#and I made the lines thinner than usual and I think that might have screwed up the final product

[cosmiclatte28]

Forced Marriage (Baekhyun, Sehun, you)

A/n : hey so this story was written last year when SuperM drama was out, but I never continue it and I just checked this again because of the WIP tag. (once again thanks to @yutahoes ) and I want to post this to see if actually there's still EXOL here who wants to read a fanfic

I will write the second part (ending) for this, after hearing if you want to end with who

tagging @yutahoes coz Sehun is a major role here hehehe and i don't really know other exols but @neopalette usually wants to read my fics (thanks honey!) and @swagmonsterofficial also could help

trigger warning: strict parents, old-classic ideology of arranged marriage

Here we go..

“Let’s get married, (y/n)!” The cheeky boy beside you blurts out and stops you in your track.

Your eyes widen, your steps taken to a halt, and his smile? His smile is still there.

“A wedding?” you turn your body to face him. Earlier you are walking ahead of him into the woods, running away from your parent’s “important talk”.

You live in the big house on the end of the road, where wilderness is still a thing. An hour ago, your parents told you to get dressed up as an important guest is coming, and you’re expected to look decent for lunch.

But here you are now, thirty minutes into the invitation, you’re walking in the woods with your best friend of a lifetime, or so you hope.

Baekhyun has been your neighbour since you moved in. His house is just one throw of pebble. Your bedroom window and his are face to face and that makes your friendship with him totally wonderful. When phones are not yet a thing, you don’t have trouble to see what he is doing at night, talking through written messages on a paper has been a way you two “chat” late at night.

Baekhyun nods his head and reaches for your hand, he guides you through his imagination of what he calls “our future small family”

“Yes, we will get married, in the same way you’ve always wished! In a garden, with a priest blessing our vows. You will wear your dream gown, with flower crowns like how you read in your princess tales! I got to pick you up in a carriage! Dad can work it out, what colour do you want for the carriage?” Baekhyun sounds so happy and innocent.

You hold yourself from tears, well he doesn’t know yet the reason why you run from your house’s back door to the woods. Baekhyun happens to see you run from his bedroom and he decides to follow you. You did not say anything, just replied to his surprising greeting with a surprised tone. Other than that, you’ve kept your mouth shut. Now it questions you why Baekhyun suddenly asks you for marriage.

“Umm why are you suddenly asking me this Baek?” a glint of hope reflects from this seeming normal question.

“Hmm maybe because I don’t want to lose you?” He shrugs playfully and swings the intertwined hands as he drags you for a deeper walk.

You think it is not a good idea to walk deeper, since you need to return after this if you did not want to end up with bruises.

“What kind of mind is that Baekhyun! I am here!” you try your best to sound happy.

He stops walking and faces you, gently he bends down to match your shorter height and he cups your face. “You know sometimes what we think won’t be gone, might be gone in a blink of an eye when one forgets to hold on tight.” He gives a small force to squeeze your cheeks and he giggles, ‘Hey since when did your cheeks lose their squishiness? You got thinner! Come join me for dinner mom can cook your favourite steak!”

Baekhyun did not know the reason you’re thinner is because you’ve skipped dinner. Fighting with your parents made you lock yourself in the room, skip dinner and lost appetite.

“Well, I’d love that but right now is not the time. Besides, what time is it Baek?” you ask him a new topic so you don’t have to answer his proposal.

Baekhyun glances at his analogue, “It’s ten minutes to twelve.”

You gulp and know you’re screwed. Returning to the house and dressing up will take some time and you’ll most likely show up at the dining table 15 minutes late. Like it or not, you have to go back now.

“Um Baekhyun I have some things to do, catch you later.” You quickly turn your heels and dash through the woods. Baekhyun frowns, but also follows your steps.

“Hey slow down! You’ll fall and get hurt.” Baekhyun yells to you, who is already a few steps ahead of him. This is so weird, you usually always ask him to accompany you, since you’ve once got lost in the forest. Come to think of it, you left by yourself today here. Why? That is unusual.

All these questions remain unanswered as Baekhyun sees you from the mouth of the forest, running to the back door and rushing all the way to your room.

You disappear from the veins covered gates of your backyard, and lonely Baekhyun takes the left path to his house. He smells the delicious lunch his kitchen is making. Well, as his stomach grumbles from hunger, Baekhyun tosses aside his problems and dash to wash his hands and dress for lunch.

Your expectation and calculation were accurate. You got to your room five minutes after twelve right at the time a car entered your porch. You quickly change your dress to the one your mother has prepared and as much as you hated laces, the dress was covered wit lace. You step to the mirror, tidy your look, powder up and brush your hair.

A hurried knock echoes in your room and your mother’s voice enters your room.

“Coming, wait a second.” You yell as you struggle to put on your shoes while making sure you look flawless already.

Once the door flies open, hey your mom knows how to pick locks, you’ve already forced a smile on your face, and she doesn’t look that mad.

“Nice, you didn’t disappoint me. Now gently do down, your fiancé is waiting for you in the dining room. Remember..”

You cut her in “No loud voice, no improper language, tidy eating manner, and agree on this thing.”

She smiles proudly at you and runs a soothing hand down your arm. “Hey, everything will be alright okay.”

You exhale a long breath and with a heavy heart, walks down the stairs to meet the man of your future.

If this was not reality, you would already run down the stairs with joyful steps to reach the man of your choice, sadly this is not your own story to write.

No, your father is dying and his last wish was to see you marry the guy he has set up for you. You remember what he said last week, “Please the man I’ve set for you will be a good man to continue the business I had started. Not that I don’t believe in you taking after, but he will be a good leader. His family also owns a strong business and together, you will live a good life. Trust me darling, I want this for your happiness.”

You remember him saying that to you, one cold night beside the fireplace when he invited you for a game of chess. You belong to the noble family; you have private teachers coming in to tutor you; unlike ordinary girls who need to stay home to cook and wash laundries. Chess is your dad’s favourite game and he always teaches you how to advance the game. Your heart tugs a little when his weak state flashes in your mind.

The last chess you played with him was that same time he proposed to you this whole arranged marriage idea.

You reach the last step of stairs and see the new family seated elegantly on the big table. Your father despite his weak state, still manages to look handsome. You spot the empty seat next to a tall man with strong face lines and a cold smile. He looks smart, strong, but lacks warmth and love. Your face shows a pretty smile, but deep inside your heart you’re crying as you can totally see your future won’t be different than what you have right now.

“Nice to meet you, Miss (y/n), I am Oh Sehun, your fiancé” He stands tall on his legs and after receiving your hand, he presses a light kiss on them. You greet him back and take your place beside him.

Lunch begins and all the time, you only open your mouth when direct questions are given to you. Sehun mostly takes over the questions about the wedding party, saying that he will let you choose what kind of party you want. You just nod and say you will think about it.

“Right, please make up your mind as soon as possible. The wedding will happen in 15 days and I hope we can get this over really quick.” Sehun’s father ends the talk of the wedding.

The choice of food for today was not your preferred dish. You only eat a small portion of the food and try your best to swallow this bitter lump.

Main course went well with Sehun getting engaged to business talks with your father and you were interrogated for your social life by his mother.

Luckily, your mother is there to help you lie. You’ve never really put yourself into the rich girl’s society, you’ve always lied to your mom. You lied about going to the social house, just to run away elsewhere with Baekhyun or simply attend last minute.

Strawberry panna cotta is your favourite dessert; however, today you cannot find the joy of sticking that sweet pudding into your mouth.

The suffocating tension grows thicker when you are sent to take Sehun for a walk to the festival reoccurring in the centre of the town.

Your mind is busy thinking of something, yes you remember Baekhyun is taking care of one event there. He is assigned by the Mayor to lead the talent show performance tonight. Now you remember there is no way you’ll meet him in the town with a new man by your side. He would totally rant to you for not telling him your new friend.

“Umm Sehun, can we go somewhere else instead.. I don’t think the festival is suitable for us to talk with one another. It’s loud.” You bite your lips nervously.

Sehun quirks his eyebrow, “Oh? Well then where should we go?”

His voice is icy and cold, even standing beside him sends shivers down your spine.

“We can go to the quiet hill a few miles from here, will it be okay?”

To your surprise he is okay with walking a few miles. You really think he would deny it and just ask you to talk here in the garden, but no, he didn’t waver at all.

So you begin your hike to the hill where you usually escape when your mind is not clear.

“And… this is it, the quiet place I always go when I have much in my mind.” You spin around once and smile when you close your eyes and feel the gentle breeze blowing.

Sehun takes off his mantle and lays it down for you to sit on. You looked puzzled and he chuckled at your confused face.

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want that dress to be dirty.” He helps you sit over his mantle and soon joins you down on the other side.

“Sorry for making you do this.” You point at his clothes and mantel, you did not expect going to the hill will cause him much commotion.

Sehun shakes his head and begins asking you questions to know you better.

“I know you did not like this marriage, but I will try my best to be a good husband.” Sehun said that to you, but things were not as beautiful as his promise.

__

Baekhyun enters his house and finds his dog already waiting for him

“Ah my sweet mongryong! You’re waiting for me!” Baekhyun kneels down to pet his excited puppy just to be run over and he ends up giggling on the floor.

“Baekhyun hurry up! Your brother and father are waiting for you! Go change to a clean shirt and wash your hand. Hurry or your plate will be clean!” His mother cheerfully kisses him and pushes him to change his attire.

Baekhyun laughs at the warmth this house can never fail to give him, he runs to his room on the second floor and quickly changes for a fresh linen. Just as he glances over to the mirror, he notices a foreign car on the porch of your front house. With a confused look, he tries to remember if you told him anything about a guest or a new tutor maybe.

The cheerful boy makes it to the dining table looking clean and handsome.

“Sorry for making you gentlemen wait and my beautiful mother too. Now shall we eat?” He grabs his utensils and a hearty lunch happens right at the same time as yours (the cold and tense one).

“Looks like our neighbour has a big news coming around!” his father starts the topic for today’s lunch.

Baekhyun’s ears perk up, “Oh yeah? A party? I thought they have their birthday already.”

His brother shakes his head, “No, something else. That car is new. We never see anyone visiting her in a fancy car.”

Baekhyun still enjoys his food, “Maybe a new tutor. She told me the last French tutor moved and her mother is busy looking for a new one.”

“Maybe…” his brother leaves a lingering statement and soon their discussion changes to the perfect seasoning their mother did on the food, or just random small talks.

“I am going to the town! I need to make sure the talent show will be perfect tonight!” Baekhyun bids farewell to the family as he takes his bike and pedals all the way to the town hall.

He can’t wait to meet you tonight in the town hall!

But Baekhyun didn’t meet you at all that afternoon. Instead he found another friend of his, Park Chanyeol.

“Hey! You’re by yourself? Not usual eh?” Chanyeol nudges his shorter friend, who is busy moving things around to set up the stage.

“Oh hi there Yeollie, well yeah It’s me and the team, who else are you expecting?” Baekhyun stops bending and straightens his back.

Chanyeol rolls his eyes, “I mean where is your girlfriend you always have by your side…”

Baekhyun secretly smiles but he shakes his head, “She’s not my girlfriend… we’re neighbours and yeah good friends, you miss her?”

Chanyeol awkwardly laughs, “No, I am not looking for her. Just feels weird… maybe she’s coming later. Now let me help you fix this place! We only have several hours to go!”

Baekhyun nudges off the odd feeling in his stomach. Come to think of it, you’re not the type to not come and help him. He tries to think that maybe your mother or father is acting up again.

--

You spend a good two hours of talking and planning with Sehun. As you feel wind more breezy and Sehun notifies you it’s almost tea time, you finally stand up from the ground and with the help of Sehun, you stretch your stiff body.

“It’s almost tea time.” Sehun says while putting on his mantle.

“Oh right… Will you join us for tea?” a question of formality.

You wish he would just reject it and go home, but no this guy accepts the offer.

You can only force another fake smile and return to the house.

“Great to see the two of you back on time for tea! We think it is a bit too late already for the Oh family to go home, so they might be staying for dinner and the night.” Your mother greets you and Sehun over the door.

Your mouth falls open and with one glare from your mother, you pull yourself back together. Before she can pull you inside the room, you quickly glance to your neighbour’s house and notice the lack of a bicycle. Hmm Baekhyun must already be in the festival.

Tea time is better since Sehun was called for a talk with your father and his. You are left alone with your mother and Sehun’s mother. The ladies engage themselves in a deep conversation of a recipe and you just sit there quietly. Pretending to listen to their fun discussion, while actually thinking how you will spend the night. There’s a very big probability that you are told to bring Sehun to the carnival and that means meeting Baekhyun. It is not a problem if you’re the only one, but coming with Sehun will be something deadly.

You’re not stupid. You know the feeling Baekhyun has for you. You know he was not 100% joking when he proposed earlier in the woods. You see how his eyes always show hearts when he is with you, you realize the protective voice he always has when you show up to him with fresh bruises. You may be over confidence, but his flirting game is a hint to you. You feel it, you too cannot lie that there’s something different you feel for him.

That night, you thank heaven for not sending you to the carnival. No, Sehun did go there, but you lie while feeling sick. Lucky, they bought your lie and let you rest at home. Sehun goes to see the town with his family, for you also learn today that he will move in here later on. This house will be for you and Sehun the day father passed. The Oh family is checking out the town and you… you’re now facing the floor while trembling in fear when your parents called you with that tone.

You enter the study room shaking. You can see what’s coming… seeing your dad seated on his big chair and a belt. The night will be long.

You earn fifteen tonight, for showing up late to the table, for not showing interest to Sehun, and for not being so lady-like or elegant.

“I thought we raised you nicely to be a lady with a class, but what’s that messy hair! I know you’re sneaking out again right?! There’s no way your hair will be like that if you take your one-hour preparation nicely.” He emotionally launches his belt to hit you. You’re standing up, tonight you did not let out a tear. Your lips are bleeding from the pressure your teeth do to ensure you’re quiet. No, you’ve run out of tears. You’re angry… not only did he force you to marry a boy you don’t know, but he was still picking on you.

“You know if the next time he comes here and you have not improved or put interest in him, you’ll meet another belt of mine. FIX YOUR MANNERS MISS. DON’T BE A DISGRACE!” He swings his last whip and leaves the room with a loud slam.

You fall to the carpet, curling yourself into a fetal position. No matter how many whippings you’ve grown up with, fresh bruise is always burning.

You lay down for a while, streaming your face with tears and as you hear the clock chimes seven, you know soon you’ll have to move to your room. The guest must never see what’s behind your dress.

