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[winstonindia01]

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[billybob598]

Everything is Going to Be Okay (Sydney Lohmann x Reader)

Well hello there! Here is the long awaited (not really) part 2 to How Many People. On a completely unrelated note, school is kicking my ass. But whatever. Also, I just want to note that I am NOT a medical professional. I have no idea if what happens in this fic is actually possible or medically correct. Either way, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Enjoy!

Part 1 here

Word Count: 5K (can we all just pause and acknowledge this? like guys come on now)

1 Year Ago

“She’s stable, for now. We’re going to be monitoring her carefully for the next few days. Again, we’re confident she’ll recover as much as she can.” You can hear a voice coming from above you, but your mind seems hazy, almost like a fog clouding your thoughts. Something wet lands on your exposed wrist, it feels like water but who would pour water on your arm? 

“Okay, thank you, doctor,” a German accent breaks your line of thinking. Wait, you know that voice, Sydney? What was she doing here? What were you doing here? The last thing you remember you were sitting in the middle of the track, about to switch the car off and get out. Now that you think about it, it did sound as if something was getting closer to you. Oh God, had you been hit by another car? Well, that’s not good. A door closed shut, presumably the doctor, leaving just you and Sydney alone. She started to cry, like full-on sobbing. How badly you wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but you couldn’t. Your body was betraying you. Luckily, Sydney slipped her hand into yours and squeezed tightly. “You scared me for a sec, Y/N/N. Wake up, please. Then, everything will be okay, liebe.” Her voice was cracking as she begged you to open your eyes. You couldn’t. You couldn’t reach up and tuck the hair behind her ear, you couldn’t open your mouth and tell her everything was going to be okay. You were useless. Well, you could just try and squeeze her hand. What’s the harm in trying? So, you focused completely on getting your fingers to tighten around hers. Sydney’s head shoots up. The sadness she was previously feeling almost disappeared altogether. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” She gets a squeeze in response, “Oh my God, oh my God.” She clings onto your hand as if it were a lifeline, “I’m going to go get the doctor, okay?” Another squeeze.

9 Months Ago

You had fully woken up four or five hours ago. For a couple of weeks you were just squeezing your girlfriend's hand, today was the day you were finally able to open your eyes. When you woke, Sydney immediately pulled you into a hug, being mindful of your injuries. The nurses did a few checks on you such as checking if you remembered what happened, who you were, and who Sydney was. They were happy to confirm you didn’t suffer any memory loss despite your head trauma. They then left you alone to rest for a couple of hours. Sydney telling you everything that has occurred over the last month. It shook you, how much you had missed and how long you’d been unconscious for. Around six o’clock the doctor came in. He watched the numbers on the machines you were hooked up to, occasionally writing something down on his clipboard. When he was satisfied, he walked to the foot of your bed and carefully removed the bed sheets covering your legs.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I’m not sure if anyone has told you yet, but during your accident, you suffered damage to your spinal cord. I just want to make sure that everything is okay down here,” he explains. He takes out a pen from his pocket and gently pushes it into your foot, “Can you feel this?” You shake your head no. He hums quietly then, he moves it onto your shin, “This?” Nothing. You unknowingly tense, this wasn’t good. He continues to move it further and further up your legs until he gets to just above your hip. Poking it softly he raises his eyebrows to you in question. Finally, you can feel the tip of the pen dig into your skin, 

“Yeah, yeah, I can feel that.” He nods curtly.

“Could you try wiggling your toes for me?” Focusing your entire body on getting just one of your toes to move, you groan when you can’t. The doctor mumbles something to himself. He then asks Sydney if he could talk to her outside. Sydney gets up, squeezing your shoulder as she walks past you. You watch them carefully, trying to see if you can lip-read. Spoiler alert: you can’t. As they walk back into the room, Sydney has a sombre look on her face. When she sees you staring she tries to force a smile, but you already knew what was coming. 

“So, Y/N-”

“I’m paralyzed, right?” Your question catches both of them off guard. They share a look before Sydney turns to you with a sad look in her eyes. That’s all the confirmation you need. The tears start to flow thick and fast. In an instant Sydney is beside you, comforting you in whatever way she can. She whispers sweet nothings into your ear, trying her best to calm you and reassure you.

“I know it seems like the end of the world, meine liebe. But, you’ll come back better than ever. Everything will be okay,” she whispers sweetly as the sobs coming out of your mouth begin to slow.

7 Months Ago

“Seriously, Y/N?” Sydney’s voice sounds incredulous. She harshly spins your wheelchair around, taking you by surprise. When you meet her eyes you're taken aback to see such fury and frustration in them. 

“What? What I’d do?” You ask, not liking the way Sydney looks like she could tear you apart limb by limb.

She scoffs, “Oh please, you know what you did.” It’s when she says those words that you realize what she’s talking about. A frown forms on your face, preparing to defend yourself, but she cuts you off, “Like, seriously, Y/N? What the fuck? You don’t get to say or decide those things.” Her words set you off.

“Oh, I don’t get to make those decisions? Of course, I do! You know who doesn’t get to decide those things? Someone who has no fucking clue what it’s like!” Your voice rises word by word. 

Sydney, however, refuses to give up, “Maybe I don’t get to make the decisions, but I get a say in it. They affect me as well. Not everything in this world revolves around you!” At this point, tears are starting to form in her eyes, your fists are clenched, and the words being said are much harsher than originally intended.

“Whatever. I’m a grown fucking adult and I’ll do what I want.” Any hope either of you had for a civil, calm conversation had been thrown out of the window a while ago. The German’s hands fly to her hair, tugging at it. 

“Really? Cause right now you’re acting like a child. God, you’re so frustrating! I’ve been doing everything I possibly can for you these last three or four months. I understand that you’re frustrated and that you’re heartbroken, but that doesn’t mean you get to shut me out, okay? I’ve tried to show that I’m here if you need someone to talk to, but what do you do? You bottle it up and then it makes you make stupid decisions like telling your therapist to piss off when she asks about Formula 1 and saying that you don’t ever want to see her again!” She releases a deep breath after her mini-ramble. All of her worries and frustrations from the past few months let out. You stare at her in shock and regret. 

With a look of concession you speak quietly, “You’re right, Syd. I shouldn’t have done that, I’ll call her and apologize. I’m sorry, I am, babe.” Blinking, Sydney couldn’t believe it, you had apologized. 

“And?” She prompts.

“And I promise I’ll try to talk to you more about those things,” a smile appears across your girlfriend's face. 

“See? Wasn’t that hard was it?” You roll your eyes, a playful grin etching itself on your face, “Everything will be okay, right?”

“Yeah, everything will be okay.”

6 Months Ago

“Fuck!” Your swear startles Sydney out of an email she was writing.

“Everything okay, schatz?” She asks, peering out of the office. You had moved to Germany so she could help you with your recovery. Your trainer and physiotherapist had both moved as well. That way everyone you needed to help you was right there. Sydney hated to leave you alone, especially in your current state. So, whenever she had to leave for away games or international duty she would get her mom and dad to come over and watch you. No matter how many times you insisted you were fine alone, they stayed however long they needed to and helped you do everything. Dinner? They made it. Shower? Momma Lohmann is helping you. It embarrassed you to no end. To have your girlfriend's parents look after you as if you were a toddler. It was the topic of many arguments with her, she just never understood why you were so stubborn to the offer of help. To be honest, you didn’t know either. There was just something degrading about it. You were once a role model, a trailblazer in motorsport, a standard for those to come. Now, you couldn’t even make it up one flight of stairs by yourself. 

“I spilled my tea. Don’t worry I’ll clean it up,” you call back from the living room.

