularly in high-traffic areas, can also exacerbate the problem, causing the carpet to stretch and form waves.

Preventing Carpet Waves Before They Start

The best way to deal with carpet waving is to prevent it from happening in the first place. Choosing the right underlay and ensuring professional installation are critical steps in this process. Maintaining a stable indoor climate can also significantly reduce the risk of waving, as it minimizes the expansion and contraction of the carpet materials.

Fixing a Waving Carpet: A Step-by-Step Guide

Once carpet waving occurs, there are several methods to address the issue, with stretching being the most effective solution. This section will provide readers with a detailed guide on the tools and materials needed, the process of stretching a carpet, and the pros and cons of DIY versus professional repair.

When to Replace Your Carpet

There comes a time when no amount of stretching or repairing can save a waving carpet. We'll discuss the signs that indicate it's time to consider replacement and offer tips on selecting a new carpet that will complement your home and last for years to come.

Is Your Carpet Waving at You? Identifying the Signs

Recognizing the early signs of carpet waving can help you take timely action to mitigate the issue. This section will cover how to spot the warning signs and understand the impact waving can have on room aesthetics and safety.

Frequently Asked Questions

This section will address common questions about carpet maintenance, repair, and replacement, providing readers with concise, informative answers.

Conclusion: Ensuring Your Carpet Stays Wave-Free

In conclusion, while carpet waving is a frustrating issue, it's not insurmountable. With the right knowledge and approach, you can prevent, fix, or replace waving carpets, ensuring your home remains safe, comfortable, and aesthetically pleasing.

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Carpet Repair Specialist | Carpet Repair Melbourne.

A professional carpet repair specialist is a trained and experienced expert who can help you restore your carpets to their original condition. Whether you have a small tear, a stubborn stain, or a large area that needs to be repaired, a carpet repair specialist can help you get the job done quickly and efficiently.

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Features:

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[mastercarpetrepair]

Carpet Repair Camberwell |  Master Carpet Repair Melbourne

Master Carpet Repair Melbourne trusted and reliable carpet repair service and offers a complete Carpet Repair service in Camberwell,  Carpet Repair Camberwell provides a cost-effective and wide range of carpet repair services, including carpet laying, carpet stretching, restretching & restoration services in  Camberwell. So if you're looking for a professional and reliable carpet repair service in Camberwell, look no further!  For an appointment, Call Now at 0488882357

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Trust Melbourne’s Carpet Repair Experts for Damage Restoration

Has your Melbourne carpet suffered damage from floods, tears, iron burns or heavy furniture indentations? Don't replace the entire carpet! MelbCarpetCare's team of damage carpet repair specialists can professionally repair and restore your carpet at a fraction of replacement cost.

With over many years serving Melbourne homes and businesses, MelbCarpetCare is the trusted leader in damage carpet repair Melbourne. Our experienced technicians utilize advanced techniques and high-grade tools to fix tears, seams, floods, rips, gaps, and gouges. We can also stretch, re-lay and re-install wall-to-wall carpeting.

MelbCarpetCare offers Melbourne’s best value in carpet repair services. As a local family-owned company, we provide upfront quotes, 100% satisfaction guarantees, and use eco-friendly methods.

Contact our carpet care experts today for assessing damage carpet repair needs! Learn why top insurance agents continually refer clients for our specialist Melbourne flood carpet restoration.

[elitecarpetcare]

Transform Your Space with Professional Carpet Cleaning in Melbourne

Your floor coverings assume a urgent part in characterizing the tasteful allure of your home or office in Melbourne. They build up dirt, stains, and allergens over time, which not only affects their appearance but also the quality of the air inside. At World class Elite Carpet Care, we figure out the meaning of clean covers, and our expert rug cleaning administrations in Melbourne are intended to revive and invigorate your living or working space.

Unrivaled Ability in Melbourne Carpet Cleaning

Our Melbourne Carpet cleaning administrations are upheld by long stretches of mastery and a guarantee to greatness. Our highly trained technicians achieve results that go beyond surface cleaning by utilizing cutting-edge equipment and environmentally friendly cleaning solutions. We address firmly established soil and obstinate stains, guaranteeing your rugs look perfect as well as clean and without allergen.

Complete Carpet Cleaning Arrangements

First class Elite Carpet Care offers an extensive scope of carpet cleaning administrations customized to meet the remarkable necessities of Melbourne occupants and organizations. We have the expertise and equipment necessary to complete any task, from routine maintenance cleaning to stain removal or odor control. We focus on consumer loyalty, and our objective is to leave your Carpet closely resembling new.

Naturally Cognizant Methodology

We perceive the significance of maintainability and the effect of our activities on the climate. Our Melbourne carpet cleaning services use environmentally friendly products that are safe for the environment, your pets, and your family. We are committed to ethical methods that not only produce outstanding outcomes but also contribute to a more sustainable and healthy future.

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Tip top Floor covering Care makes it simple for Melbourne inhabitants to plan proficient rug cleaning. Visit our site to investigate our administrations, get a statement, and helpfully book your arrangement on the web. Experience the distinction of master cover cleaning with World class Elite Carpet Care, where your fulfillment is our need.