__

You stare blankly into the wall, back facing the bright night sky shown from the window. It’s already 8.30, you hear the footsteps of people moving around the house. Great the guests must be here already. You remain silent in your room, hoping that your pain and fatigue can bring you to sleep quick. Laying down sideways to not touch the burning pain on your back and thighs.

Your eyes almost close and bring you to dreamland if not for the soft knock on your window. You peek from your shoulder and see Baekhyun’s window bright and he’s throwing you pebbles.

You did not turn on your lights, though Baekhyun can see your night lamp is still on. You feel like a jerk leaving him to work by himself tonight and not giving him any news at all.

The rock hits one to two times again and you finally turn the lights on and opens your curtain. There, you can see the brightest smile from your best friend blinding you.

Baekhyun raises a paper with a note

“SICK? YOU MISSED THE SHOW!”

You wince and try to reach for the board you’ve hidden under your bed. You open the curtain and flash your answer “GROUNDED”

That’s bullshit.

“OH? NEW CAR IS IT YOURS?” He shows you his board.

You hesitate, “A GUEST’S”

“SORRY. YOU OKAY?” he flashes his board up when he feels you’re not as quick as usual in replying.

“THE BELT’S OUT TONIGHT”

Baekhyun grits his teeth when he knows that code. He discovered your father’s bad habit of violence long time ago when you fell from a climbing tree and Baekhyun accidentally saw your scars and bruises. Since then, after you get punished, you usually run to his house and he will sneak you in and when you’re younger he would help you with healing and taking care of them. However as you mature, you only go to his house for mental support. Baekhyun used to promise he would bring you away from your violence father and he promised you to start a healthy family like his.

“We can start a healthy family! I can be a loving dad… I never hit people! I am raised to be a gentle man. I shall never raise my hand to any girl or child or anyone!” He once told you that with fires in his eyes, promising you he will get you out of that hell.

“WANNA COME OVER?” He flashes his board after thinking for a while, why did you earn whipping. Coming late to lunch must not be a big deal right? Unless…

Baekhyun shakes his head, trying to get rid of the silly idea he has in his mind.

“Is the guest so special?” he mumbles to himself.

“I DON’T THINK TONIGHT IS THE RIGHT TIME. SORRY ☹ AND THANKS” you raise your board the last time, before closing the curtains and shutting off the lights.

Baekhyun keeps his eyes on your window for a longer time, he doesn’t want to miss it if you’re sneaking out. But five minutes with no action, Baekhyun gives up and closes his curtain too soullessly.

The conversation he had with Chanyeol earlier lingers in his mind.

“Hey Baek, have you ever seen that man before?” Chanyeol points to a tall figure dressed nicely in an expensive coat. Taking time to stroll from one stand to another, seeing things and trying things.

“Hmm nope. Must be a visitor! He looks so expensive right Yeol?”

“Uh-hum, who can have that kind of guest here….” Chanyeol regrets saying that part out loud, for the slightly surprised look on Baekhyun's face is enough to make Chanyeol feels guilty.

In Baekhyun's mind, suddenly flashes the expensive car parked on your house porch.

“Must be Suho’s” Chanyeol quickly covers up his mistake and pushes Baekhyun away to start the talent show.

__

tbc

yes or no??

[buckleysjareau]

this has been living rent free in my head pls go crazy with it

eddie trying to patch up buck’s wounds after he’s slightly injured on a call and buck saying he can do it himself, maybe eddie saying “well i’m willing to take care of you, i want to” at some point

unconditional, unadulterated / 1.8k  you did tell me to go crazy... 

It happens just as there’s a flashover. Buck just barely makes it out the front entrance of what used to be a two story home when the flashover happens and thanks to the adrenaline, there’s only a dull pain in his calf from landing on it rough during his escape. Even as Hen asks if he’s hurt anywhere, the ache— he wouldn’t even call it a pain— wasn’t even enough to mention. 

As the adrenaline wears off, though, he realizes that it’s a little more than just an ache. It starts to hurt a touch more even as it’s resting on top of his turnout coat placed on the floor of the truck. It sucks but it’s manageable, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He only has to finish out the last hour of his shift then he can go home and ice it. 

His optimism is dulled when the instant he puts pressure on it to walk he has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming at the pain that shoots up from his ankle to his knee. He swallows any more noises of discomfort as he tries not to noticeably limp to his gear rack, already knowing he’s not in the mood for Bobby to scold him for hiding an injury. 

Which he’s not. He doesn’t think there’s any reason to say anything because he wasn’t injured. He was told that he’d might have pain flare ups for the rest of his life, this wasn’t new to him. 

Except for the fact that it wasn’t a random flare up. He’d irritated an old injury by landing on it hard and there was a possibility, a small one, but still a possibility that it was injured. Finding even the thought of going to the hospital right now less than desirable is what’s keeping him from speaking up about the possibility. 

“You alright, man?” Eddie’s voice pulls him out his head and it’s only then he realizes just how rough his breathing is as he tries to toe off the other boot. 

He forces a smile that he hopes doesn’t resemble the grimace he thinks it does. “Yeah, never better. Tired though, that one took a lot out of me.” 

Luck must be on his side tonight because Eddie doesn’t push him. There’s a little bit of disbelief in his eyes but he doesn’t push it. 

Thankfully there’s no calls in the last hour of his shift and he didn’t have to move his leg until it was time to clock out. The desire to be home, in his bed, with his leg iced and elevated was almost immeasurable. He’d spent the last hour of his shift internalizing the worry that something could be hurt and if this shift alone wasn’t enough to fully drain him, the overthinking definitely helped. 

He looked around him to see if anyone was around to catch him letting his guard down enough to limp and breathed out a sigh of relief when the only two people down there were people coming in from B shift. As he gets dressed into his civvies, he takes advantage of the empty locker room to openly wince and hiss whenever he’d put pressure on his leg. 

He grits his teeth mid groan when Eddie walks in. 

Please don’t say anything please don’t say anything please don’t say anything

“Hey, do you wanna follow me back to my place? Christopher has been dying to show you his new video game.” Eddie pauses before he smirks. “Well, I think what he said was more along the lines of he’s dying to crush you at his new video game.”

He wants to say yes, more than anything, but he just didn’t have the energy to pretend his leg wasn’t on fire the rest of the night. 

Buck sighs. “Any other night I would, you know that, but I really think I just need my bed tonight.”

Something flashes in Eddie’s eyes but disappears quick enough for Buck to decipher it. “If there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right?” 

Buck tries to reason with the guilt that comes when he promises Eddie that he absolutely would tell him if there was something wrong because it wasn’t a lie. Nothing was wrong, he was just in a little bit of pain. Like he kept telling himself, it wasn’t anything he hasn’t dealt with before. 

The effort it took not to limp or cry out in pain as Eddie walked out with him was enough to drain him for the rest of the week. 

And even as he wants to just cut off his own leg at that point, he can’t stop his heart from fluttering or his cheeks from reddening when Eddie waves at him as he drives away. 

He focuses on the way Eddie makes him feel soft as he drives home instead of how bad it’s going to feel to walk up the stairs to his bed. It’s enough to get him home but by the time he’s unlocking his door, he’s out of breath from the walk from the elevator to his door. 

He’s four steps up when the pain just becomes too much and he yells out as he collapses on his stairs. 

As he squeezes his leg in hopes the pressure will help ease the pain he wishes he’d told someone he was hurt. He regrets not telling Bobby when he’d noticed it was more than an ache.

What if it’s another clot? It could very well be a blood clot, he’s been off of the blood thinners for a few months. Oh my God, Maddie is going to be so pissed. 

He vows to never hide an injury again if he lives through this. 

Then he realizes that the pain lessens just a little and he thinks maybe he can calm down because the pain that came with blood clots didn’t tend to simmer. Maybe he’s not dying and maybe the worst of the pain was over. 

He’s too focused on massaging the pain away to hear the door open or the footsteps that made their way to him. 

“I knew something wasn’t right.” 

Buck startles, head snapping up at the sound of his best friend’s voice. When did he get here?

“Eddie? Why are you here?”

The brunette shakes his head, paces twice, then kneels in front of Buck. “I knew you were acting weird after that call. I saw the way you landed on your leg.”

“I’m,” a painful jolt that shoots up his leg cuts him off. “I’m fine, Eds.” 

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, you look real fine.” 

“Not fake fine?” He can’t help himself from replying, grinning at the exasperated look on Eddie’s face.

He rolls his eyes before he stands and grabs onto Buck’s elbow. “C’mon, up you go!” 

“No, no, Eddie… I can’t walk on it. Not like this.” 

“You don’t have to. You’re gonna lean on me, okay? I won’t let it touch the floor.” He holds out his pinkie and Buck can’t stop the blush rushing to his cheeks at the treatment. He braces himself as he uses his upper body strength and Eddie as leverage to stand. Eddie threw his arm over his shoulder and gripped his side to keep him upright. 

“Good?” 

“Good.”

The journey to get from the stairs to his couch is a bit rocky at first but Eddie keeps his promise to not let it touch the floor. 

“Now, do you have any pain medication you still take in case of flare ups?” 

“Uh, no, not anymore. I just use Tiger Balm usually but we’re shit out of luck there. I ran out the last time this happened.” 

Eddie’s expression softens, a grin adorning his face as he pulls something out of his jacket pocket. “Maybe not.” 

He holds up a thing of Tiger Balm and if Buck wasn’t already in love with Eddie Diaz, that sight alone would have done it. 

Eddie picks up on Buck’s expression before he can even ask the question. “Like I said, I knew something was off after the way you landed on that call so I stopped at the drugstore before I came here.”

Don’t tear up don’t tear up don’t tear up 

Instead of handing it to Buck like he expected him to, Eddie is careful as he sits on the couch next to him and motions for him to move his leg towards him. 

Buck scoots back and carefully moves his bad leg to rest on the couch instead of his coffee table. Eddie takes special care not to hurt him more than he was already hurting, whispering apologies whenever Buck winces. By the time he’s done maneuvering his leg it’s bent at the knee and the area where he feels the most pain is closest to Eddie. 

“Does this feel any worse?” 

Buck just shakes his head. 

Between the soft look on Eddie’s face, his tender touches, and being so attentively cared for, Buck is left speechless. 

“Eddie… you don’t have to do this. I can do this myself.” Buck has to stop himself from moaning when he massages a certain spot. “You should be home with Christopher.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to, okay?” 

The way he says it is so tender and Buck’s heart flutters in his chest. 

“Eds, that’s sweet, but you really don’t have to do this.”

Buck tenses when Eddie’s hand finds his and rubs a thumb over his knuckles that completely relaxes him. 

“Buck, I’m willing to take care of you. This isn’t a hardship for me, okay? I want to do this, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. You always take care of me and it’s about time I return the favor so… let me help you?” 

No amount of yelling at himself not to tear up stops the tears from blurring his vision. He’s so used to taking care of himself, he’s so used to dealing with the all encompassing pain alone and he never let himself feel the want of someone to care for him so he didn’t have to. Not until now, not until Eddie. 

Eddie abruptly stops rubbing his leg and Buck whines at the loss of contact. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” 

Buck shakes his head. “No one’s ever cared for me like this before. No one but you.”

He doesn’t flinch when a hand cups his cheek using their thumb to wipe away Buck’s tears. 

“No one.” 

“Well you better get used to it, Buck, because I care about you. So much. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore, okay? Just say the word.” 

“I love you.” He blurts out. 

Even with his eyes screwed shut from embarrassment Buck can hear the sincerity in Eddie’s voice as he repeats the sentiment. 

His leg is long forgotten, the pain back to a dull ache. 

The only things Buck feels are Eddie’s lips on his and unconditional, unadulterated love.   

[rose7420]

"You're going to be just fine, I promise."

This is a background story that relates to a previous prompt I wrote found here, it's called "I'm not that scary am I?"

The black nighttime sky shone with no stars, almost as if it were mourning the situation Y/n had found herself in. Y/n had been hungry for days. Her stomach growled insisting she should eat something but that was the problem.

She had nothing to eat.

Being a borrower was a tough and deadly life. Borrowers were tiny beings who were forced to scavenge for food and supplies since humans could not coexist with them due to the bigger beings’ greedy nature. Humans towered over them like skyscrapers, their steps vibrated the very floor they stood upon and their deafening voices tortured their eardrums.

Her growling stomach wasn’t the only problem she dealt with either. Rain down pored onto her, the head-sized drops falling onto her painfully, weighing her down with each step she took through this filthy alleyway. Two weeks ago she had been kicked out by her fellow clan of borrowers. They claimed she was not quick enough, not skilled enough, and not clever enough to be a part of their group. They forced her out into the fearsome, gigantic outside world named New York. She flinched at the memories of close encounters with the soles of bone-crushing shoes and formidable creatures that saw her as prey.

She only wore a thin long-sleeved shirt with matching pants, and a threadbare coat to go along. Her shoes were worn to the sole, as she was able to feel every pebble under her step each step sending excruciating pain in her soles. She shivered so violently she had tripped over her trembling legs. She had found no shelter since she had been evicted and only the crumbs of a dropped bagel that she had managed to grab onto before a hungry crow had torn it away from her hands with its sharp beak then flying away. That had been a week ago.

Oh, how she envied birds at this current moment. To have wings and fly out of this miserable weather.

Her head ached with agonizing pain, what she figured to be the effect of the lack of food.

She cursed as she tripped in an ankle-deep puddle, soaking her clothes entirely right into her already chilled bones. She caught herself with her arms, scraping her hands and knees. As she stood she lifted her palms under her face groaning at the sight of blood. Infection would spread quickly if she did not get out of this muck and properly bandage herself. Seeing that she was already soaked and no shelter would help at this point she gave up in trying to find cover and settled her back against a stone wall sinking down to the wet ground.

Fatigue caught up with her now as the adrenaline in her system cleared, all the aching in her body greeting her painfully. She groaned again. Then the ground started shaking with tremors.

Humans. She thought.

Panicking she pushed up to her feet with her arms. Or at least she tried to. But her arms were so shaky and tired there was no hope. She watched with wide, frightened eyes as the human approached; their heavy footsteps juddering her form. The human appeared to be male as far as she could tell, dark hair was matted to his head from the rain, and his pale skin shone in the black stormy night. His shoe swung into view, and then the other. Each step equalling twenty of hers, the unaware shoes crushing pebbles that were microscopic to the wearer.

Y/n whimpered from the unnerving sight.

And the towering male looked downwards to locate the sound. Locking eyes on her pathetic form.