“No, don’t. It’s okay, you’ve got physio soon. I’ll clean it up when I get back,” your girlfriend walks into the room. You huff slightly and mumble a quiet “okay.”

 Arriving at your physio, Sydney waves you goodbye as one of the desk ladies wheels you through the doors and into the main lobby. Your physiotherapist, Emma, smiles at you and takes over pushing your wheelchair towards the back.

“So, how are you feeling today?” She asks happily.

“Same as two days ago,”

“Woah there grumpy pants. It was just a question,” she jokes. Sighing heavily, you give her a more honest answer,

“Em, come on. It’s been what three months? I’m still nowhere near being able to walk again,” Now it’s her turn to sigh,

“Don’t say that. You are making progress. You may not see it, but I can. And I think you’re closer to walking again than you think.” She ignores your scoff and parks you near a massage bed. After a few warm-up exercises, (What you were warming up you had no idea. You couldn’t feel shit.) you maneuver onto the treadmill. However, on this treadmill, there was a harness with two braces that wrapped around your legs. This forces them to move. Emma helps you put the harness on, she turns the treadmill on, starting at an extremely slow speed. Slowly, she increases the speed little by little. When she feels you’ve had enough she stops it and sits you back in your wheelchair. The two of you continue to plow through exercises, everything seems to be going decent until you try to walk by yourself. You had been left unsupervised for no more than two minutes, but your impatient self decided to try and go get your wheelchair that was situated only six feet away from you. You willed your right leg to move forward and take a step, leaning forward slightly, instead, you toppled over face first having to break your fall with your arms. Emma and others had rushed over when they heard you thump against the floor. She, with the assistance of others, helped you into the wheelchair, the chain of curse words that left your mouth conveying just how pissed you were. What was shaping up to be a rare positive session ended instead with you being inconsolably furious. You weren’t mad at anyone, no, you were mad with yourself. In your mind, you were pathetic. How could you not even take one stupid step? You continued to mentally bash yourself, not realizing that Sydney and Emma had sat you in the car. Now, they stood behind the vehicle, Emma filling your girlfriend in on everything. After bidding your friend and physiotherapist goodbye, Sydney got into the car and started the drive home. When she took a peek at you she could tell how in your head you were. Doing the only thing she could think of, she reached across the centre console and intertwined her hand with yours. Your head snapped in her direction, you were confused but you didn’t move your hand away. Stopping at a red light, Sydney turned her head towards you. She spoke quietly,

“I know you’re frustrated, liebe. I would be too. But you have to try and be patient with yourself. It’s a long road and I’m almost positive that one day you’ll reap the rewards.” You smiled at her words, a genuine smile, something Syndey hadn’t seen in a long time. You brought your interlocked hands towards your mouth and planted a kiss on her hand. “Everything will be okay, okay?”

 5 Months Ago

“Come on Y/N! You got this!” Emma’s words spur you on. In the past month, you had made significant progress and today was the day you were going to try taking a step. So here you were, on your fourth attempt and while you were beginning to lose confidence, Emma was determined not to let you give up. Taking a deep breath, you will your leg forward. To your and Emma’s amazement, you take a step. 

“Holy shit I did it!” You exclaim happily.

“You did it!” Emma screams, bringing you into a tight hug. Before Sydney comes to pick you up you make Emma promise not to tell your girlfriend about your progress, stating that you wanted to surprise her when you can walk more. 

Two weeks later, you texted Sydney asking her to come inside because Emma wanted to show her something. So, as the two of them talk about God knows what, you slowly but surely make your way over to her. Emma looks excitedly over your girlfriend's shoulder, continuing to talk to keep her distracted. When you finally get close enough, you reach out and lay your hand on her shoulder. Sydney turns around, her jaw drops when she sees you standing there, your wheelchair far behind you. 

“Di-Did you…?” She stutters, extending her hand to hold you. You nod with a stupid grin on your face. 

“I did,” you say tears appearing in your eyes. Sydney pulls you into a hug, crying into your neck. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Y/N,” she mutters, still against your neck. 

“Thank you, love. And thank you for staying with me,” you say before pulling her into a soft kiss. After a few seconds, you pull away. 

“Everything is going to be okay, liebe,” she says into your ear.

3 Months Ago

“You nervous?” You can practically hear the grin on Alex’s face as he speaks up from behind you. His hand lands on your shoulder, bringing a sense of comfort to you. Alex had always been one of your best friends, a friendship that only got stronger when you became teammates. Both of you had done your best to keep in touch throughout your recovery, something that proved difficult. Mostly due to you not wanting anything to do with F1. Some might see it as a terrible coping system, but you saw it as a well-deserved break to mentally reset. Now, after months and months of rehab and hard work, you were finally back where you belonged, in an F1 garage. Williams’ was giving you a test day around Silverstone. On one hand, you were ecstatic to be back, on the other, you and Syndey were scared as hell. While the conditions were perfect, the sun predicted all day with no clouds, and there were no other cars on track, It’s hard to get past those types of things, especially when they hurt you and everyone close to you. One of the main things you were concerned about was Syndey. You weren’t sure if you could, God forbid anything similar happened to you, put her through that again. She was your rock and you had no idea if she could take something as emotionally and physically taxing as that ever again.

“Nah, mate. I’m not nervous at all,” you say sarcastically before moving away from him.

As you walk around the garage you take a good long look at your car. God, your car. Something you hadn’t been able to say in forever. Someone walks up from behind you and snakes their arms around your waist. You lean back into your girlfriend's arms as she leans forward slightly and talks into your ear,

“You’re gonna do great, I just know it.” Turning around so you’re facing her, the bright smile that Syndey and the world love so much tugs at your lips. 

“Yeah I know, I’m more worried about you,” you joke lightly. She feigns offence at your words.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m always as cool as a cucumber when you’re racing.” A laugh escapes from you and you kiss the underside of her jaw sweetly. 

“Y/L/N! We’re ready, wanna get in?” An engineer shouts at you, breaking the two of you out of your trance. You nod, the soft look you had instantly replaced with one of pure determination. Pulling away from your girlfriend, you look at her,

“Everything will be okay, Syd.” She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she presses one last kiss on your forehead and moves to put some headphones on, leaving you alone. Taking a deep breath, you begin to put your earplugs in, then you tuck your hair in as you put your balaclava on. Finally, you slip the custom-designed crash helmet over your head and connect the HANS device to your neck. Approaching your car, a few of the mechanics give you fist bumps and words of encouragement. There are a few cameras located inside and outside of the garage, one of them being the social media manager. You give a thumbs up and wink at her, something that you’re sure will end up all over TikTok and Instagram later, but whatever. You step over the halo, your eyes squint due to the big smile under your helmet. After taking a few breaths in and out, you slide down into the cockpit. Someone helps you with the seatbelts and headrest, they give you a quick thumbs up before retracting their hand from the cockpit. Your engineer gives you the go-ahead to start the engine, and when you switch it on the entire car rumbles to life. It’s a surreal feeling, the way your entire world vibrates with its power. The front jackman signals for you to pull out of the garage. When you press the throttle, everything goes silent. As you pull out of the pit lane and head onto the actual track, the rest of the world falls away, It’s just you and your car. Nothing else in the world matters right now. For the first time in months, you’re doing what you do best, driving at crazy speeds like a madman. When you come across the start/finish line to complete your first lap in an F1 car in over nine months the entire garage breaks out in applause. Sydney can feel the tears flowing down her cheeks, but unlike the last time you were in an F1 car, they were happy tears. The world and your lives were somewhat going back to normal. Finally.