She whimpered as he crouched down, his skyscraper body folding into a three-story building in a matter of seconds. She tried desperately to move, run just something but her limbs refused to cooperate with her commands. She was totally screwed. Life was a bitch.

Loki had been walking towards the tower after a trip to his favored bookstore. His mind was clear and he relished the feeling of cool raindrops upon his face as he slightly tilted it upwards. He had picked up dinner on the way back, finding nothing in the kitchen at the tower appealing to consume. Mortal food was so drab but he had taken a liking to an Italian cuisine: chicken parmesan. As an unexpected discovery at an Italian restaurant, he had found the dish very pleasing, so much in fact he was now what mortals called a regular customer. He held the to-go bag as he walked mindful not to swing it. Turning into an alleyway; a shortcut he had found weeks ago, he looked down at his loafers, stylish he would say. He sported his usual daywear consisting of a white button-up shirt, pairing it with a black suit jacket and pants. He had not expected it to rain however and his entire outfit was soaked completely. Yet his shoes were dear to him and he preferred to keep them in good condition. Then he heard a tiny whimpering. Had he not been focusing on his surroundings he would have never noticed the faint sound. His searching eyes landed upon a small, humanlike form curled into the wall. His curious nature urged him to get a closer look. So he did.

He crouched down and his breath caught in his throat. He set the plastic bag down on the ground forgetting it momentarily.

A tiny girl, he would guess to be smaller than his forefinger huddled against the wall. He watched her pitiful attempts to stand with shaky legs collapsing back into the puddle she sat in. He moved closer and she shook her head quickly. He ignored her reluctance, reaching forward to pinch her waist. He could feel every tiny line of her rib, he noticed her thin arms and legs that were thinner than twigs. He cringed as he remembered how ungrateful he was for the plentiful amount of food at the tower, yet this small one was practically starving.

But her skin…

It was ice cold to the touch. If he hadn’t known better he’d think she was part Jotun.

Pain rushed through his heart, to only think how long the little thing had been out here all alone in the unrelenting rain. Her clothes were soaked through and she shook with fierce shivers.

He needed to warm her or she might possibly die from hypothermia.

“Oh, my Little Dove.” He said softly looking down upon her tiny curled form. Her limbs shifted feebly as if she was trying to escape. He imagined she had not the strength to do so.

He held her to his chest with one hand and grabbed the bag with the other.

“You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Once arriving in his room he set the bag down and removed her drenched clothes with a swipe of his hand replacing them with a grey hooded jacket and matching lounge pants. He wrapped her carefully in as many blankets of her size as possible holding her to his chest. Her head nodded off once again as it had the entire walk here so he gently nudged her chin keeping her head upright, reminding her to stay awake. He held her close for what felt like forever until she shifted causing him to release his hold slightly. She looked around with drowsy, tired eyes falling upon him. She leaned against his curled fingers seeming to trust him suddenly.

“Do you want something to eat Little One?” She nodded with heaviness and patiently waited for food. He set her down upon a pillow and conjured a dinner plate her size loading it with the Italian dish. She took a cautious bite and her eyes lit up in what he assumed to be her first bit of food in weeks. The entire plate was gone in five minutes. She asked for more but he knew not to expand her stomach too quickly knowing it would make her very sick. Her head drooped in sadness and she unconsciously rubbed her shrunken belly. Loki winced at the miserable action. She rose from her pile of blankets. He extended his hand for her to climb into but as she walked he noticed a limp in her steps.

“Are you hurt Little One?” He asked.

She looked up at him with those big (Y/E/C) eyes and nodded meekly.

“What’s wrong?”

“M-my feet hurt.”

“Oh” Is all he said, and he plucked her up as he had before. She sat down in his palm and he pinched her ankle delicately to inspect her foot.

He blanched at the painful sight.

The sole of her foot was bleeding, cuts, and scrapes caused by poorly made shoes.

He looked down to his own feet, thankful for the supportive footwear. The other foot upon inspection was the same, he admired the strength of the small girl. How she had survived this far he’d never know.

“Let’s get that fixed shall we?”

By the time he finished bandaging her foot, she was asleep. A full stomach and a warm place to sleep were enough for this small one to be grateful for. And so he released her upon his chest retrieving her blankets and draping each one carefully upon her body.

They’d figure out what they were going to do in the morning but for now, they would sleep.

[suituuup]

pieces - chapter three

Five years ago, Chloe dropped off the face of the Earth. Beca sees her again in the most unexpected place.

rated: E for drug use and sex scenes

AO3 LINK

*

“Bec?” 

Beca hummed absentmindedly, blinking out of her daze and twisting her head in the direction of the voice. 

Sarah smiled gently as she leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen. She cocked an eyebrow, giving a pointed look towards the sink. “I think the pan is clean.” 

Beca glanced down, stilling her movements. She had been scrubbing that pan for probably ten minutes now, her thoughts completely consumed by Chloe and what she was supposed to do next. 

Chloe clearly didn’t want to see her, and Beca wasn’t going to wait by the phone when it was clear that Chloe was far from okay. She was thinner than Beca remembered, and the look in her eye, the lack of light in those once bright blues, chilled Beca to the bone. 

She looked… broken. As though her spirit had repeatedly been battered until all that was left were mere pieces of her old self. 

If there were any left at all.

Beca couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything, and she needed to come up with a plan to help Chloe without driving her into a corner and risk losing her forever. 

“What’s going on?” Sarah questioned, pushing off the doorframe and padding over. She rested her hand between Beca’s shoulder blades, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’ve seemed off today.” 

Beca released a sigh, setting the pan down into the sink and reaching for the dishtowel laying next to her on the counter to dry her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m just… worried about a friend.” 

Sarah nodded slowly. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sarah was unexpected, to say the least. Beca was a workaholic, and her career was too time-consuming for her to get into the whole dating thing. But Sarah, who happened to work as a barista in Beca’s favorite independent coffee shop, had somehow managed to convince Beca to go out with her. One dinner surprisingly turned into a second date, then a third, and it just like that, it had been almost a year since they officially got together. 

Sarah was gentle, patient, understanding, overflowing with positivity, but most of all, incredibly kind. She reminded Beca of Chloe, sometimes. And maybe it was those similar personality traits that drew Beca to her in the first place. 

They didn’t live together. Beca could feel that it was the next expected step on her girlfriend’s end, but she didn’t feel ready to commit, yet. She liked her own space, her solitude. So Sarah spent a few nights a week at Beca’s place, like tonight, and Beca was fine with that. 

“Not really,” she replied, casting Sarah an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, it’s just-- complicated right now.” 

“You need to stop apologizing,” Sarah murmured, her expression soft and loving. Beca let her shoulders sag, ready to apologize again. “I understand. But if you do change your mind and need to let something off your chest, I’m here.” 

Beca nodded. “Thanks.” 

“Are you coming to bed?” 

“Not yet, I wanna get some work done, first.” She leaned in to peck Sarah’s lips. “You go ahead, I’ll join you soon.” 

Walking across the living room and past the huge floor to ceiling windows looking over Central Park, Beca made her way to her home office, her happy place. She had bought the Manhattan condo two years ago, making it a requirement during her house-hunt to have a large room with plenty of light and enough space to store all her records and her music equipment. It was also where she kept her Grammys and other prizes, away from the attention as nobody really stepped into her office.

She usually popped a blues album on the record player, enjoying the soothing instrumentals while she replied to various emails, but not tonight. Tonight, she grabbed a yellow legal notepad and her headphones from her desk and curled up on the leather couch tucked in the far corner, then scrolled to her Spotify playlists until she found the one she was looking for. 

she is magic

Beca couldn’t remember the last time she had listened to her Chloe playlist, one she had made back in Barden when she was hopelessly in love with her best friend. They were songs that reminded her of Chloe, or songs that Chloe liked. Or used to like, at least. 

As lyrics she knew so well poured into her headphones, blocking out the rest of the world, different ones flowed out of Beca’s heart, materializing on the paper in front of her in black ink as she scribbled across the page. Lyrics about friendship, unrequited love, and regrets for listening to her brain and not her heart all these years ago. 

It was pushing on two am by the time Beca called it a night. Her eyes burned, her mind felt mushy, but her soul felt a tiny bit lighter. Music had always been her therapy, and writing songs had always proved more efficient than paying a licensed professional, even though it had been years since Beca had last finished one, for lack of inspiration. 

Or rather, because of the absence of her muse. 

*

She woke up five hours later to a stiff neck and sore back, the bright sunlight pouring in from the windows lining one of her office walls drawing her from her sleep. She had meant to go to bed, before deciding to close her eyes for five minutes right on the couch. 

Straightening with a groan, she grabbed her phone and turned it over, hoping to see a text from an unknown number on her screen. 

Aubrey Posen [6:23am]

Any news? 

Aubrey Posen [6:37am]

Should I come to New York? 

Aubrey practiced family law up in Boston. She and Beca saw each other a few times a year, whenever Aubrey was in the city. Bella reunions were a bit more scarce now, with the girls being scattered all around the country. Their last one dated back to a year and a half ago, on the Fourth of July. 

Beca ran a hand over her face and heaved out a sigh, swiping her thumb across the screen to unlock it. 

Beca [7:16am]

No news yet. I think I’m gonna wait a few days before I head back to the club, if she doesn’t call in the meantime that is. The manager gave me serious sleazy vibes and I’m sure he could blacklist me if I’m too insistent. I don’t think there’s any need for you to come down for now. I’ll keep you posted. 

Hitting send, Beca pushed to her feet and shuffled out of her office, hanging a left down the hall towards the kitchen. A note next to her coffee thermos sat on the island. 

Missed you last night, but I hope you got whatever you needed done. I had to leave for my shift, you’re welcome to swing by for your second coffee of the day and your morning kiss ;) have a good day!

Sarah xx

Guilt swooped in over picking old feelings about an ex-almost over her girlfriend, and Beca let her head hang forward, releasing a grown. She was far from an expert at this relationship thing, but she cared about Sarah a lot and didn’t want to mess that up. 

Beca shook off the sleepiness lingering in her bones and the stiffness in her muscles with a long, hot shower, then got ready for her day. She usually got to the office at 8 sharp, but it was already 7:54 by the time she was out the door, and her commute lasted about twenty minutes, so she wouldn’t get the chance to stop by Sarah’s workplace. 

To: Sarah 

I’m sorry, I got caught up in work last night and ended up falling asleep on the couch around 2. Come over tonight? I’ll cook dinner. Have a good shift.

Her morning was spent in the studio canning vocals for girl in red’s new album, a project Beca was stocked about as she was BMLJ’s most promising artist for this year’s Grammy Awards. 

“That was awesome, Marie,” Beca spoke into the microphone, giving her a thumbs-up through the glass. “Let’s take a lunch break and resume in an hour?” 

“Sounds good,” the younger woman agreed with a smile as she took off her headphones. 

Beca headed back to her office down the hall and checked her phone for any new messages (finding none important), before shrugging on her thick winter coat and screwing her beanie over her head. 

“I’ll be back in an hour, Gina!” She told her assistant on route to the elevator. 

As Sarah’s workplace was just five blocks south from the label, Beca figured she would eat lunch there as she wasn’t able to stop by that morning. She stopped in the convenience store across the street from the coffee shop to buy Sarah her favorite magazine as she knew her break was coming up soon and she’d have something to read. 

Beca was scanning the press stand for that specific magazine, not paying attention to the person walking into the store until they spoke. 

“A pack of Marlboro, please.” 

Beca would recognize that voice anywhere. Her head snapped up so fast she felt something in her neck pull, and she was rounding the stand before she even registered giving her feet the order to move. “Chloe?” 

Chloe glanced over to her right and froze for a second, before fishing for a twenty in her jacket pocket and handing it to the cashier. “Are you following me or something?” 

Given their last encounter, Beca wasn’t surprised by Chloe’s snark, so she gave as good as she got. “You came in after I did, so maybe I should ask you that question.” 

Chloe stuffed the cigarette pack and the change into her pocket. “What do you want, Beca?” 

“To talk,” she replied, softly. “One coffee, that’s it. And if you decide you really don’t want me in your life, then I won’t bother you again. I promise.” 

Chloe seemed to ponder on that for a few beats. “One coffee.” 

“There’s a shop right across the street.” 

Taking her to the place her girlfriend worked at? Probably not the brightest idea, but she was afraid Chloe might go back on her decision if they spent too long finding someplace else. 

When Chloe nodded, Beca took the lead and stepped outside, forgetting all about that magazine as she racked her brain about what she should say. Tactfulness wasn’t her greatest suit; Aubrey would be so much better at this. 

They stepped inside Devocion and Beca picked a table in the corner, shrugging off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. Chloe kept her jacket and beanie on, a bit hunched on herself as she sat down in the chair opposite Beca’s. 

“Beca?” 

Beca glanced towards Sarah as she approached, wearing a waist apron with the café logo on it. Her dark blonde hair was woven back in a French braid, a few strands escaping, and curiosity swirled in her green eyes as they flickered to Chloe. 

Okay, in hindsight, bringing Chloe here was a terrible idea. 

“Hey, um, Sarah, this is Chloe, a friend from college.” She cleared her throat. “Chloe, this is my girlfriend, Sarah.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah replied brightly, her smile fading a little when all Chloe offered was a distant nod. Sarah met Beca’s gaze briefly, clearing her throat. “What can I get you guys?” 

“My usual. You want anything to eat, Chlo?” 

The nickname rolled off her tongue so naturally, Beca didn’t even catch it. 

Chloe shook her head. “Just a black coffee.” 

“Coming right up.” 

“Thanks,” Beca said as Sarah spun around on her heels, her focus shifting to Chloe. “So um, I wanted to apologize for the other day and putting you on the spot at the club. I just… wasn’t sure how else to talk to you.” 

“I can give you some of the money back if you need it.” 

Beca furrowed her brow, not having expected that. “No, no. I… it’s fine. I don’t care about money.” 

Something flashed in Chloe’s eyes at that, something Beca couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Sarah came back with two coffees before she could analyze it further, setting the mugs down on the table. “Your club sandwich will be here in a few, babe.” 

Beca nodded, casting her a small, appreciative smile. 

Chloe straightened a bit in her seat, cradling the mug with both hands. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say or do, Beca.” 

Beca licked her lips. “I was hoping we could… hang out from time to time. I’ve missed you, Chlo. So has Aubrey.” 

The mention of Aubrey made Chloe lookup. “Does she live in New York, too?” 

“Um no, in Boston. She’s a lawyer. But she’d come down to have coffee, or lunch, or whatever you feel like doing. In a heartbeat.” 

Chloe shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

What little hope flared in the pit of Beca’s belly upon Chloe showing interest in Aubrey’s life vanished. “Why not?” 

“I told you. I’m not the same person anymore. I’m-- I’m not…” 

Beca tilted her head to the side. “You’re not what?” She pressed gently. 

Chloe’s gaze fleeted out the window as her rather calm demeanor now radiated agitation. Her knee started bouncing and her fingers tightened around the mug, and it was as though Chloe was battling against her own thoughts. 

She was itching to reach across the table to rest her hand over her wrist in a sort of grounding gesture, but something told her that would have the opposite effect. 

“Chloe?” Beca attempted once more, her voice as soft as she could muster, as it seemed like Chloe was on the brink of bolting. 

The tear slipping out of Chloe’s eye tore her heart into two. “I-I have to go.” 

Her chair screeched as she pushed it back roughly, and she was nearly out the door by the time Beca scrambled to her feet. 

It was lunch-hour rush in one of the busiest avenues in Manhattan, and Chloe had already disappeared in the crowd when she reached the exit, leaving Beca to helplessly wonder how someone like Chloe, once the epitome of sunshine, got herself trapped in so much darkness.

[liorlen]

I tried

[burning-fcols]

❝ I know I made a mistake ! you don’t need to rub it in ! ❞ ( Cherry & Angel )

- ✩ { @gamblealife } ✩

{ ☆ }   ❝  Rub it in? Rub it in?! Oh, I’m doin’ a HELL of a lot more than jus’ rubbing’ it in, C-Bomb!  ❞  Angel exclaims, arms outstretched with exasperation while he meets his best friend’s glare, unwavering as rose hues burn with an intense flame. Felt in the pit of his gut and making his blood boil, making the entire world around them seem even hotter than usual... and this is Hell.  ❝  I’m tryin’ ta see if ya even understand what th’ fuck you did! How insanely huge that fuck up was!  ❞  

Normally, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Destruction of THAT sort was child’s play, hardly worth a bat of an eye from his boss. Not when he has a vast territory and business empire to focus on... But things have been tense lately. Difficult for the moth. Which means he needs an outlet for all that stress, which means that the ice Angel is on becomes even thinner than usual, which means that he better not only consistently rake in some decent- no extravagant amounts of dough, but he on his best boy behavior. Lest he get punished for stepping even a single toe out of line.

Unfortunately for Angel, in Valentino’s eyes- Cherri’s toes might as well be his too.

❝  Lie low! That’s all I asked of ya! Ta jus’ fuckin’ keep outta trouble wit' Big V for a few lousy days—  ❞  Okay, weeks. But the time frame is not important. What IS important is that Angel has asked his girl buddy for a solid... and she hadn’t come through.  ❝  —an’ what did ya do? You blew his shit up!  ❞   Hands grasp at his hair, head angling back with a groan as he laments,  ❝  Now he’s pissed, Cherri! An’ I don’t mean jus’ pissed, I mean PISSED! He was jus’ lookin’ for an excuse ta tear me a new one an’ here it is on a damn silver platta’!  ❞  

He knows that later, he’ll be kicking himself for lashing out at Cherry. It’s not like she’s known for letting him down. Okay, she screwed up. But that hardly makes a dent in the countless times she’s been there for him. And it’s not as if HIS track record is perfect either. But still—  ❝  I know ya don’t give a shit ‘bout Val an’ what he thinks. I know yer not scared of th’ bastard...  ❞  Voice is quieter now, threatening to break as he refocuses his gaze on Cherri, moisture bitterly brimming as he shamefully admits,  ❝  But- I am.  ❞  

He’s gonna hurt him again. He knows it. And even though Angel keeps those thoughts silent, it’s practically written all over his face. { ☆ }

[uglypastels]

True Reflections // Tom Holland

request: how about something with Tom, where his girlfriend is insecure about her body and he comforts her and just tells her how beautiful she is (idk if you do smut, but add some in if you want)

(a/n) It’s late, I’m tired and emotional. I have no idea if this is actually any good. also, as I said, it’s really late so I can’t be bothered with editing (will probably regret this later whoops) 

word count: 2098

warning: angst, light swearing, self-consciousness, mention/indication of smut, indication of self-harm, depression. but it's not all that bad, there is a lot of fluff. I promise. 

One more kiss. That’s all he needed. Just one more to seal the deal. Her soft lips pressed against his as his hand supported her neck lovingly. Her hot fingertips grazed his chest and to his dismay, she pulled away. He tried to lean into her but she giggled: “Hmm, babe, I really have to get up now.” 

“Fine, but get back here quickly, I’m not done with you yet.” He smirked as he watched her scoot out of the blankets that were wrapped around their naked bodies. She put on her underwear and walked to the bathroom. While she was gone Tom let out a deep breath with a smile. His hand behind his head, chest still glistening in sweat, head spinning. 

All his senses were overthrown. He could only smell her sweet scent mixed with his. He couldn’t feel anything except for her lingering touch. When he closed his eyes, he only saw the image of her beautiful eyes looking up at him. His ears were ringing with the little moans and curses she let out while his lips were burning with the desire to taste her again. The boy was going crazy and he was fine with it. Being in love did that to you after all. 

Some time passed and she still hadn’t come back. The space in the memory foam next to him regaining its normal shape as the covers started to get cold. Tom hadn’t bothered to check the time but he knew it was longer than she usually took. Something was wrong. 

“Babe,” he called out, “I miss you.” It was a reoccurring joke in their relationship but when he didn’t receive any response he really started to worry. “Babe?” Still nothing. Tom sat up and picked up his boxers from the ground. He threw them on and jumped over the bed to the open door. 

The cold wooden floor sent shivers down his whole body but it was nothing like the anxiety he was feeling as he jogged through the small hallway to the bathroom. He knocked on the white door softly. “Love, you okay in there?” No response. He tried spinning the knob and to his surprise, it was unlocked. 

Carefully, preparing himself for anything that might be facing him on the other side, he opened the door. The hinges creaked as usual. What he saw broke his heart. There she stood the most beautiful girl in the world, looking at her reflection. One of her arms crossed over her chest, as the other rubbed her neck. She was slowly turning from left to straight ahead to right and back. Any time she turned too far she would strain her neck to see the rest of her body in the mirror. 

Her face was showing disgust. Hatred towards what she saw. Shame at her own body. She didn’t turn around when the door opened behind her. Her eyes didn’t even glance up in the mirror to look at her handsome boyfriend walk in and stand next to her. So handsome. Too handsome for her. 

“Why do you love me?” It wasn’t supposed to come out. She meant it as a silent thought. Not to be heard by anyone except for her own demons. To be left in the dark corners of her mind forever. But he heard it… and it wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear.

“Is that a serious question? You know why I love you.” He made sure to remind her every minute of every day. It was the first thing he told her when they woke up. He told her at breakfast, at lunch, and at dinner. He told her no matter if he was sitting right next to her or on the other side of the world. It wasn’t always with words. Sometimes it was as simple as letting her pick out his outfit when they went out because she had much better taste than him. Or buy her those cookies she liked so much because they reminded her of Christmas even though it was July. Or let her screw up the lyrics of his favorite songs because he loved to hear her sing.

“I’m serious Tom.” she sighed, finally turning around. He noticed how she was holding in her stomach. Looking back up to her eyes, she said with the most serious tone he could form: “So am I. But fine, let me remind you.” He walked up to her, placing his hand right above her hip and the other on her cheek. Her eyes were glistening in the yellow light of the bathroom. He could feel how her skin had turned cold from standing naked in the bathroom for so long.

“I love you because you are funny, smart, kind, loving and so much more. A day with you feels like an eternity because I can’t help but cherish every single moment. Every little thing that you do in your own special way. I love it how you always stay up all night on Halloween just to play a Christmas song the moment the clock strikes midnight. I love it how you scrunch your nose when I say something you don’t agree with,” he chuckled when she did what he just explained, “Just like that.” he gave her a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I love it how unique you are. Every inch of your body is covered with nothing but love and care for others and you are beautiful… absolutely divine.” She had been beaming but when he spoke his last sentence the smile faded and she scoffed.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” She pulled away from his grip and looked into the mirror just to leave him standing there, mouth agape and eyes wide open.

“Excuse me? Have I ever lied to you?”

“I’m not beautiful Tom.” her words came out strangled. “I’m hideous.”

“Darling, please don’t say that.” He wanted to reach out for her hand, to turn her around from that cursed looking glass. She just stepped away.

“But it’s true. I’m- ugh!” she groaned in anger and frustration. “My hips and stomach make me want to vomit. I have saggy boobs and rolls…” tears were forming in her eyes, “my legs are short and stumpy and so are my fingers. I have acne and stretch marks all over the place,” her eyes fell on her hips and thighs. “Not to mention the scars.” She moved around so the light would hit all the marks she was talking about. Suddenly, her lower body was covered in thin pale lines, some accentuating her body shape with the purple-red tinge in them, some even thinner and parallel to each other, Tom had memorized all of them. Sure to kiss every spot of hatred away from her when they were in bed.

“My nose and forehead are huge, while my eyes are tiny. My smile is horrendous and don’t even get me started on my eyebrows.” Her hand went up to smoothen the hairs in her left eyebrow, the one with a little scar going through it. Tom knew she despised it but to him, it was one of her finer details. Just like anything else on her body.  

“Darling-” he couldn’t listen to it anymore. She was killing herself with her own words and he was dying alongside her.

“And my hair, god, my hair. Always a mess, I don’t know how you can live with me… how you can even look at me. I don’t deserve you. Everyone else knows it. All of those people are right. I am just a waste of space and I should just let you go. I shouldn’t keep you away from something better. You can do so much better than-”

“That’s enough!” Tom didn’t mean to yell. He just wanted to pull her out of the trance that she put herself in. He should have seen it coming. It happened every time. Her mind would subconsciously wander off to the darkest place and she would start to say all of those horrible things. Just staring in front of her. Eyes blank and unfocused. She turned her head in shock when he shouted out. Tom lowered his voice.

“Love, you are breaking my heart. I can’t listen to it anymore. For the love of god, please stop.”

“But it’s true Tom, all of it. I’m hideous! I am a disgusting, piece of shit, that doesn’t deserve you or anything you have ever given me.” The tears were now streaming down her face. She looked broken. The last few pieces only hanging off of their corners to each other. Ready to fall apart.

Tom took a step forward and she took a step back. Even though the floor was clean and smooth, every time she back away from him it felt like stepping of lego and shards of glass. Only when her back hit the tiled wall could he finally close the space between them. But before he did take that final place, the last pieces fell apart. The little cries turned into sobs as she put a hand over her mouth and slid down to the floor. Her forehead leaning on her raised knees. Tom immediately slid down the wall next to her. She fell to her side, her cheek on his bare chest. Tom could feel the tears trickle down his skin as he stroke her hair. That all he did. He didn’t say anything. He just let her cry.

They stared there for a while. Her sobs softened but her breathing stayed uneven. Tom was looking up at the ceiling, recounting the panels over and over again, holding back his own tears.  He only looked back down when the grip on his arm loosened, when her breathing finally found its rhythm again and faucets in her eyes ran out. He pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Darling,” he whispered, “You are the most beautiful girl the world has had a pleasure to have created. Everything you see in that mirror is exactly the reason why I love you. I love every inch of your skin and yes, that includes every blemish, spot, scar or mark you got. I love each and every hair on top of that pretty head of yours as tangled or messy it might be sometimes.

“You are the love of my life and you make me the luckiest guy in the universe just letting me be with you. Not to mention to see you, to touch you, to love you...It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. We got each other and that’s what’s important. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Tommy,” her voice was still shaky. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling. Now let’s get you to bed. You’re freezing.” She nodded against his chest and like that he helped her get up, not letting go of her for a second. His arms snaked their way around their favorite place in the world, her hips. Like that, they were walking back to their bedroom. Before they stepped through the doorway though, she turned around in his arms and kissed him. It was a long, passionate and sloppy kiss. Tom’s grip on her hips tightened and he heard her whimper just the tiniest bit.

They simultaneously pressed deeper into the kiss. Her small hand now on his jaw, her thump right under his bottom lip. He smirked into the kiss and at that moment her lips started to make their journey sideway. Beginning at the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw to his neck. Tom rolled his eyes in pleasure when he realized what she was doing. When he felt her suck on that sweet spot of his, adding on to the purple mark she had left him as a present just two hours ago.

It was all the motivation he needed to grip her tightly and pull her up bu her legs up to his hips. Her legs wrapped themselves around him as her arms did the same around his neck. Their lips connecting again. As he lead her back to their room, Tom hoped she would never let go of him. That she would let him stay in her life. To let him love and cherish her. To show her how truly wonderful and beautiful she was. Let her be there for her. Help her piece herself back together. Let his kisses be the glue that she needed to be a whole again.

The End 

> check out my masterlist (link in bio) 

> please leave comments, feedback anything. I love reading it 

tagging (sorry): 

@andwhatdostarsdobest   @tomhollanders2013 @thelazypangolin @spiderrrling @merryspidermas @tom-holland-and-textposts @lovelyspidey @hazsterfield @nerdraging4point0 @hey-its-grey @winterwondholland @tominachristmasjumper @rachramblesstuff @theprincesofasgard @fratboievans @musiclover1263 @peter-parker-life @moonkissedtom @christmas-marvel  

[koi-sims]

Do Sim Evil Better.

I’d been knockin’ this idea around for a long time, and after collecting (or making, in the case of the CAS background) all the right cc, I decided to do something fun and unrelated to my stories and make the most handsome, most ingenious, and most evil man to ever exist in a narrative, Corin Deeth III (who actually named the Corin in my current storyline - Corin with two “r”. #bigFan).

Reader, you may or may not be familiar with the story of Kakos Industries and if you aren’t you truly are missing out. It is the best podcast I’ve listened to since The NoSleep Podcast, and to be honest...I think it actually one-ups my beloved NoSleep. It is a very fun and witty podcast with some great humor, greater hijinks, and can I just mention how alluring Corin’s voice is? Just sayin’. The storyline is awesome, too...so many great characters. I want to make Jr. and Malantha next~ I’ll leave some links at the bottom of the post for those who may be interested. Anyway, without further ado, let’s meet the man of the hour, shall we?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Well hello, Corin~.... Now, I may have missed the mark, but I always envisioned Corin having short, trendy hair that still embodied professionalism and and air of slight douchery. I have seen a lot of fanart where Corin has long hair and perhaps that is canonically true. If so, I apologize Corin, please do not send me a pair of exploding sneakers. I may have missed his eye color too, but I went with a very piercing blue-green because that’s just my personal taste and light eyes with dark hair is so badass.