2 Weeks Ago

“Here we are for the 2024 Hungarian Grand Prix! And Martin, the biggest story of the week, Y/N Y/L/N is making her long-awaited return to Formula 1 after her horrific accident last year in Spa,” Crofty’s cheery voice crackles through the TV speakers in your driver room. 

“That’s right, Crofty. She has had to endure one of the most challenging journeys we’ve ever seen. And I think everyone inside of the F1 community is rooting for her this weekend. So far, everything has been smooth sailing for her. She put in a mighty performance in qualifying, only three spots back from her teammate, Alex Albon, who qualified a magnificent P2. And that Williams has looked quite speedy around this track and I’m sure both drivers are hoping to make the podium, at least.” 

“How are you feeling?” Your girlfriend's sweet voice brings you back to reality. 

“Good, yeah great, good,” you say very unconvincingly. She just laughs at you, but before she can say anything in response, a series of loud splats hitting the window makes you both look at it. To both your dismay and worry, the heavens decide to open up there and then. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about that. You’ve been doing so well, a little rain isn’t going to change that,” Sydney takes a seat beside you and cradles your face in her hands. 

“I can’t do it, Syd. I can’t,” You feel yourself start to hyperventilate. Your mind races, thinking about all the bad outcomes, thinking about what happened last time.

“Look at me, liebe. You can do it and you will. I know you, nothing ever stops you and this definitely won’t. You’ve worked so frickin’ hard for this. I’ve watched it, I’ve watched how you never gave up. This is your time. Show them just how amazing you are, schatz. Show them.” Her pep talk has its desired effect, it eases your worries and helps you prepare for the race. 

Walking around the grid, you take it all in. A year of pain and hard work finally paid off. Multiple people come up to you before the race and wish you luck, something you appreciate but don’t care for. As you sit inside the car with your helmet on, everything seems quiet. All weekend everyone wanted to talk to you and they always asked the same questions. At first, you didn’t mind it, just happy to be back. But, after a bit, it got annoying having someone try to follow you every minute. Inside your car, however, it was just you, you couldn’t hear anyone else, everyone just left you alone. 

“Thirty seconds until the green light,” your engineer, Gaetan, spoke through your earpiece. You run through your final preparations before the formation lap was started. When the green light is given, you weave around the track attempting to warm up your tyres while Gaetan confirms the race strategy. Parking in your grid spot, you ready yourself with the clutch. 

“It’s five red lights and away we go for the Hungarian Grand Prix!”

At the end of lap 1, you’re up to P4 after starting fifth. Alex had dropped down to P3, putting you right behind him. A few more laps pass by and you begin to get frustrated behind your teammate,

“Guys, come on. I’m faster than him.” Sydney and Lily watch anxiously from the garage.

“We’ll give it one more lap, Y/N. If he doesn’t improve we will switch the cars,” Gaetan responds. When Alex doesn’t improve the next lap, he lets you by and sets you free. Now, you had clean air and lots of time to make up. Over the next twenty laps, you gradually close the gap between you and the top two, Carlos Sainz and Max Verstappen. When the three of you come in for your pit stops, you were just under two seconds back from them. Alex had pitted a few laps before, trying to pull off the undercut on you guys.

“And what’s this? Oh no, Martin, Sainz has had a slow stop! Oh goodness, the tyres weren’t ready! This might just play into Y/N Y/L/N and Williams’ hands.” After a smooth stop from your guys, you rejoin the track ahead of Sainz and into P2. 

“So we’re P2 and Alex is P3,” your engineer tells you.

“Really? Oh, wow. Good job guys,” your surprised tone makes a few people chuckle. The race progresses and try as you might, you just can’t get close enough to get by Verstappen. By the time the second pit stops comes around you are 1.2 seconds behind him, only getting near enough to attempt one or two overtakes. With less than twenty laps to go, a sense of urgency overcomes you. You start to push a little harder. Eventually, you get DRS on Max, you draw closer and closer on the main straight, but not quite close enough to make a dive bomb. After a few more laps of getting closer but still being too far, on lap sixty-one of seventy you stick close to his gearbox the entire lap. Following close through the corners and gaining the slipstream on the limited straights around the Hungaroring. When the two of you arrive on the main straight you open your rear wing and tuck in behind him for the slipstream. Getting closer and closer, you pull to the inside and draw alongside him. Heading into the first turn, you have the inside line, but leave enough room for him on the outside. He keeps his foot in and stays level with you then, heading into turn two, the sweeping left-hander, you keep your nose in front of him. And you hit the throttle quicker letting you pull in front of him. Verstappen has to concede the position and you take the lead of the Grand Prix. The Williams garage erupts, everyone is losing their shit. For the first time in forever, one of their cars is leading a race. Sydney has the biggest grin on her face, she has no chance of hiding how proud she is. For the last nine laps you defend like your life depends on it. Max throws everything at you, but each time you turn him away skillfully.

“As she rounds the final bend, it’s a fairytale story for Y/N Y/L/N and Williams. Almost a year since one of the worst accidents the F1 community has seen, she returns and in her first race back, 

Y/N Y/L/N WINS THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX!”

When you cross the line you put your head in your hands and cry. The darkest time of your life had ended and you had come through, better than ever. 

“Oh my God, mate! You did it! You’ve won a Grand Prix, congratulations!” Gaetan sounds elated over the radio and you can’t blame him. 

“Holy shit, guys. I’m crying, stop. Thank you everyone so, so much for all your hard work and for supporting me throughout everything. I couldn’t ask for a more amazing team, thank you.” Your stifled sobs break up your words, but the words still get out. Stopping in front of the first place sign, you take a moment inside of the cockpit to just calm down. Unbuckling and removing the headrest, you step out of the car and stand on top of it raising your arms in triumph. Everyone cheers for you as you wave at the crowd. You rush to your team and jump into they’re awaiting arms. After celebrating with your team for a few seconds, you look for your girlfriend. She waves to get your attention, you grin and make your way over to her. She pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. Pulling away, she tilts her forehead against your helmet-covered one. 

“Everything’s okay,” she mumbles to you. A stupid smile appears on your face as you reply,

“Yeah, everything is okay, love.”

Present Day

“Liebe? Are you sure you want to do this?” Your girlfriend appears in front of you, a concern clear upon her features. Sighing, your hand runs over the scar on the side of your head, a nervous habit you developed during your recovery. Sydney gently takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with hers. Her heart breaks when she looks into your eyes and finds them glossed over with tears. “You know you don’t have to do this, Tom will understand if you back out,” she tries to reassure you. You shake your head,

“No, no. I want to do this. It’s time.” She looks at you warily before releasing your hand from hers. Tom Clarkson, the host of the F1: Beyond the Grid podcast, had come to you a few weeks ago asking if you would like to come onto the podcast and share your story. You, of course, had said yes, not hesitating much about it, Sydney on the other hand was much more cautious about it. It took you months and months before you were able to express your feelings to her, now you were just supposed to share your insane story to the entire world? She was praying that everything would go smoothly and that you wouldn’t close off after. As you sat down and adjusted the mic on the desk to sit closer to you, Tom quickly ran through some of the topics he was going to question you about. While most of them were touch subjects, you felt comfortable enough to talk about them. Especially with Sydney sitting not too far away. 

“After one of the most terrifying incidents the F1 world has seen in recent memory, she’s completed one of the most outstanding comebacks we’ve ever seen,” Tom introduces you into the podcast and you guys fall into a relaxed conversation for a few minutes. “Now, Y/N, today marks exactly one year since your accident. How are you feeling about that?” You gulp. It was odd to think that it only happened a year ago.