Corin’s traits came pretty natural - evil, confident, and I picked hot-headed because it would best help his in-game aspiration (Criminal Mastermind) moreso than him being hot-headed in the canon. He is actually always as cool as a cucumber. I admire that.

And a little in-game blurb for him because why not? Am a ridiculously enamored fangirl? Maybe. (I spelled his name wrong up top, but I fixed it AFTER I took that and the next cap - whoops)

And just for fun, this personality notice about Corin popped up when I went in to do his photoshoot. I just love it and the look on Corin’s face at the time - Ah, the taste of accuracy.

Now, on to the main event. I’ve always wondered what Corin’s sense of fashion was like, and now having listened to 99% of the podcast (it was so fun to catch up, I’m pretty much stalling on finishing what’s out now because waiting for the next is gonna hurt so bad) I’ve gotten too curious and decided to raid his wardrobe. What’s in there, I wonder??? Let’s find out.

Everyday Wear

Oh of COURSE Corin looks dark and dapper in a suit for everyday. Look at that little splash of color! I bet you used the blood of insubordinate employees to make that tie custom, didn’t you? Magnificent. What else do you slip into on the daily? Maybe when you’re home relaxi-

Oh. Um. Well...You do wear a cowboy hat very well, Corin! I mean...they match the boots and everything! I...I’m sure there are a lot of experimental abominations to wrangle around the office so why not dress the part? Not gonna lie, that shirt looks breezy and comfortable as hell. Maybe take a trip to the mountains with King Leopold sometime? (I...I know what happened in the story, and I refuse to let it go. #OTP.)

Formal Wear

Ah. The natural snazz comes out around the time of the Shareholder’s Ball and the CEO Festival, doesn’t it? You didn’t strike me as the bowtie type of evil CEO but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look amazing on you. I see you’ve forgone your gloves for formal wear. Hard to eat the deviled eggs and tiny cheeses in those, non?

...This must be the suit you wear to the CEO Festival. That’s really the only explanation as to why it always turns out to be...what it usually becomes. I am going to assume that this suit belonged to Mr. Corin Deeth I and you wear it in his honor. I sure he is looking down on you, pleased but also wondering why you haven’t indulged in what is (still) in the right-side inner pocket.

Athletic Wear

You cannot be a successful CEO of an evil megacorp if you let yourself go. Hence why you slip into nothing but basketball shorts for a long, strenuous...sweaty...satisfying...workout. Between culling unnecessary employees and flawlessly delivering the shareholder announcements, you’re deadlifting 400lbs and making 1st in marathons, aren’t you? Of course you are.

And then there’s jazzercise. Cardio IS important and I mean...just running can be a bit tedious, yeah? You’re so well-rounded, Corin, golly. Honestly, I’m not at all mad at your fashion choice for this one. You don’t have to hide it, we are all friends here. The 80′s were a great time and I am happy you’re keeping the impeccable athletics fashion alive.

Sleepwear

Even mega evil mega CEOs need rest from time to time and nothing beats resting out topless and in trackpants. I see you are wearing ADIDAS, the most evil of brands. Not much else I can say. I am too busy admiring what jazzercise has done for you.

Uh oh. It must be one of those days. Malantha has flustered you again, Dirk is texting for more life advice, and Jr. is sending way too many...um...”special photos” to prove his is thinking hard on how to best contribute to the company. Good thing Brosephus is totally awake at 2am and ready to video chat about all of this. It’s SOOOO LAAAAAAME, right?!

Party Wear

Rollin’ up to the New Year’s Festival feels good, especially when you look this mighty fine. Nothing like finally getting past Yule and Anti-Celebrating by finally cutting loose again and making those ultra evil resolutions. Again with the gloves, I see. Well, I guess better safe than sorry. There’s no tell who’ll feel your wrath after four Blue Motorcycles.

Hm. This is quite the uh...departure, Corin. I mean, nothing ever looks bad on you but where on Earth would you even wear this to? Where would it even work??? ...Oh, right! The Festival of Adorableness! Awkward or not, you’ve made it work. I’m willing to bet the Division of Subversive Cute helped out with this ensemble. Kudos to them! I’m sure burning it afterwards was incredibly satisfying for you.

Swimwear

Why are you looking so bedeviled, Corin? How, when you look that prepared for a pool party, can you possibly be in such a foul mood? Oh...oh wait. Malantha has hidden your sunblock, hasn’t she? Goshdarnit! How can you possibly be evil without being as pale as your skin tone will allow?! That Malantha...she truly is evil, isn’t she?

Welp. I guess if you’re going to get a tan, might as well hit every spot you can. Suck on that, Malantha! (....) Also, breaking out the zebra print speedo wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had, and I both applaud, and ready my binoculars for, you choice of white swimwear. No booty shot? Ugh. Fair enough...gotta leave something to the imagination, I guess. #disappointmentOverdose

Warm Weather Wear

This is the look of a man about to take off on his mega evil yacht and never look back. That shirt, unbuttoned down to where it is suggestive but not desperate, those shorts, defining the thighs while still looking professional, those boat shoes that scream class and bless you for not wearing socks with them. There is a thin line between evil and insane and you ride it perfectly.

Apparently, even evil knows it wouldn’t be summer without an obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt. Ain’t even mad. Oooh, and white pinstripe pants....why yes, dear, they do make you look taller and thinner! I can almost hear you now, as you swagger out the front doors, “I’m off to the Maldives, screw y’all! Also, if a single brick is out of place when I get back, I’ll kill you.” You tell ‘em, Corin.

Cold Weather Wear

Brrrrrr. Generally, evil is always cold, dark, and hateful but sometimes even the weather puts up a good fight. Stylish as ever, you have broken out a very elegant scarf and jacket, expertly layered as to properly insulate all of the darkness within. No hat, though? Of course not. Evil does not get that chilly.

Corin: “What you mean I didn’t win the Ugly Sweater Contest?!”

RUN.

~*~*~*~*~

And that concludes are journey through Corin’s wardrobe! This really was a lot of fun to do, and I’d be ever so pleased if the fine people who bring the @kakosindustries universe alive enjoy it too! I’ve also redecorated Corin’s in-game home (the Alto Apartment’s unit that was formally Lobo’s #sorrynotsorry) and I would like to share that one day too, if I get around to doing the photo tour. I will share some links below to a few relevant sites for anyone whose interested in Corin and the Kakos Industries story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Cheers!

~*~*~*~*~

WCIF: Kakos Industries

Kakos Industries Home - where it’s all laid out

Kakos Industries on Tumblr - contains information about episode releases, fan-created content, and other candid goodies

Kakos Industries on TVTropes - [SPOILERS] a nice place to gather info about the series and related tropes therein

And of course you can find Kakos Industries on Facebook, Twitter, and any podcast service worth it’s salt.

[deniigi]

@calltomuster

First of 2 scraps for our You Have Not Died celebration.

1. Frank vs. Murderdock from an ask two billion years ago

1. Frank v. Murderdock

“Mr. Castle.”

Frank could not escape this person.

“Mr. Castle.”

He regretted everything.

“Detective.”

Where the fuck was Nelson when you needed him?

He ducked in through Karen’s living room window, just a little apologetic, and the fucker followed him. Like. Take a hint?

“Kare?” he called. He was fairly certain she was home.

“Frank?”

Oh, thank god.

“Kare, I need you to—”

“Oh, it’s you.”

Frank stopped and looked between Karen and the smiling semi-human behind him. Karen crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her hip.

“I told you, I saw him first. He’s mine. If you want him so bad, why don’t you go back to your own verse and seduce your Castle, huh?”

Say what now? He was whose now?

The worst Red recoiled a little at Karen. Bared his teeth a bit in her direction. He was snakelike where Red was usually puppyish. Frank had to fight the urge to hide behind Karen like he never had before.

“Mine’s no fun,” the worst Red drawled. “He’s all legality, justice, rah-rah--boring. Yours is sexy.”

God help him, he never wanted to hear those words come out of Red’s face ever again. It wasn’t that Red was not, ahem, attractive. He was. Kind of the way Karen was. They were twisted twins in the gorgeous, but actually manic department. But Frank, if he was honest with himself, was kind of into the sweet, syrupy, ‘oh, I am so sad and fragile, protect me, big man’ business. He was good at protecting. It was kind of his thing.

He liked Red best when he was leaning more in that direction than towards his usual holier-than-thou bad attitude. And then he liked Red when he was being a snarky little shit. Preferably all over Nelson or Wilson or someone who was emphatically not Frank.

As such, he was in no way prepared for such a forceful, confident Red with such…persistent feelings.

“I know he’s sexy, that’s why he’s mine. Look,” Karen grabbed Frank’s arm and rubbed it against her neck. “See? My scent. Mine.”

The worst Red scowled at her, then gave Frank a huge, shark’s smile.

“Why don’t we let Mr. Castle decide?” he asked, smooth as good whiskey. “What do you think, Mr. Castle? Because I think your heartrate’s increased, breathing, too. Putting off some heat there watching this.”

‘This’ was Red’s slink. He swayed more than the usual Red. It made the light catch the angles of his face in different ways. Highlighted his high nose and strong jaw. He was much thinner than Frank’s Red. Maybe an inch taller, although the uninterrupted line of his suit made him look even longer. Frank would bet money on him being pretty twiggy under that suit.

Frank was sure that some bear would love that about him, but he, himself was currently functioning at the level of ‘this man wants to bathe in peoples’ blood for the hell of it.’ And it was, he was not at all ashamed to say, kind of a turn off.

“Frank, you’re mine,” Karen said flatly. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m hers,” he said immediately, without thinking.

The other Red dropped the slink immediately and huffed.

“Rude.”

“Where’s Matt? What did you do with him?” Karen asked.

“I murdered him.”

Uh.

“Kay, so where’s the body?”

“Threw it in the Hudson.”

UH.

“Great, I’m gonna report you now.”

“Ooooh, I’m so scared. Whatever shall I do? Wherever shall I go in this strange, new, hostile universe? Fuck you, honey. I’m the kingpin.”

WHAT.

“I’m not scared of your pathetic police. You think they’re gonna track me all the way back to—”

“Gotcha!”

Oh, thank Jesus. Red scrambled in through the window like his jaw set like Max’s when he found a bone. He was not murdered. He was not even that winded, it would seem, even after having to track both Frank and this maniac through the city. The other Red damn near hissed at him. Karen became unspeakably smug.

Frank was struck by the sudden realization that this had all been part of a plan.

He felt a little like someone had doused him with a water balloon.

Red strode forward and corralled the other Red into a corner and shortly thereafter, an inverse Spiderman, a young girl with a white suit, ducked in through the window and scampered up next to Red with her arms crossed and her chest puffed out as far as it would go.

“Nice try, Murderdock,” she said. Karen had to swallow her laugh. Kid was right on the money with that name, though; Frank wasn’t laughing.

“We’re going home now. You have the DA to torment. You leave this Mr. Castle alone,” the white spider said. Red snarled a bit with his hand locked over Murderdock’s neck. Murderdock sneered right back at him with an almost identical snarl and then glared in the white spider’s direction.

“You’re no fun anymore, Spiderwoman,” he said like oil slick, “So puritanical. Who says I can’t have both?”

“Me,” the white spiderkid said. “And the DA. How do you think he’d like it if he heard his favorite kingpin was trying to lay all over Detective Castle, huh? You think he’s as liberal as you about this kind of thing? Think he’d like to hear about you screwing his detectives?”

Murderdock lifted his lips into a horrible grin.

“Well, now that you mention it—”

“Literally do not continue that thought, ya nasty. We’re going home. You have plenty of people to torture there. Thanks, Mr. Murdock, I’ll take it from here.”

The white spiderkid got a good handful of Murderdock’s suit and started dragging him back the way they’d come. She must have had superstrength because that guy didn’t stand a chance. Pulling the other way did fuck all. Red’s face followed both of them to the window and then he turned to apologize to Karen.

She was not offended.

Red then addressed Frank with a sigh,

“I’d say sorry that he made you uncomfortable, but I don’t think I am?” he said.

“What the ever-loving fuck was that?”

“Other universe me. Kingpin, as it turns out. I made the mistake of mentioning that you are the literal bane of my existence and he started askin’ questions, and before I knew it, he was gone. Thinks you’re real hot stuff, Frank. You should be honored. Turns out there’s at least one person in infinite universes who thinks you’re a real doll, although you might note that he’s a career criminal like yourself.”

There were seven separate levels of crazy happening right now, but for once, he could only feel relief at the sight of Red’s stiff face and shoulders.

Never, would he ever fantasize about swapping him out for a more reasonable Red again. No, he’d learned his lesson.  

[anycontentposter]

Review: Autodromo Taps ’50s/’60s Era Racing With the New Intereuropa Collection

When I think about automotive inspired watches, the brand that immediately comes to mind is Autodromo. Yes, there have been great individual watches and brands tied to the automative world throughout the years, but today, I really cannot think of any brand that distills the essence of cars and car culture quite the way that Autodromo does it. Whether it’s the elegant, Italian-inspired Monoposto and Stradale, or the unabashedly ’80s-inspired Group B, Autodromo’s Bradley Price pulls his inspiration, filters it through his eye, and creates a damn fine watch as the end product. 

The brand’s latest is the Intereuropa, and according to Bradley, the name and inspiration comes from the “Coppa Intereuropa race for sporting coupes held at Monza from 1949-1964 as a support race for the Italian Grand Prix.” These races featured berlinettas from the likes of Ferrari, Maserati, Alfa Romeo, and Lancia. Now, this isn’t unfamiliar territory for Autodromo; the aforementioned Stradale was also inspired by Italian sports cars of the late ’50s and early ‘60s. But this isn’t a retread; the execution here feels fresh, and I would argue it’s several steps above the now sold out Stradale, which I thought and continue to think is an exceptional watch both in terms of its construction and its design. 

Worth noting is that this is Autodromo’s first mainline watch with a Swiss movement. In this case, we have an ETA 7001, a high-end hand cranker that’s long been a staple in the industry. While there is nothing wrong with Miyota or Seiko movements, the inclusion of a Swiss caliber here, and a fine one at that, certainly ups the perceived value of the watch. I’m personally a big fan of the 7001, so it’s a welcome addition for me. 

But I’ll get into all of that in the review below. First, let’s get the specs out of the way. 

$1250 Review: Autodromo Taps ’50s/’60s Era Racing With the New Intereuropa Collection Case

Stainless Steel

Movement

ETA/Peseux 7001 hand-winding

Dial

Cream, Gray, Blue (multi-layered)

Lume

N/a

Lens

Domed sapphire

Strap

Saffiano rally two-piece

Water Resistance

5 ATM

Dimensions

39mm x 42.9mmmm

Thickness

10.3mm

Lug Width

20mm

Crown

Push/pull

Warranty

Yes

Price

$1250

Case

The case measures 39mm in diameter, 10.3mm thick, and 42.9mm lug-to-lug. It’s essentially a bowl, tapering as it moves to the caseback, which also extends out to act as a sort of mid-case. Sitting atop of this mid-case is a stepped bezel with an elegant slope, and inside that is a slightly domed sapphire crystal. Protruding from the case are wire lugs, which were a mainstay of the Stradale line. From the top-down, you cannot see where the lugs meet the case, which in my view is a good thing as it gives the case a much cleaner look on the wrist. The whole thing is rendered in a high-polish finish. That said, it’s not at all blingy. The bezel, with its sloping step, doesn’t bounce light in the way a typical polished surface does, so it tempers the whole thing.

The crown at 3:00 is nicely sized relative to the case. It sits close to the case, but its fairly large diameter makes it a joy for winding the movement. The crown also sits below the caseback, which allows for a very easy grip. This is a small detail that goes a long way in making this watch much more manageable as a daily timepiece, and I’ve sold off hand-crankers in the past because they’ve lacked this feature.

Around back, you have a closed caseback with an etched motif that’s inspired by the horn button on a Cunningham, which was built by Vignale in Torino. If you’re a vintage car buff, this is the sort of detail that’s just for you. No one else will see it (unless, of course, you show them), but you’ll know it’s there.

The screw in the caseback, which comes with the warning “DO NOT UNSCREW” is likely helping hold the internals in place. My suggestion: follow those instructions and leave the screw alone.

Dial

Moving to the layered dial, there’s a lot to discuss. There are three base colors: Blue, Gray, and Cream. Here you’ll finding the branding below 12:00, a sub-seconds register above 6:00, and the staple Autodromo screws along the horizontal axis at 3:00 and 9:00.

Bradley explained that he wanted the dial to remain faithful to the methods used to create gauges in the 1950s, so that’s what you get here. There’s a top-layer K1 glass cutout that frames the base of the dial, and this is where you’ll find the minutes markers. The numbers and corresponding triangles are printed on both sides of the glass, and the result is a floating drop-shadow effect. Look at the watch top-down, and you’ll see it; look at from an angle, and the effect becomes even more pronounced.

Between the K1 cutout and the base dial is another layer: a gray ring that houses the railroad track. This layer with the class cutout over it together create some awesome dimensionality on the dial. But that’s not all — the crystal plays a role here too. Printed on the underside of the crystal is a bullseye detail, one that was a feature of gauges from that era. So altogether, four layers are used to build out the dial, and I think the end result was well worth the effort. The downside, however, is that this is really the sort of thing that is best appreciated in the metal. It’s hard to capture how cool the effect truly is, and it’s on the wrist that the interplay of all of these elements comes to life.

One criticism that I’ve heard of this watch has to do with the cutout between 25 and 35 minutes. This is, of course, another nod to the gauges that inspire the design. The criticism is that this cutout, which does away with a portion of the minutes track, impacts legibility, but for me this has been entirely unfounded. At no point in my experience with this watch on my wrist have I struggled to tell the time. We all have a general idea of where markers should be, and what the time is based on the relative position of the hands (I’d argue that it’s an almost instinctive ability, and I imagine brands like Movado would make a similar argument). Now, it’s certainly fair to point out a dislike for such a detail — we all have our preferences — but to say it effects one’s ability to read the time is, in my estimation, a stretch.

The handset is relatively straightforward; for the hours, there’s a sketelonized and tapering sword of sorts, and the minute hand is a blunt stick. Both are a nod to instrumentation gauges, and work well with the overall design.

Of the three dials, my favorite is the Cream version. Cream and gray work so well together, and the cream-dialed variant of the Stradale was also my favorite out of that set. The Blue is a touch different from the Cream and Gray, in that it features a shiny sunburst finish. It’s an attractive look, though I can’t help but wonder what the dial might have looked like had it been done in the same manner as the other two. As it stands, it’s still good looking, but, once again, that Cream dial leaves me drooling.

Movement

In the past, Autodromo has relied primarily on Japanese quartz and mechanical movements, but, as I wrote above, for the Intereuropa they’ve gone Swiss. The 7001 is a banger of a caliber, and it has found home in a number of quality watches — from likes of Blancpain and Nomos to Stowa and Meistersinger — over the many years of its existence. It’s a slim 10.5 ligne movement, with 17 jewels, an Incabloc shock system, and 42 hours of power reserve. It’s also a great platform for higher-end finishing. Now, we can’t see the movement here, which is a bit of a double-edged sword since the caseback is nicely finished. I could have gone either way, so I’m personally more than okay with the closed back.

My two favorite things about the movement is how thin it is, which means the watches that it powers will be thin, and that it has a sub-seconds complication at 6:00. This often lends itself to great design, and the Intereuropa is no exception. The sub-dial at above 6:00 helps to balance the branding under 12:00.

For a deeper dive into the 7001, check out this great writeup from our own Mark McArthur-Christie.

Straps and Wearability

The Intereuropa comes on a Saffiano leather rally strap. Saffiano leather was patented by Prada in 1913, and it was made to be used as scratch-resistant leather for luggage. Today, it’s still a relatively lux material, and you often see it used on Italian handbags. In recent years, it’s also become a popular type of leather for use in watch straps, and we’ve seen all sorts of Saffiano bands at a variety of price points.

Autdromo source their straps from a manufacturer in Rome, Italy. The Blue dial comes with a blue strap, the Cream dial with a brown one, and the Gray dial with burgundy. Overall, I think they’re paired well with the watch. They definitely look and feel luxurious, even a touch dressy, but the rally pattern gives them a sporty edge that jives with the automotive vibe of the Intereuropa . Each band is fitted with a branded buckle and tang.

On the wrist, the watch is an absolute joy. I find that it wears a touch smaller than its diameter, and thinner than its thickness. The latter is true because of the bowl-shaped case, which has a tendency to dip into the wrist. It’s also very light, which is something I noticed in my time with the watch, and that lightness is a nice change of pace from my usual rotation, which right now is dominated by the Black Bay Fifty-Eight. Due to that lightness, the watch sort of disappears, which never happens with a heavier watch.

Packaging

Bradley often outdoes himself with his packaging. But his approach isn’t luxury for luxury’s sake. No, he instead tries to evoke a feeling with his packaging, a hint at the watch inside and the era from which he draws inspiration. And that’s exactly what he does here.

There’s an attractive outer cardboard box with the appropriate branding. Inside, you’ll find an instructional sheet, and a fold out poster designed by Autodromo for the 1957 Coppa Intereuropa. It’s a nice bit of swag, and again it speaks to the tone that Autodromo is trying to build.

The real prize, however, is the inner presentation box. It’s lacquered wood, so it’s got some major heft to it, and the whole thing is polished to a sleek shine. In the center is a cloisonné badge featuring a steering wheel-shaped design inspired by badges made in the 1950s by various racing clubs that were in Italy in the post-war years. This is a really elegant piece of kit, and it’s the sort of ephemera one would actually want to hold on to and not simply discard.

Conclusion

If you’ve made it all the way to the end of this review, then it should come as no surprise that I am a huge fan of the Intereuropa. First and foremost, I’m drawn to the design, and in-hand the watch feels like a high-quality piece. I also really appreciate the intricacy of said design. Often, too many watches play it safe, and too few brands push the envelope. Autodromo isn’t one of those brands, and Bradley’s willingness to do something outside of the norm in terms of design and manufacturing is something I really appreciate. The watch retails for $1,250, which is inline with past releases and feels appropriate given the complexity of the design and the Swiss movement. Autodromo

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[whichchick]

All About Pie

I make very, very good apple pie. My mother made very, very good apple pie, won prizes for it at the fair. I don't eat bought-pie because that's paying good money for craptacular pie when I can do better myself. Now, I take my pie way, way too seriously. I'm also pedantic, wordy, and a big fan of Winesap apples. However, much of my advice, once you wade through the pedantic part, will probably be of some use to you, even if you insist on using nonstandard apples. All other fruit pies are modifications of apple, and the modifications are at the very bottom of this document.

Making good pie is like being able to play the piano. It takes some practice. If you try to make pie three or four times, have three or four less-than-perfect pies, and then quit because it's "too difficult", that's like sitting down at a piano three or four times in your life and being disappointed that you can't play Chopin's Concerto No. 2 in F minor like a pro. D'oh.

The ingredient missing from most pie crust recipes is practice. Learning to make very good pie will probably take you around twenty not-so-perfect pies, the vast bulk of which will be edible. You will learn most effectively if you can make at least one pie per week.

Here's how I make apple pie (read entire set of directions and commentary first before attempting to make pie):

Preheat oven to 350.

For 1 crust (you need two, a top and a bottom, so you will be making this twice):

1.5 cups white flour (I use Gold Medal all purpose. Have never tried the 'for baking' kind.)

.5 cup lard (Prior to 2004, I used blue Crisco unflavored shortening.  In 2004, and again in 2007, Crisco was reformulated and it doesn’t work like it used to because trans-fats were what made it great.  Lard is predictable,behaves better than modern Crisco, and works unless you’re vegan or abstaining from pork.  If either of those apply, Crisco or similar is your best bet.)

half a teaspoon salt

Mash all the above together in a good-sized bowl using a fork or a pastry blender. Mash together well. You want something that looks rather like cornmeal and is all evenly mixed.

Add 3-4 Tablespoons ICE COLD WATER.

The cool water from your tap is not good enough. Please run a glass of water, add ice, and let it sit for ten minutes, then measure from that. Do NOT just use cool water from the tap. It makes a difference. I'm not kidding.

Start with the low end of the water and stir. Dough should just hold together in two or three big lumps when you've added the water. Stir it fifteen, twenty strokes in a 'round and round' pattern with a fork before deciding if it 'holds together' or not -- it holds together better with some stirring, so your initial assessment might be off.

If you add too much water, the dough will be too sticky. If you add too little water, the dough will be too fragile and won't hold together. This takes some practice and it varies depending on relative humidity, how much water's in your flour, etc. There is no way to fix the dough once you've added too much water. You also can't work the dough a whole lot or it will get tough, so don't overstir.

Er. I should mention that this is *not* a friendly pie dough. This is a melt-in-your-mouth pie dough that will impress eighty-year-old ladies from the heart of pie country. Said old ladies will tear up on having a bite and say, in their wavery old-lady voices, "I didn't think anyone still knew how to make crust like this." If you want friendly, easy pie crust, go somewhere else. This is not that. This is the OTHER kind of pie crust, the kind that led to people using inferior bought pie crust because they couldn't hack making this kind.

Turn out the dough, press into a flattened beef-patty shape with your fingers, and roll it out with your well-floured rolling pin. You do NOT get a second chance at this. If you screw the pooch and make some ovular thing that won't fit your pie tin, you are not permitted to wad it up and try again to roll a better circle. That will make pie crust like leather, and we do not wish to eat leather. Leather is bad.

Roll from the center to the edge. Do not try to roll across the whole thing, that is not good. Work from the center to the edge. Try for a good-sized, mostly round product.

Also: Forget the whole marble pastry surface or the ice-filled rolling pin. These things condense if properly chilled. Condensation adds water. Water is *bad* for sticking. Do not go that route. Gadgets do not make good pie crust. Practice makes good pie crust. Forget the gadgets and practice, practice, practice.

Once you've rolled it out, roll up the pie crust like a scroll of paper, using a flipper/turner to free it from the counter. Lift it up in 'scroll form' and unroll it over the pie tin. (This gets easier with practice.) Gently press the dough into the pie tin to make sure you got all the way to the corners. Patch any bare spots you might have with excess overhang.

Put pie tin (with bottom layer of dough) in fridge to keep it cold while you're working on the filling.

Peel 7 or 8 (depends on size) Stayman Winesap apples. These are round, unattractive, not-shiny apples with no shelf-appeal. They look like hell next to the shining Red Delicious, the glorious green Granny Smith, and the striped Gala apples. Don't worry. They might *look* like hell, but they don't taste that way at all. You can *sometimes* buy them in stores. I get mine from the local orchard. (I live in central Pennsylvania, arguably the best apple country in the world.) Winesaps ripen in October, about the middle of the month, and they store well for the winter, very suitable for xmas baking.

Slice the apples up for pie... this is more important than you think it is. You are aiming for uniform, NOT WEDGE SHAPED, flat pieces that are thin enough for you to just barely be able to see the knife blade through. If you can't see the knife blade when you're slicing, then you are slicing too thick. If the slices are thinner than 1/8", then you are slicing too thin. You want big, flat slices. You DO NOT want wedges and you DO NOT want little fiddley bits. Do big flat slices, turn the apple 1/4 turn, do big flat slices, etc. You will have leftover square cores with some pretty decent meat on 'em. This can't be helped. Do not cut the bits off and put them in your pie. The bits cook to mush and make a mushy pie. Mushy is bad.

Put the apple slices in a roomy bowl. In another, smallish bowl, mix 3/4 cup (Full disclosure: I personally like half a cup but most people think they like their apple pie sweeter than I do. In these directions, I compromised on 3/4 of a cup as an amount more in line with what people expect out of an apple pie. I use half a cup in my own pies.) of white sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, and 3 Tbsp. white flour all together so that it's well mixed. I use a fork for this.

Forget the whole cornstarch thing, cornstarch is for peach pie and cherry pie and berry pie. FLOUR is for apple pie. For very juicy apples, you may need more than 3 Tbsp. of flour, but you'll learn what 'very juicy' looks like with experience.

Dump the cinnamon-sugar-flour mix over the apple slices and GENTLY fold the apple slices over and over until they are coated. You do not stir roughly or you will break the nice, flat apple slices you worked so hard to cut. (Some breakage is inevitable, but try to minimize it.)

Remove pie pan from fridge. Put apple slices in pie pan by dumping half of them in there, arranging them with your fingers (to fill all spaces fully), and then repeating the process with the second half of the apple mixture. The fruit should dome slightly above the pie tin. Give the pie tin a gentle back-and-forth shake to settle the fruit.