“Um, yeah, definitely crazy. I feel I’ve come so far and had to overcome so many obstacles. I don’t think I would’ve been able to return if not for the many people around me who helped me during my recovery.” 

He nods, “Anyone specifically who made a big difference?”

“My girlfriend. She was and is my rock, looking back at it I realize how much of an asshole I was to her and how much she looked out for me when she didn’t have to,” you explain, a love-struck smile on your face. Tom chuckles at your expression before asking the next question,

“So, was there any mantra or saying that inspired you over the last year?” Your smile gets wider and you nod excitedly. “There was? What was it?” You look over at Sydney before answering.

“Everything is going to be okay.”

[darl-ingfics]

Feveruary Day 4: Forced to Work

Fandom: EXO

Sickie: Xiumin (flu, fever)

Caregiver(s): Chanyeol, Suho

Word Count: 1,430

Chanyeol’s ears were still ringing as he stepped down from the stage. The sound of the crowd cheering followed him as he moved further into the backstage area, rolling his shoulders and shucking his stage jacket at the same time. A crew member snatched the jacket from his hands as a sound technician fluttered over to remove his mic. Chanyeol froze on autopilot, letting them work. He’d broken enough mics early on that he was no longer allowed to touch it himself. 

As he waited for his mic to be properly removed, Chanyeol heard an unusual scuffle behind him. He turned his head slightly, his heart stopping at the sight of the medical team swarming one of his members. He couldn’t tell who given the number of people (medics, crew, managers, etc.) crowding about… and the oxygen mask pressed to the member’s face. But he had a guess…

“Hey…?” The sound crew member grabbed Chanyeol’s shoulder, assuring him that they almost had the mic equipment removed. He nodded, biting his lip and tapping his foot as his anxiety began to spike. It helped a bit when Junmyeon brushed past his shoulder, moving straight into the action with what the team had dubbed his ‘leader eyes’ on. 

“You’re free.” The sound technician tapped Chanyeol’s shoulder twice, and the rapper immediately turned and stumbled to the swarm of people their manager was now asking to step away. Chanyeol slipped in next to Junmyeon, his eyes roving over the scene before him: Minseok stretched out on his back, eyes shut tightly as he held the oxygen mask up to his face, the medics no longer focused on him but rather arguing with a manager. Chanyeol’s hand wrapped around Junmyeon’s bicep and squeezed. The leader’s hand met his on instinct, squeezing his fingers in silent reply. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that right?” Junmyeon said as soon as Minseok pulled the mask away from his mouth, breathing hard. 

The eldest’s eyes cracked opened, finding Junmyeon instantly. “Yes.” Junmyeon was held back from replying when one of the medics came forward with a thermometer gun. “I doubt that’s gonna…”

“It’ll be close enough,” the manager interrupted, voice firm, tense, but not unkind. The machine beeped, and the medic immediately turned the device away from the members’ eyes. “38.5,” the manager read. Minseok’s shoulders deflated, head falling into his hands. Chanyeol’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. 

“Are you kidding?”

“I wish.” 

Junmyeon knelt down in front of Minseok, hands gently grasping his knees. “You’re not doing the fan meeting.” His tone was firm. 

“I’m not doing the fan meeting,” Minseok repeated, shaking his head slightly. He swallowed hard, eyes closing as if that simple action had exhausted him. “I’m sorry…”

“Why? You just did an entire concert with the flu. What more can we ask of you?” 

Minseok shrugged. “I don’t know? This is, like, our whole job.” He bent forward, coughing roughly. Junmyeon reached for the oxygen mask, but Minseok shook his head. 

The leader bit his lip. “Come on. No one can take you home until the meeting’s over. But let’s at least move you to the couch in the dressing room so you can try to sleep while we do the fan meet.” He turned over his shoulder to the frozen-in-shock Chanyeol. “Yeollie, can you help me?”

The rapper shook his head, snapping back to attention. He nodded, leaning down to help lift his oldest hyung to his feet. Minseok’s legs were shaky, nearly giving out once he was up, but after a few moments he was stable enough to walk mostly on his own. Junmyeon and Chanyeol led him to their dressing room, ignoring the worried looks from the stage crew and their dancers; they would explain later, they always did. Right now, the priority was getting their introverted Minseok away from the attention of prying eyes so he could let his body rest. 

Once they reached the dressing room, Minseok practically melted into the couch, as if he could no longer hold his own body up. He closed his eyes, chest heaving with ragged breaths. Chanyeol frowned. How had he not noticed this on stage? 

“Where’s your bag?” Junmyeon asked, already searching the room. “You should change now before you fall asleep.”

“Who says I’m going to fall asleep?”

Junmyeon paused, leveled a bemused smirk at Minseok. “I highly doubt that.” Minseok rolled his eyes, despite the fact that they were, in fact, starting to droop closed. He pointed towards his belongings, which Junmyeon quickly brought to him. The leader sorted through the bag, against Minseok’s whines that he was ‘messing everything up,’ but that didn’t stop Junmyeon until he had the elder’s street clothes piled on the couch. “You want help changing?”

“No.” 

“Okay then. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave you alone?” Junmyeon asked. 

Minseok shook his head. “I appreciate you.” 

“I love you.” Junmyeon leaned forward, kissing Minseok’s forehead and carding his fingers through this hair before moving towards the door. 

“Yeollie?”

Chanyeol blinked. Minseok was watching him, confusion and a little worry on his face. He hadn’t realized he’d been zoning out, and should’ve probably followed Junmyeon out. Damn, had Chanyeol really not noticed how worn out Minseok had looked? Sure, the makeup always did wonders to hide things like this, but now, at the end of the concert, the dark shadows under the eldest’s eyes were obvious. There was also an unhealthy pallor to his skin, an unusual flush on his cheeks… 

“Yeollie, is everything okay?”

“Y-yeah.” The rapper shook himself back to reality. “I just…” His eyes scanned the room, landed on the elder’s bag. “You sure you don’t need water or anything?” 

Minseok considered the question, then began rooting around in his bag. Chanyeol wasn’t thrilled with how much the elder’s hands were shaking. “Actually, that would be really helpful.” Chanyeol extended his hand before Minseok held out his water bottle to him. “Thank you.” 

“I can try to find some painkillers or something too.”

“Thanks, but I…” Minseok paused, pulling his phone from his bag. He stared searchingly at the screen for a minute. “Four hours would be…” His eyes searched the ceiling as his brain desperately tried to do the math. He nodded. “Okay, yes, it’s time. I actually already have the meds I need. But I do need the water to take them…”

“On it!” Chanyeol gave a quick salute before galloping from the dressing room. He sprinted to the water refill station. It hit him later that none of the other members were around. Junmyeon had likely rounded them up to get the fan meeting going as quickly as possible. And to limit the chances of them crowding Minseok. They would have the chance to do that later, at home, where the eldest usually felt safer letting his guard down. No need to stress him out further now. 

When Chanyeol returned to the dressing room, Minseok had changed back into his street clothes. His stage outfit was neatly hung over one of the makeup chairs. Chanyeol resisted the urge to scoff at how tidy his hyung was, no matter the circumstance. 

“Here’s that water.”

“You’re a scholar, and a gentleman.” Chanyeol beamed as Minseok accepted the bottle. He pulled a packet from his pocket, and dropped two tablets into the bottle. The two men waited in comfortable silence as the tablets fizzed into oblivion. Minseok took a few sips before stretching out on the couch. 

Chanyeol frowned, watching his hyung curl up onto his side, the water bottle still held carefully in his hands. Minseok wrapped one arm around himself as a shiver coursed through his body. Chanyeol’s frown deepened. The rapper moved to his own pile of stuff, much less organized than Minseok’s, and snatched up his coat. 