Many people have 'air' baked into their apple pies because they do not take care. Use uniform, flat slices that pack well. Employ only Stayman Winesap apples (in a pinch, Granny Smith OR Rome will work, but neither is as good) for best results. Attempt to settle the apples ahead of time. Avoid the air-pie.

Dot the top of the fruit with four or five small pats of real butter. This adds richness to the filling.

Fix the second piece of pie crust and put it overtop of the pie Use the same "roll it up as a scroll, then airlift it over the pie tin and carefully unroll it" method that you employed so successfully to get the bottom part of the crust in the pie tin. No, I'm not being sarcastic. It works quite well, once you get the hang of it. Then, trim off the excess dough. Tuck the edges under and crimp with your fingers for a pretty fluted edge. (Again, this is a practice thing and you'll get better the more you do it.) Using a sharp knife, do a "plus" pattern (use two jabs for each 'arm' of the plus), turn the pie 45 degrees, and do another "plus" pattern using single jabs to divide the pie into eight slices while creating steam vents. That's probably confusing as hell. (N.B. The world will not end if you fail to vent your pie the way I vent my pie. I like my method and think it's worthy, but you can do what you like.)

I am of the opinion that doing little fruit cutouts and other dough artistry is not conducive to making good pie crust. If you can do that sort of foolishness with your pie crust, it isn't short enough and it won't be tender enough. Aim for just this side of 'impossibly fragile' and you'll have pastry that melts in your mouth.

Put the pie in oven, bake 40 to 50 minutes. Pie is done when crust is lightly browned, apples are bubbling (usually you can hear 'em), and pie smells good. It really does take 40 to 50 minutes.

Remove pie from oven. Apple pie filling and crust will get firmer if you allow the pie to cool completely.

Crumb-topped apple pie is for people who can't make decent pie crust.

Cherry pie: Use sour Montmorency pie cherries. You will need a generous four cups of pitted sour cherries. To the fruit, add 1.25 cups of sugar, 1/2 teaspoon almond flavoring, and 4 Tbsp. of cornstarch. Do not add red food coloring. You don't need it and it will make people think you used sorry-ass bought pie filling like a lamer.

Peach pie: Use peaches that are ripe and give gently to the touch. Dead ripe peaches are juicier with less shape and will make a sloppier, but still tasty, pie. Unripe peaches (firm to the touch) are unsatisfactory. You will need about 7 peaches, peeled and cut into reasonably skinny wedges. Add 3/4 cup sugar, 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon almond flavoring, 2 Tbsp. flour, and 2 Tbsp. cornstarch to the peaches.

Berry pie: You will need a generous four cups of berries. Add sugar to taste, usually about a cup. All berries are juicy and will need 3 Tbsp. cornstarch, 3 Tbsp. flour to help settle them. A small amount of almond flavoring (1/4 teasp.) probably wouldn't hurt, but you won't need cinnamon. Berry pies (blackberry, blueberry, raspberry) usually boil over. Badly. The prudent baker puts a cookie sheet on the oven shelf underneath his or her berry pie.

[liskantope]

Chapter 2: From Under the Bed

[This is a chapter of my Harry Potter fanfic written back in 2007 just prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. Chapter 1, along with a general explanation of context, is here.]

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any thinner, you out-thin yourself,” groused Mrs. Weasley as she put platters on the table in the Burrow. “I want you to eat no fewer than three helpings of this meatloaf, and no excuses!”

“They’re better than Hagrid’s rock cakes any day, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry happily. “Are the rest of the family here?”

There were eight simultaneous cracks, and Harry blinked as Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron Weasley, along with Fleur Delacour and Hermione Granger, appeared in front of him, almost knocking him over in his chair.

“Yes, I would say that we are all here,” said Fred lightly, “that is, all but a certain piece of dung who still hasn’t apologized to certain other people about not believing that a certain Personage-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned.”

“As well as another certain female person who seems to already be making deliberate efforts to avoid you,” added George.

Harry sighed and looked at the ground. Suddenly, he wanted desperately to change the subject. “So, any news of what Voldemort’s up to now?” he said, attempting a lighthearted tone of voice and ignoring seven simultaneous flinches aimed in his direction.

“The usual. Still killing. Still maiming and torturing. Still trying to recruit more people to his side. Still wreaking chaos and havoc in every direction,” sighed Mr. Weasley. “We’re doing our best in the Order. Working every day against him, even on weekends and after hours, except we’ll be taking this Saturday off for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Then it’ll be back to fighting the Death Eaters as usual. And that’s enough to be getting on with, without the Deathly Hallows clamoring for attention all the time.”

Harry had no idea what Deathly Hallows were, but didn’t have the energy to ask.

“We don’t even have Dumbledore’s quirky jokes to keep us happy anymore now,” said Charlie sadly. “Or his terrifying anger to keep us in line. We’re on our own.”

“Speaking of Dumbledore, I just got the news from Scrimgeour that Hogwarts will be reopening after all,” said Mr. Weasley. “We’re just going to have even stronger security. I’m not allowed to give the details, though.”

Harry noticed a new clock on the wall. There was one hand for each Weasley, and only two phrases written around the edge: “In Moderate Mortal Danger” and “In Danger of Dying a Particularly Painful Death in the Imminent Future”. Harry was glad to see that all nine hands were pointing at “In Moderate Mortal Danger”.

“Observing our newest possession, are you?” said Mrs. Weasley grimly, gesturing towards the clock. “Yes, I thought it might come in useful, and the old one was getting rather boring, with everyone’s hand always pointing to the ‘Mortal Danger’ spot. This new one was sold to me on the street by a woman by the name of Trelawney. She said she had built it herself to perfect accuracy.”

Harry suddenly felt a lot less reassured.

After dinner, Harry went up to Ron’s room with Ron and Hermione. On his way up the stairs, Harry could see Ginny’s eyes peering out of her bedroom door, which was open a crack, before she quickly closed it. Harry sighed, pulled himself together and continued on his way up the stairs. At least this wasn’t as bad as it had been to watch her snogging Dean Thomas.

“So Hogwarts is staying open after all,” said Harry to his two friends. “I wonder who the headmaster will be now.”

“Have you considered the possibility that Dumbledore might not really be dead?” said Hermione musingly. “He might be coming back to Hogwarts, you know.”

“That’s not a nice thing to joke about,” said Harry quietly.

“I’m not joking!” said Hermione shrilly. “I’m not convinced that he really died! The evidence isn’t exactly watertight!”

“Not exactly watertight?” repeated Harry incredulously. “What d’you mean? In case you’ve forgotten, I saw him blasted off the astronomy tower by Snape’s Avada Kedavra curse! I saw his dead body! He’s dead! There’s no denying it. No getting around it. Dumbledore is no more*. Snape murdered him!”

“Actually, we don’t know that for sure,” said Hermione evenly. “We still don’t actually have proof that Snape isn’t on our side.”

“Oh, you’re not still saying that, are you?” snorted Ron. “The one issue between us where I got the privilege of turning out to be right, and you won’t admit it?”

“Come on, have some imagination,” said Hermione, although soothingly, squeezing Ron’s hand. She glanced at Harry and let go with a start. “Snape and Dumbledore could have been putting on a show for the Death Eaters to help Snape keep his cover and give Voldemort a false sense of confidence about Dumbledore supposedly being dead. Snape and Dumbledore probably planned it all out beforehand. Or maybe when Dumbledore said, ‘Severus… please…,’ he really meant to please kill him. You never know. Dumbledore always trusted Snape, remember? D’you think he really could have made such a misjudgment?”

“I think you’re barking,” said Ron. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“I’m serious!” retorted Hermione. “I don’t know how it could have worked, but I’m sure that Dumbledore couldn’t have really died that easily. And I’m sure that Snape isn’t really evil. He just can’t be! Not if I have anything to say about it!”

“Whatever,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. He was still subconsciously stroking the hand that Hermione had squeezed as though he never wanted to wash it again. Harry pretended not to notice.

“Anyway,” said Harry, “either way, we still need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. And then there’s the factor of how unwilling most of the parents will be about sending their kids back to Hogwarts.”

“How could the seventh years’ parents be so unwilling?” gasped Hermione. “This year is our N.E.W.T. year. That’s extremely important! It could affect our entire futures!”

“Honestly, Hermione, you’re way too obsessed with academics,” said Ron lazily. “Anyway, I suppose if my parents give permission, we’ll go without you, Harry?”

“Why do you say that?” said Harry sharply.

“Well,” said Hermione tentatively, “you did say something at Dumbledore’s funeral about not coming back next year, didn’t you?”

Harry sighed and gave a small smile. “Oh, you know I never really mean things like that. I just have trouble controlling my emotions sometimes, and I say stuff. Of course I’m coming back. How am I supposed to be able to keep my mind on destroying the Horcruxes and Voldemort himself – oh, stop spasming uncontrollably like that, Ron, it really disturbs me – if I’m weighed down with homesickness for Hogwarts?”

“We hoped you’d see that logic properly, Harry,” said Hermione in relief. “It really is quite obvious, you know.”

“Right now we should put our efforts into living with Bill and Fleur until their wedding,” said Ron. “And it would help if we don’t get any Death Eater attacks during that time, either.”

“He’s worked out a way of making himself immune to Phlegm’s presence,” said Hermione, smiling wryly and jerking her thumb towards Ron. “It’s one of those mind control things…”

“Have you made any progress on R.A.B.?” Harry asked Hermione now.

“No,” she said sadly. “I decided to stop thinking about it for a while and let the answer come to me. Wait a minute…” She suddenly looked transported. “I think I just figured it out!”

“Tell us!” said Harry and Ron together.

Hermione seemed far away. “I… no, but… no, that would make sense… except that… but maybe…”

“Have I told you how much I hate it when you do this?” said Ron grumpily.

“I’ve got to go to the library,” said Hermione abruptly.

“There is no library here,” Harry reminded her.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that,” said Hermione. “All right then… how about Regulus Black?”

There was a thirty-second silence while Harry and Ron thought this out. Then…

“It never occurred to me,” said Ron dully.

“How could it not have?” said Hermione to Ron in a superior voice. “He was your own best friend’s father’s best friend’s brother, after all.”

“I bet you think we’re really stupid, do you?” snarled Ron.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “How could we have been expected to remember about Sirius’ Death Eater brother out of the blue like that?”

“Harry should have been taking notes while Sirius lectured him on his family tree the summer before last and then studied them with Ron,” said Hermione severely, and she left the room to let Harry and Ron stew in their own indignation.

The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour was by and large a successful event, although not without its glitches. During the whole ceremony, while staring at Fleur, Ron’s face appeared to be screwed up in concentration, and when Bill and Fleur were pronounced man and wife, he tried to clumsily hide from Hermione the fact that he was woefully wiping his eyes on his father’s handkerchief. Meanwhile, Charlie, the twins, Ginny (who was looking anywhere but at Harry), and Hermione were all struggling to stifle involuntary gagging noises. Nymphadora Tonks distracted and offended everybody with her bright, blue hair in the Mohawk style, and Mundungus Fletcher was busy the entire time examining the jewelry that had been given as wedding presents. After the ceremony, the party found that the cake was virtually inedible after Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody had checked it for 138 different kinds of poisons and jinxes. The festivities went on late into the night. When Mrs. Weasley and Mundungus Fletcher got into a verbal cut-down argument about what kind of incompetently concocted potion the other had been dropped into as a baby, it was unanimously decided that it was time for everybody to go to bed.

Two days later, four owls arrived, one each for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. They were each letters from Professor McGonogall which included the school lists for Hogwarts.

“Still no mention of who the next headmaster or headmistress will be,” remarked Harry, who was sitting on Ron’s bed with Ron and Hermione.

“It says something about something called ‘Deathly Hallows’ though,” said Ron. “What d’you reckon those are?”

“No idea,” said Harry. “Your dad mentioned something about them the other day.”

“You know, maybe we’ll be better off without Dumbledore this year,” said Ron thoughtfully. “I used to think of him as a genius who was also insane, and now I just think of him as insane. I mean, honestly.” He put on a croaky, sing-song voice. “‘I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape! I trust Severus Snape!’”

Just then, all three froze, staring at the foot of the bed. A shriveled, blackened hand was reaching out from under it. Hermione clutched Ron’s arm in horror and then seemed to decide to clutch Harry’s as well, just to be fair. And then a deep voice said, “Not a bad impression, although you might want to work on the syllabic intonation a little.”

And as the long, thin, wizened form of Albus Dumbledore began to drag itself out from underneath the bed, Hermione gave Harry and Ron a significant look which clearly said, “Told you so.”

* I’m pretty sure I was trying to allude to Monty Python’s “dead parrot” sketch here and wish I’d remembered the lines well enough to add something like “He has ceased to be. He is an ex-Dumbledore”, etc.

[techinfo007-blog]

The Dangers of Cordless Phones and Wifi

New Post has been published on http://www.techinfo99.com/mobile-phones/the-dangers-of-cordless-phones-and-wifi/

The Dangers of Cordless Phones and Wifi

When you call me these days, you may notice that I'm more present. You will not hear the sound of washing dishes or putting away laundry, will not catch me checking emails while you pour your heart out, and I sure will not up the ladder picking plums with the cordless squeezed between my shoulder and ear . I'll be sitting on a chair in the main hallway of our house, with nothing better to do than talk to you.

You see, there's a $ 120 box of Future Shop wireless phones sitting unopened on our counter. It'll be returned the next time I screw up my courage to go into that scary Big Box. We've gone back to an old-fashioned $ 3 corded phone from Salvation Army.

While this radical experiment has turned out to be yet another marker in our quest for simplicity, and has yielded the usual unexpected benefits of slowing down and remaining in the moment, the real reason for turning away from wireless was health concerns.

In just my grandma's lifetime, our species has gone from one with virtually zero electrical exposure to a massive overdose. The average home has wireless internet, phones, remote controls, alarm systems, invisible pet wings, i-tune systems, even Sarah's computer mouse and keyboard and speakers, that certainly and consistently send electro-magnetic waves through through our brains and bodies. How many wireless signals can one body transmit?

When I turned to Saint Google for confirmation, every article online said there is no definite evidence directly linking this massive new electro-magnetic (ie, radiation) invasion of our bodies with the massive increase in cancer, autism, heart attacks, stress, ADD , SAD, etc etc etc that mark our increasingly sick society.