After taking another long sip of the medicine, Minseok’s eyes cracked open as Chanyeol’s coat was placed on top of him. “Wha…?”

“It’s cold in here.” 

Minseok smiled up at his friend. “Thanks, Yeollie.”

Chanyeol nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.” He nodded towards the water bottle. “Finish that before you fall asleep.”

“Why do you all keep accusing me of falling asleep?”

“Because if you’re awake when I come back, I will cry.”

“Well, if I knew you were gonna threaten me…” 

Chanyeol smiled just as a manager appeared to drag him away to his obligations. Minseok was, as predicted, out cold when the fan meeting ended. But he was no longer shivering, cuddled up under Chanyeol’s coat.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Top Spies Part 7/8

It's so good 😭

Ruben and Reader are super spies, who have to pretend to be a married couple on vacation as a co-signed mission. A enemies to lovers fic, very sweet and funny!

Enjoy!

You and Ruben got dressed and headed straight to the golf course on foot. The night was quiet. Too quiet for your liking.

Ruben made sure that Andrés Fierro's body would not be found by anyone. But it was most likely that Alejandro already knew that his partner in crime was missing.

"Careful." Ruben said, thinking of your wounded shoulder.

"I'm fine Ruben."

You entered the golf course through the main gates and continued in the direction of the ranch. The golfballs should be right....

"Gone." You gasped. The piles of golfballs had all been removed from the ranch, every last one of them.

"What do we do now?"

Unlike you, Ruben did not look ready to leave empty handed, especially since the two of you had come up empty with the submarine.

"Let's check the machine." He said and led the way towards the golfball vendor.

"I don't have my card." You whispered. It was back at the villa.

Ruben went around the machine looking for stray balls that may have rolled under it.

"Found one!"

He returned to you, the golfball in his hand.

"It feels and looks like a normal golfball. Should I crack it open?"

"No."

You turned your head. The silhouette of the country club was lit up ahead of you. "There is a fountain." You said, unhanding Ruben the golfball.

You remberd the conversation you had with Alejandro earlier that day, about your suggestion to add more obstacles to his golf course, like a pond. He stated that the golfballs ending up in water would be too much of a hastle. It never hit you what he actually meant by that.

You went over to the grand water fountain that decorated the entrance to the country club and dropped the golfball into the depths of it. You and Ruben watched it sink to the bottom of the pool, hoping that the answers would come to you just as easy as the ball had plumit into the clear water.

"Look!" You pointed. Not much happned at first, you were looking at a perfectly normal golfball, white in its shade and round in its shape. But as minutes went by, you found it difficult to spot the white dot. The water surrounding it became murky as if a fist full of sand had been tossed into it.

"It's desolving." Ruben said, confirming what you were witnessing.

In a few minutes time the golfball had desolved into a white powder that coated the surface of the water.

Ruben dipped his finger to feel its consistency. He then looked at you, nodding his head. "We'll have to run some test, but I bet that this is what we've been looking for. The drugs have been constructed into golf balls, disguised for mass importation. If we report back to the agency tonight we can have a warrant for Alejandro Martinez arrest by tomorrow morning."

"Not so fast."

Both you and Ruben flinched at the sound of a sharp voice.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr and Mrs Moreno."

You and Ruben turned around slowly, confirming that it was indeed Alejandro Martinez who stood behind you, as well as two goons, each with a pointing gun in hand.

"Or should I say, Miss Y/L/N?"

A sharp sensation swept your stomach as Alejandro spoke your name, your real last name.

Ruben was already looking at you once you turned to look at him. You shook your head. "I didn't tell him, I swear."

"But you almost did, didn't you?" Alejandro smiled as he dared take a step forward. "Just this morning, you almost let it slip, didn't you?"

You said nothing.

"Well I had to do some research of my own. I thought you were simply too good of a golf player not to have come across me before. Turns out I was right, Y/N." He smirked complecently.

He dared take another step forward but paused as Ruben flinched beside you.

"Hold up now." He raised a warning finger. His goons behind him had also shifted their weapons, both of them now aming at Ruben.

"I have shown you my hospitality, the least thing you can do is show me yours."

"What do you want?" Ruben said, through gritted teeth.

Alejandro smiled. "How about a headstart?"

Ruben frowned. Alejandro looked to you. "You are federal agents, no? Here to do what many others has attempted to do but all failed miserably. You have come to arrest me, no? To put an end to my golden empire?"

You and Ruben said nothing, you were to busy eyeing the goons that had gun's pointing at you. But then Alejandro started laughing, in the midst of all seriousness.

"I say catch me of you can." He chuckled, a hand to his stomach. "How stupid do you think I am? I knew you two were trouble right from the beginning, although I invited you to stay at my villa with my sincerest gratitude for saving my dear nephew."

Alejandro took another step forward and didn't stop until Ruben took a large step towards you, grabbing your hand. Seeing your hands interwine clearly startled the man.

"You are not the first ones who have attempted to arrest me in my own home." He said, although he spoke to the both of you he only had eyes for you. "Nor the first ones who have made it as far as to locate my submarine. However, you are the first federal agents to kill one of my men and the first to discover my cleaver secret."

Again, you felt a sharp pain through your gut as Alejandro's narrowed gaze only seemed to target you. Ruben must have noticed this because he was squeezing your hand to the point of hurting.

"Oh how I wished the best of you." Alejandro said. "But you were right, you are a complete waste of talent."

"Grab her!"

It all happened so fast, one of the goons lunging forwards, throwing his arms around you, capturing you. The other goon fired his weapon, his weapon that was pointed at Ruben.

"No, please!"

Ruben fell to the ground, squirming in pain. He had been shot in the leg.

"Tell your captain that unless the Portuguese federals get off my back, more blood will be shed tonight, this time the blood of one of your own."

As Alejandro's goon held you down, the other one came running with tape to drape around your head and mouth. You gagged with how tight he wrapped it.

"Y/N!"

Ruben heard you and tried to get to you, but the blood gushing out if his wound prevented him.

"Here." Alejandro said, tossing Ruben an old cell phone. "Call your captain, however I get a 24 hour headstart to leave the Island. Unless this is respected prepare to find your wife at the bottom of the ocean."

You squirmimed and fought as Alejandro's goons escorted you away towards the parking lot and into the backseat of a black Range Rover. They slammed the door on you to the sound of Ruben's painful cry, his cry for you.

[brinkworth]

I heard it was your birthday @heartofspells, so I wrote you a little crack fic as a gift. (curse?) Featuring Remus, who is just trying to print his smutty fanfiction and runs into printer trouble. Happy Birthday!

Tech Support

Remus can pinpoint the exact moment his bad luck started. He’d been working on a project, printing some of his favourite fanfiction. He liked the story so much that he wanted to put a physical copy on his shelf.

It was all going smoothly at first, his printer churning out pages, all with perfectly crisp black letters printed neatly in rows. He clapped his hands in celebration. At this rate, this project would be done in record time.

That’s exactly when the bad luck starts. The printer makes an alarming noise; the paper caught half in the printer and half out. After several angry beeps, the screen reads ‘Error - printer jammed. Please clear printer and try again.’

When he opens the machine, it’s full of paper jammed into every nook and cranny. Places he didn’t know paper could even go in a printer. The printer seems to fight him as he removes it. He has to press a foot against the desk for leverage to pull out a particularly stubborn piece and the printer makes an awful grinding noise. It’s later that he sees the warning message that says, ‘Do not remove paper by pulling in this direction.’

“Oops.”

Several hours later, he’s sitting next to a printer that no longer feeds paper at all as tech support tells him they’ll mail him a new one. It should be there in 7-10 business days.

This just won’t do. Remus doesn’t want to wait that long, so he makes a trek to the store and buys a new printer. Now he’ll have two, but they’re different. And he prints a lot, so it’s worth it. Only upon getting it home, the printer won’t print anything legibly. It all comes out looking like a copy of a copy of a copy. Remus spends hours adjusting settings and test printing.

In the end, he’s sitting next to a stack of badly printed pages of his favourite smutty fanfiction when he’s back on the phone with tech support.

“Hello, thank you for calling The Printer Company. My name is Sirius. How can I help you?”

“Er- yes, hello, I just purchased a new printer and I’m having trouble with the quality.”

Sirius is very nice and seems committed to fixing the problem. He has Remus test different settings and try again several times. After 45 minutes on the phone, though, they’ve accomplished nothing. It all looks the same, and Sirius is now just as frustrated as Remus.

“Will you send me a few photos of your printed pages? One good one from your old printer and one from your new printer,” Sirius asks. “It will help me see what the problem is, and I can share them with my supervisor, who might have an idea.”

“Oh - er - sure, yeah.” Remus replies, kicking himself immediately. He should have just hung up.

He suddenly feels too hot. He begins to root frantically through his stack of papers, to find ones that might be appropriate to send.

“Oh God, definitely not that one.” He thinks, more than once.

A few awkward minutes later, he’s found two pages that look fairly clean, though by the character names, it will be clear what this is, if Sirius has ever read one of the most popular book series ever written. WHY couldn’t these characters be named something normal? Like George and Henry…

He sends the photos and chews on his thumbnail as he waits for Sirius’ response.

“Oh, I see them right here,” Sirius says eventually. There’s a shuffling noise and Remus thinks he hears Sirius snort.

Sirius hums as if he’s studying them carefully. “I’m afraid I’m having a hard time telling these two apart...”

How is that possible? Remus wonders. They are so starkly different.

“I’m just going to read these out loud to verify which is which,” Sirius says. And Remus swears he can hear the man smirk through the phone.

Remus’ eyes widen. “Oh, of course, sure,” he blurts out and then kicks himself again.

As Sirius reads, Remus wants to crawl into a hole and die. The man takes his time, drawing it out, and reading more than must be necessary for what he needs.

“Yes, yeah, you’ve got that right,” Remus says in the end, just ready to be done with this.

Another 30 minutes later, Sirius has walked him through how to fix the printer and Remus is anxious to hang up before he can embarrass himself further.

“Thanks so much,” Remus says, his finger hovering over the end call button.

“Happy to help,” Sirius says. “And you have good taste, Remus.”

Remus’ head jerks back in surprise. “Sorry?”

“I’m partial to Heartofspells’ work myself, but this is good too.”

Remus is stunned into silence for a few moments before replying weakly. “Oh.”

“Have a good day, and feel free to ask for me personally if you need help again in the future.”

Remus bit back a smile. Maybe his luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 24 - Drive

Another one of those chapters which should never have existed but a few little snapshots just blossomed out of my control and before I knew it I loved them and they became Vital For Plot Reasons. Ah well, enjoy the meandering anyway :D

(What went before)

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Estera’s boot hit a loose patch of stones and she skidded slightly, putting out a protective arm just in case she was about to face plant the ground. Almost immediately a hand caught that arm and lifted her square on to her feet. She turned to see her friend alongside her on the narrow path, eyes full of concern. The edge of the cliff crumbled a little under his foot and her heart stopped for a moment.

“Scott! It’s not wide enough!”

He hopped back in line behind her and she regained the ability to breathe.

Mostly.

Eventually.

That particular flavour of adrenaline was not one she craved but she was beginning to wonder whether it was one she might have to get used to.

The group finally reached the car park to meet Gary on the quad bike who had towed the kit trailer up the long way from the beach. They all set to unloading and eventually Scott and three others lifted the quad itself into the back of van.

He walked over to where Estera was doling out the last bottles of sugary carbonated beverages to the rest of the group. He wiped the grease from his hands on to his trousers before selecting a bottle of water and draining it. Then swiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Well that’s one way to warm up after freezing your butt off in the Arctic Ocean.”

“As I’ve already told you, Mr Remedial-Geography, The English Channel is very much temperate.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” He removed his warm jumper and Estera nearly choked on her cherry cola as she realised Scott hadn’t just turned up in randomly fancy trousers.

“A silk waistcoat? Really?!”

He pouted. “I was here for a Board Meeting! SOMEBODY didn’t mention the nature of their “commitment” when inviting me along!”

“In fairness Dawn didn’t give me a lot of time to explain.”

“Ah, yeah… sorry about Dawn… she…”

“She was lovely.” Estera said firmly, not wanting to get the enthusiastic young person into any trouble.

She looked again at the trousers which had clearly suffered from being drowned in salt water earlier and were drying into a faded mess of wrinkles.

“That is not a cheap machine washable suit from the high street is it?”

He coughed. “I don’t recall Jennifer mentioning that as a feature, err, no.”

Her curiosity must have showed as he hurried to explain. “My EA at TI. Apparently the selection of ‘business attire appropriate to my position’” the air quotes were heavy “is not one of my strengths so I just let her get on with it.”

“She’s not going to be happy with you.”

“Hmm… I’ve done worse. And hey, the pants might be a lost cause but the shirt will wash, I cleverly left the jacket in the car and the vest is spotless, look!” He held the edges of the waistcoat out for her approval, much as a small child might show off how tidily they had eaten their dinner. Estera was about to wittily point this out when she was arrested by an ominous “whoopsadaisy!” and an unmistakable fizzing sound as the person standing behind Scott clearly forgot about what happened to cola bottles on quad bikes. A fine spray of sugary drink settled over both of them and Scott looked up from his now-slightly-less spotless clothing to catch her eye. She bit her lip and snorted slightly. There was a beat and then both of them dissolved into giggles.

“Tez! A word?!”

Gary underlined his sharp summons with a frantic waving of his iPad. Scott elbowed her gleefully:

“Oooooh, what did you do now, huh, Tez?

“Argh, please don’t adopt that one” she gasped, trying to compose herself “I haven’t the heart to tell them it’s awful… but… it’s awful!”

Scott’s eyes sparkled mischievously as Gary repeated his call with a desperate, slightly cracked edge to his voice so she had mercy and went to see what was bothering him.

Gary gesticulated wildly with the tablet, nearly taking her eye out.

“DID YOU KNOW?” he hissed.

“Did I know what?”

He stabbed his index finger at the screen which showed what appeared to be Scott Tracy’s Wikipedia page.

“Ah. Um, so… err… yes?”

“Are you telling me I made the Chief Thunderbird… the guy with the jet pack and all the… the insane stunts… I made HIM do the BEGINNER’S E-LEARNING?” Gary’s voice had risen to a barely audible squeak.

“I don’t think he minded?”

“I was giving him tips on judging the windspeed at the top, Tez.” Gary looked as if he was going to cry “What if they were bad tips? He flies a rocket plane… my kids have posters of him on their wall…” he whacked the iPad repeatedly into his forehead and groaned “They are gonna disown me.”

Estera tried to prise the tablet from his hands before he cracked the screen with his face.

“Everything ok over here?” Scott materialised behind Gary and the poor man froze, all colour immediately vanishing from his face.

“Gary was just telling me that his kids are huge fans of yours.”

The slightest frown crossed Scott’s face before he closed his eyes and chuckled “I forgot to use the pseudonym didn’t I? Oops. Sorry to have caused any alarm!”