But we know that our bodies did not evolve to handle the constant wireless pollution all around us. Wireless internet, cell phones, cordless phones, bluetooth, baby monitors, car alarms, it goes on and on. And it goes in and in – into our babies' growing brains and bodies. Finally I found a source – a nonprofit organization called Wired Child – that confirms (with plenty of links to the scientific data) my fears that the constant presence of radiation from our cordless phone, wireless router, and other wireless devices in our supposedly simple house are ubiquitously and constantly attacking us, with our children being more vulnerable:

Research shows that radiation penetrates more deeply into a child's head and also that children's thinner skulls absorb much more radiation than an adult's.

Another study found that children who had used a mobile phone before they were 20 had five times more chance of getting a brain tumor later in life. That five times greater risk might be the tip of the iceberg because there is every chance the risks increase the longer the phone is used. The increase in risk could turn out to be much greater when the full long-term effects have been studied in the future. Additionally we do not yet know how significant the impact of exposure to other new radiation sources, like cordless phones, wi-fi, Bluetooth, baby listening monitors and games consoles, will be or how the different sources interact in their effect on children's bodies. These now ubiquitous products add to the radiation "load" experienced by children growing up today but the effects of long-term exposure to them are untested Many scientists fear for the impact this will have when today's children grow up. ( www.wiredchild.org )

When we first made our decision to stop using cordless phones , it was based on a gut feeling. Now it appears there was some wisdom and science behind that feeling. Most studies to date have been about mobile phones, but cordless phones operate on much the same technology:

Modern cordless phones work much like mobile phones. When in use, their power level, and microwave radiation emissions, are within the range at which mobile phones are commonly used, although they do not power up to the maximum level of a mobile phone. Cordless phones tend to be used for much longer calls than those on mobiles because they are often the main phone on a household's land-line. This means that the health effects might be even more significant than mobile phones. A recent study found a link between malignant brain tumors and using cordless phones.

There is an additional exposure from a cordless phone system because it includes a base station which emits radiation as it "communicates" with the phone and this works rather like a mobile phone mast. There is now substantial evidence of health effects associated with exposures from mobile phone masts. The phone and base unit emit radiation continuously, so there is an extra exposure "whammy" of radiation 24/7 even when the phone is not in use. The radiation emitted from the base unit and phone on standby are much lower than the phone on a call but some scientists think this chronic (long-term) exposure may be even more damaging than short bursts of higher level radiation, like that from mobile and cordless phones in use on a call

Telus and Rogers both come next week to put in new phone and internet jacks in 3 different rooms in our house so that we can completely do away with the cordless phone and wifi. The cost – about $ 150; the inconvenience – minimal; long-term benefits – priceless.

Source by Rick Juliusson

[woodruffmackenzie]

There\'s No Point Doing paving products If You\'re Not Doing It Right.

If you want to build a woodshed as your outside storage then listed here are some suggestions Power Aggregates (article source) for you. After studying this text you'll know exactly why woodshed can be your greatest solution and the place you will get the perfect shed plans that can assist you to complete your woodshed challenge in the most cost effective, best and fastest method. First you may be involved about how to build a shed? Well, don't be concerned, this is not as bit as hard as you imagine building a shed can be. Right this moment there are lots of on-line assets and classes that may easily teach you utilizing step-by-step plans and guides how to construct a storage shed out of wooden. These shed plans and guides have been built that can assist you even if you are a complete woodworking newbie.

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If you happen to go with a steel panel roof, there may be less of a load on the partitions and they are often constructed with a thinner gauge steel product(cheaper). Subsequent, you should choose a door type. I built mine with just one opening. The door was large and the shed was pretty small, so it works for me. You are not building a house, so don't go overboard here. The last thing to think about is what kind of floor you prefer to within the building. There are two foremost options. Many people like a strong concrete pad to construct on. Most are medium-priced. Where obtainable in 'seconds' high quality they're normally damaged. Widespread sizes are regular brick-shape (230mm x 115mm) in various thicknesses for pedestrian or car use. Larger sizes (four hundred x 400mm) are also available. There may be considerable variation in earthy colours each between sorts and inside a single batch. If you would like constant colour you might want to order A-grade, which price more. They are sometimes obtainable in 'seconds' for significantly much less with the only fault being colour variation. POWERAGGREGATES.IE This could look good and save so much off the purchase worth. It's pointless to seal most clay pavers. To design a wild flower garden, you do not need to be a specialist or an artist, you simply must be observant and let your inventive juices stream. Look around you, what is unique about your surroundings? Do you wish to reinforce or praise this stuff. Will your new wild flower garden be visible from the home, if that's the case, perhaps you would like to plant your favourite colors so day by day is a feast for your eyes. Are you searching for a quiet spot to take a seat awhile and loosen up, then your new garden can have a stone bench surrounded by tall plants to create a sense of peace and privacy. As I stated, whatever fashion of wild flower backyard you need, it can be yours.

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Update: my freaking PAROTID GLAND is swollen cause of an infection or it’s passing a little stone like wtf — Sarah (@SarahHoenig) November 28, 2017

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Review: Autodromo Taps ’50s/’60s Era Racing With the New Intereuropa Collection

When I think about automotive inspired watches, the brand that immediately comes to mind is Autodromo. Yes, there have been great individual watches and brands tied to the automative world throughout the years, but today, I really cannot think of any brand that distills the essence of cars and car culture quite the way that Autodromo does it. Whether it’s the elegant, Italian-inspired Monoposto and Stradale, or the unabashedly ’80s-inspired Group B, Autodromo’s Bradley Price pulls his inspiration, filters it through his eye, and creates a damn fine watch as the end product. 

The brand’s latest is the Intereuropa, and according to Bradley, the name and inspiration comes from the “Coppa Intereuropa race for sporting coupes held at Monza from 1949-1964 as a support race for the Italian Grand Prix.” These races featured berlinettas from the likes of Ferrari, Maserati, Alfa Romeo, and Lancia. Now, this isn’t unfamiliar territory for Autodromo; the aforementioned Stradale was also inspired by Italian sports cars of the late ’50s and early ‘60s. But this isn’t a retread; the execution here feels fresh, and I would argue it’s several steps above the now sold out Stradale, which I thought and continue to think is an exceptional watch both in terms of its construction and its design. 

Worth noting is that this is Autodromo’s first mainline watch with a Swiss movement. In this case, we have an ETA 7001, a high-end hand cranker that’s long been a staple in the industry. While there is nothing wrong with Miyota or Seiko movements, the inclusion of a Swiss caliber here, and a fine one at that, certainly ups the perceived value of the watch. I’m personally a big fan of the 7001, so it’s a welcome addition for me. 

But I’ll get into all of that in the review below. First, let’s get the specs out of the way. 

$1250 Review: Autodromo Taps ’50s/’60s Era Racing With the New Intereuropa Collection Case

Stainless Steel

Movement

ETA/Peseux 7001 hand-winding

Dial

Cream, Gray, Blue (multi-layered)

Lume

N/a

Lens

Domed sapphire

Strap

Saffiano rally two-piece

Water Resistance

5 ATM

Dimensions

39mm x 42.9mmmm

Thickness

10.3mm

Lug Width

20mm

Crown

Push/pull

Warranty

Yes

Price

$1250

Case

The case measures 39mm in diameter, 10.3mm thick, and 42.9mm lug-to-lug. It’s essentially a bowl, tapering as it moves to the caseback, which also extends out to act as a sort of mid-case. Sitting atop of this mid-case is a stepped bezel with an elegant slope, and inside that is a slightly domed sapphire crystal. Protruding from the case are wire lugs, which were a mainstay of the Stradale line. From the top-down, you cannot see where the lugs meet the case, which in my view is a good thing as it gives the case a much cleaner look on the wrist. The whole thing is rendered in a high-polish finish. That said, it’s not at all blingy. The bezel, with its sloping step, doesn’t bounce light in the way a typical polished surface does, so it tempers the whole thing.

The crown at 3:00 is nicely sized relative to the case. It sits close to the case, but its fairly large diameter makes it a joy for winding the movement. The crown also sits below the caseback, which allows for a very easy grip. This is a small detail that goes a long way in making this watch much more manageable as a daily timepiece, and I’ve sold off hand-crankers in the past because they’ve lacked this feature.

Around back, you have a closed caseback with an etched motif that’s inspired by the horn button on a Cunningham, which was built by Vignale in Torino. If you’re a vintage car buff, this is the sort of detail that’s just for you. No one else will see it (unless, of course, you show them), but you’ll know it’s there.

The screw in the caseback, which comes with the warning “DO NOT UNSCREW” is likely helping hold the internals in place. My suggestion: follow those instructions and leave the screw alone.

Dial

Moving to the layered dial, there’s a lot to discuss. There are three base colors: Blue, Gray, and Cream. Here you’ll finding the branding below 12:00, a sub-seconds register above 6:00, and the staple Autodromo screws along the horizontal axis at 3:00 and 9:00.

Bradley explained that he wanted the dial to remain faithful to the methods used to create gauges in the 1950s, so that’s what you get here. There’s a top-layer K1 glass cutout that frames the base of the dial, and this is where you’ll find the minutes markers. The numbers and corresponding triangles are printed on both sides of the glass, and the result is a floating drop-shadow effect. Look at the watch top-down, and you’ll see it; look at from an angle, and the effect becomes even more pronounced.

Between the K1 cutout and the base dial is another layer: a gray ring that houses the railroad track. This layer with the class cutout over it together create some awesome dimensionality on the dial. But that’s not all — the crystal plays a role here too. Printed on the underside of the crystal is a bullseye detail, one that was a feature of gauges from that era. So altogether, four layers are used to build out the dial, and I think the end result was well worth the effort. The downside, however, is that this is really the sort of thing that is best appreciated in the metal. It’s hard to capture how cool the effect truly is, and it’s on the wrist that the interplay of all of these elements comes to life.

One criticism that I’ve heard of this watch has to do with the cutout between 25 and 35 minutes. This is, of course, another nod to the gauges that inspire the design. The criticism is that this cutout, which does away with a portion of the minutes track, impacts legibility, but for me this has been entirely unfounded. At no point in my experience with this watch on my wrist have I struggled to tell the time. We all have a general idea of where markers should be, and what the time is based on the relative position of the hands (I’d argue that it’s an almost instinctive ability, and I imagine brands like Movado would make a similar argument). Now, it’s certainly fair to point out a dislike for such a detail — we all have our preferences — but to say it effects one’s ability to read the time is, in my estimation, a stretch.

The handset is relatively straightforward; for the hours, there’s a sketelonized and tapering sword of sorts, and the minute hand is a blunt stick. Both are a nod to instrumentation gauges, and work well with the overall design.

Of the three dials, my favorite is the Cream version. Cream and gray work so well together, and the cream-dialed variant of the Stradale was also my favorite out of that set. The Blue is a touch different from the Cream and Gray, in that it features a shiny sunburst finish. It’s an attractive look, though I can’t help but wonder what the dial might have looked like had it been done in the same manner as the other two. As it stands, it’s still good looking, but, once again, that Cream dial leaves me drooling.

Movement

In the past, Autodromo has relied primarily on Japanese quartz and mechanical movements, but, as I wrote above, for the Intereuropa they’ve gone Swiss. The 7001 is a banger of a caliber, and it has found home in a number of quality watches — from likes of Blancpain and Nomos to Stowa and Meistersinger — over the many years of its existence. It’s a slim 10.5 ligne movement, with 17 jewels, an Incabloc shock system, and 42 hours of power reserve. It’s also a great platform for higher-end finishing. Now, we can’t see the movement here, which is a bit of a double-edged sword since the caseback is nicely finished. I could have gone either way, so I’m personally more than okay with the closed back.

My two favorite things about the movement is how thin it is, which means the watches that it powers will be thin, and that it has a sub-seconds complication at 6:00. This often lends itself to great design, and the Intereuropa is no exception. The sub-dial at above 6:00 helps to balance the branding under 12:00.

For a deeper dive into the 7001, check out this great writeup from our own Mark McArthur-Christie.

Straps and Wearability

The Intereuropa comes on a Saffiano leather rally strap. Saffiano leather was patented by Prada in 1913, and it was made to be used as scratch-resistant leather for luggage. Today, it’s still a relatively lux material, and you often see it used on Italian handbags. In recent years, it’s also become a popular type of leather for use in watch straps, and we’ve seen all sorts of Saffiano bands at a variety of price points.

Autdromo source their straps from a manufacturer in Rome, Italy. The Blue dial comes with a blue strap, the Cream dial with a brown one, and the Gray dial with burgundy. Overall, I think they’re paired well with the watch. They definitely look and feel luxurious, even a touch dressy, but the rally pattern gives them a sporty edge that jives with the automotive vibe of the Intereuropa . Each band is fitted with a branded buckle and tang.

On the wrist, the watch is an absolute joy. I find that it wears a touch smaller than its diameter, and thinner than its thickness. The latter is true because of the bowl-shaped case, which has a tendency to dip into the wrist. It’s also very light, which is something I noticed in my time with the watch, and that lightness is a nice change of pace from my usual rotation, which right now is dominated by the Black Bay Fifty-Eight. Due to that lightness, the watch sort of disappears, which never happens with a heavier watch.

Packaging

Bradley often outdoes himself with his packaging. But his approach isn’t luxury for luxury’s sake. No, he instead tries to evoke a feeling with his packaging, a hint at the watch inside and the era from which he draws inspiration. And that’s exactly what he does here.

There’s an attractive outer cardboard box with the appropriate branding. Inside, you’ll find an instructional sheet, and a fold out poster designed by Autodromo for the 1957 Coppa Intereuropa. It’s a nice bit of swag, and again it speaks to the tone that Autodromo is trying to build.

The real prize, however, is the inner presentation box. It’s lacquered wood, so it’s got some major heft to it, and the whole thing is polished to a sleek shine. In the center is a cloisonné badge featuring a steering wheel-shaped design inspired by badges made in the 1950s by various racing clubs that were in Italy in the post-war years. This is a really elegant piece of kit, and it’s the sort of ephemera one would actually want to hold on to and not simply discard.

Conclusion

If you’ve made it all the way to the end of this review, then it should come as no surprise that I am a huge fan of the Intereuropa. First and foremost, I’m drawn to the design, and in-hand the watch feels like a high-quality piece. I also really appreciate the intricacy of said design. Often, too many watches play it safe, and too few brands push the envelope. Autodromo isn’t one of those brands, and Bradley’s willingness to do something outside of the norm in terms of design and manufacturing is something I really appreciate. The watch retails for $1,250, which is inline with past releases and feels appropriate given the complexity of the design and the Swiss movement. Autodromo

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