Gary shook his head mutely and gave a double thumbs up, losing his grip on the iPad as he did so. Scott shot out a hand and caught it.

“May I borrow this for a second?”

Gary nodded furiously then covered his face with his hands. Scott tapped the screen a couple of times before raising his eyebrows in surprise. He hurriedly straightened his hair then cleared his throat and said:

“Scott Tracy here, reporting from the breathtaking Beer Head in Devonshire UK. I’ve been refreshing my skills today with this incredible instructor” he dragged Gary into shot “who is an absolute legend and if he ever told me to clean my room or get my homework done I would absolutely do that. Straight away. Thunderbird One out.”

He finished with a wink and handed the tablet back and clapped Gary on the shoulder. “Been a pleasure to meet you, Gary, thanks for letting me take part this afternoon. Hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

“You’re welcome” came the slightly breathy response. Estera noted the starry eyes and felt they’d best get out of there before Gary did something drastic… like propose.

“Coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

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They made it to the cafe as the barista was putting the chairs up on the tables. Without looking round she informed them it was still too early in the season to expect late opening and her shift had finished 10 mins ago. Scott, already trying to remember whether there’d been any other likely places he’d passed on the drive down, smiled kindly as the harassed-looking woman looked up and he thanked her anyway.

“Wait! I guess I could do you something to take away?”

Estera seemed most entertained by the sudden change of heart but Scott couldn’t quite figure out why. Maybe it was a local thing.

Two triple shot cappuccinos (and a “Really? Triple? Are you sure?”) later, they were stood at the bus stop trying to establish whether it was running late, or Estera had just missed it. The wind had got up and she was now shivering in her damp clothes despite him insisting she wear his big coat.

“I could always drop you back home or… or near home?” He offered tentatively, not wanting to overstep given how upset she’d been before. “Or anywhere you like really.”

“Oh, but it would be a long way out of your way…”

“Not really. I’m not in a rush. And it is my fault you got soaked earlier.”

“That may be true…” she seemed to ponder and looked over at the digital tracker which was now displaying 55 minutes. She shivered and lifted her jaw. “Um, yes please, if you really don’t mind?”

“Come on then. Hope I picked the model with heated seats!”

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Scott hummed to himself quietly as he drove. Estera watched the hedges fly by and wondered how long it had been since she’d accepted a lift from someone like this. She generally felt safer taking the bus so this was… different. Not that she felt in any way unsafe, now. Just, exposed. What was one meant to do as a passenger? Talk about frivolous subjects to pass the time but not distract the driver too much, she reasoned. All small talk fled from her head and she suddenly felt inadequate and a little dizzy. Her hands tightened reflexively around the coffee cup.

“You doing ok?”

Just as before when he’d asked that simple question in that same disarmingly soft voice, she was unable to quickly formulate a convincing lie and the truth leaked out before she realised it.

“Just a sudden giddy moment.”

“I’m not making you motion sick, am I? I’ll slow down.”

“You’re fine, honestly. I just… let my thoughts get away from me. Please don’t let me distract you.”

“You’re not distracting me.”

She noticed he’d slowed down anyway.

She watched him out the corner of her eye and realised with a jolt how much better he looked than the last time she’d seen him in the flesh. Or rather, perhaps, how ill he had looked before. Whereas on the day the cave collapsed on them she’d guessed he was in his 40s, he now seemed no older than she was, possibly a little younger. Aside from the scattered silver at his temple, slightly darker shadowed eyes and a certain leanness to his jawline, he really didn’t seem much different now to the young man who had saved her life the first time. Which was slightly eerie. She knew she’d aged a lot in the intervening period.

She found herself wondering again what it was he’d been recovering from, what illness could have hit him so hard. He’d not volunteered the information, in fact he’d very obviously skated around naming it so it would be rude to ask. It was gnawing at her for some reason though. Definitely not light hearted car conversation anyway so she cast about for something else.

They came out of the trees and for a moment the early evening light highlighted the edge of the fading yellow bruise across the left side of his cheek and head. In the absence of any other ideas, she said:

“It must have been a very impressive black eye you had there?”

“Ugh can you still tell? It seems to have taken an age to fade this time. Maybe I’m getting old” he chuckled.

“This time? It happens a lot?”

“Heh… occupational hazard. I think Virgil’s broken more bones but I’ve probably got the concussion record.”

“Goodness that’s a bit worrying. Don’t you have helmets to help prevent that?”

“Yeeees. Sometimes even with it on if something heavy hits you…”

“Or you fall 20 storeys?”

“Yeah… they can only do so much.”

There was a little pause before he carried on.

“To be fair to our engineer I didn’t actually get concussed this time round so it did a pretty great job.” He looked slightly guilty “Actually to be one hundred percent fair to our engineer, who is a literal genius, it mostly happens when I take it off. Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to people that way, you know? But then of course I end up leaving it somewhere and so obviously then it’s not handy when I need to dive back into something which has… very occasionally proved to be an error.” He glanced over at her and did that schoolboy-been-caught-out cringe again. “Hence the concussion scorecard.” Scott refocused on the road and gave a wry half-smile “Virg is constantly telling me off for it.”

“I don’t blame him! You should listen to him and keep your helmet on, Scott!”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’m serious! What would you say to Alan?”

“He’s still a child.”

“Ok, Virgil then?”

Scott was quiet for a minute as he approached a junction and indicated left before accelerating away again a little more aggressively than before. He sighed.

“It’s different.”

“How’s it different? Given the concussion record your head doesn’t seem to be any harder? Why are you taking less care of yourself than of your brothers?”

“I’m not. I just react in the way that seems best at the time. Sometimes that involves taking risks to help people.” He sat up a little straighter in the driver’s seat. “That’s my job.”

She frowned, the odd moment from earlier suddenly sharpening into focus.

“When I skidded on the gravelly bit on the cliff path… you nearly overbalanced yourself trying to catch me but I didn’t need catching. I was nowhere near the edge. Worst that could have happened to me there was a grazed knee. You could have gone over!”

His voice changed and became firmer, more authoritative. “You might have been injured. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Of a minor injury versus potentially something serious happening to you?” She could hear her voice starting to rise a little and wrestled to keep it calm and conceal the sudden sense of horror that was bubbling under the surface.

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me, Scott. Not… not…”

The next word wouldn’t come out. But he’d clearly heard it anyway and twitched irritably, staring silently ahead, eyebrows furrowed. Well she’d put her foot in it now, might as well finish making the point.

“It’s not your job to keep me safe.”

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Chapter 25…

[emmebearpaw]

This is just a really long complain fest based on a post I just read and will not mention because it’s not a bad post I’m just mad

actually not being cis isn’t like always having this weird box in the corner you keep hip checking and stubbing your toes on and you can’t get rid of it and no one else has it and thinks it’s weird.

one day you started hearing an alarm go off and you find the source of it and it’s a box that doesn’t say anything but it’s stuck shut and you can’t hear it ringing inside. And the ringing is obnoxious so after a while you work on cracking the box open and shutting up whatever’s inside of it and then you open it and there’s nothing in there except a sign that says “lol” and when you look around there are a bunch of random balls around your room.

not enough it’s always a problem but they keep rolling into obnoxious locations and you have to kick them around and also a small handful of them are randomly made of LEAD instead of plastic so you try to kick it and it hurts and now your foot hurts for the rest of the day.

and you ask if you can get rid of it and the answer is no and it’s sad that you want to get rid of them because it’s beautiful to have them all around your room and you can’t get them out. And then you ask if there’s anyway to manage the balls made out of lead and there is but it’s a machine that magnetizes them to it and it buzzes the whole time and if you leave it on too long it catches on fire. The permanent solution is to kick you out of your room for a few weeks so they can remove the balls but also they can’t get them out without drilling a hole in the floor and like yeah they’ll patch the hole but it’s not going to look good. Everyone who sees it will know a chunk of your carpet was replaced and honestly just pushing them into the closet and forgetting about them lets you forget about them while cutting a hole in the floor doesn’t.

there’s another ball that’s just heavier than you expect and the only way to deal with it is to put up a sign on your door that says “hey please note this ball is loose” and that sign will jeopardize your safety and also now everyone is going to comment on it forever. It doesn’t actually solve the problem either, now everyone is just aware of it. And that is worse.

and also when you go on the internet you see posts about people with boxes or other shapes that are objectively more obnoxious and you know you have it good for having a not bad problem but when people manage to figure out how to arrange their room with their box and it looks good it makes you want to hit something because there is no way you can ever do that. You just get to spend the rest of your life kicking the fucking balls around because you decided to fuck around and open Pandora’s box. It wasn’t even worth it. There was nothing inside. The alarm probably would have turned off in a few days and you made yourself mildly uncomfortable forever. Are you happy with yourself. People would love to be in your position and you can’t do anything except fantasize about killing the version of yourself that would open that box???

you can’t do anything except fantasize because if you do it’s really sad and horrible of you. Because it’s horrible to have to pretend the alarm isn’t going off in the box forever.

[0hbunny]

🫧Washing Plush Dolls🫧

NOTE:

I am VERY new to collecting these kinds of dolls. The doll shown above is literally the only one I have (as of right now…). That said please take everything I say with a grain of salt! This blog post is more of a log of my experience with washing my doll for the first time than a tutorial :)

Material List:

wash cloth (2x)

toothbrush (not used duh)

dawn dish soap

micellar water

tide to go stick/non bleach stain remover

blow dryer/fan

Prepping:

Before bath time there are some things I did to prep.

I started by taking off any stains on my doll. In this case mine had one on their embroidered paw on their foot. I used a “TideToGo” stick to get rid of it and it work wonders. I also heard great things about “Grandma’s Secret Spot Remover” too! Though as long as your stain remover doesn’t have bleach in it I THINK it will be fine, though I’m no expert.

After that I removed my doll’s blush. I did this by putting a little bit of micellar water onto a wash cloth and gently rubbing away where the blush was on my doll. When it comes to this please keep in mind a little goes a long way! Though I will say, I did asked some experienced plush doll collectors if I needed to remove the blush before a bath because I was scared of the blush getting moved around and staining the doll or embroidering. They told me it probably didn’t matter but it wouldn’t hurt. Do with that information what you will.

Bath Time:

Now for the actual bath I started by filling up a container with cold water and about 3 drops of dawn dish soap. (Please make sure it’s cold water because warm water makes things bleed!) Once everything was mixed together I took my toothbrush and dipped it into the mixture.

With the soapy mix I started scrubbing away at my doll. I was sure to be gentle over the embroidery in fear of loosening/damaging it if I was to rough with it. I made sure really get into all of the cracks and crevices too.

Once washed with soap I replaced the soapy water with just plain cold water. Then I scrubbed my doll again but this time with just the water. I made sure to dip my brush back into the water very frequently during this process. On my last scrub I brushed everything up in the same direction with my bruh.

Aftermath:

I placed my wet doll on a dry wash cloth and started to pat them dry with it. I was able to get the longer pieces of fabric (like the hair) pretty much dry with just the cloth but I can’t say that about the other parts.

For the other parts I used a mini fan to help the process go a little faster. (⤵️)

A blow dryer on the cold setting should also work for this if you’re impatient like me lolol. Good old fashion air drying should also work fine too but make sure it’s in a well lit room just to be careful of mold! I have also heard of people putting their dolls in pillowcases and throwing them into the drying machine along with a towel to cushion them more on a low setting. I have never tried this though personally so I’m not sure how well that would work and I’m to nervous to find out.

Also not going to lie I did not enjoy the smell of the “TideToGo” stick very much and I couldn’t get the smell to go away with just the soap and water so I did spray my doll with a bit of perfume. I’m not sure how safe/good this is for dolls but personally for me my doll turned out fine and now smells really good!

Conclusion:

This method worked very well for me I think! My doll is all clean and their hair feels so soft just like when I first got them which is very exciting. If anyone has any tips or thinks I should have done anything differently let me know! Also I’m here to answer questions too🫡 This is my first time making a blog post like this so I hope it was helpful and easy to understand!🙂

[winstonindia01]

Hey there, fellow grooming enthusiasts! At Winston, we're all about keeping your body hair game strong. You must have wondered at times which  hair removal machine or method to use. Today, we're diving deep into the age-old debate: Trimming vs. Shaving. Buckle up as we uncover the pros and cons of shaving  and trimming along the way. 

[watori-fics]

All the Chaos Katori Brings

Pairing / Characters: Karasuma Kyosuke / Mikumo Osamu | Katori Summary: The Tamakoma shooters: mentor and mentee duo, seen at HQ and misunderstood by the most hardcore fangirl of the mentor. Katori & Osamu are at it again. Note: Katori -> Torimaru -> Osamu... or something like that, haha.

After today's rank war had wrapped up, Karasuma and Osamu found themselves near one of the more obscure vending machines at HQ. The rank war had been intense, and Karasuma decided to treat Osamu to a drink after watching the most recent rank war.

"Pick what you want," Karasuma offered, swiping his card at the machine.

"Thanks, Karasuma-senpai," Osamu replied, fumbling with his glasses as he peered at the drink options.

As he reached up to adjust his glasses, Osamu suddenly winced. “Ah, I think I got an eyelash in my eye.”

Karasuma chuckled softly. "Here, let me help." He gently removed Osamu’s glasses and tilted his head closer, his face mere inches from Osamu’s as he inspected the situation. “Just hold still.”

Osamu’s face turned redder by the second as Karasuma leaned in, gently blowing toward Osamu’s eye to try and dislodge the eyelash. The warmth of his breath made Osamu even more flustered. But just as Karasuma was concentrating, they heard footsteps approaching.

Enter Katori, the always energetic and intense fighter who had just finished participating in the rank war. Her eyes immediately locked onto Karasuma, and they lit up like stars in the sky. “Ka—Karasuma-kun!!” she squealed, almost forgetting to breathe. The confident, loud-mouthed Katori instantly became a shy fangirl, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

But then her gaze shifted—right to Osamu. Her fangirl smile faded in an instant, replaced with an annoyed scowl. “What are you doing with Karasuma-kun, Four Eyes?!”

Osamu, now incredibly self-conscious, tried to explain, “I just got an eyelash—”

Katori didn’t let him finish. “Stop hogging Karasuma-kun’s attention! I don’t care if you’ve got, like, ten eyelashes stuck, I don’t need to see this!" Her voice rose, her frustration turning her back to her usual loud and brash self.

Karasuma, still holding Osamu’s glasses in one hand, turned to Katori with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just an eyelash, Katori. Nothing dramatic.”

But Katori wasn’t listening. She puffed up her cheeks in frustration, her gaze flipping back and forth between Osamu and Karasuma. “Karasuma-kun, if you need help, I can help!” Her voice wavered slightly as she tried to maintain her cool.

Osamu, still rubbing his eye, muttered under his breath, “I don’t even want to be here right now…”

Katori shot him a death glare. “No one’s talking to you, Four Eyes!” she snapped, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. She then turned her attention back to Karasuma, her voice suddenly shifting back to sweet. “Anyway, Karasuma-kun, if you want to get a drink or anything after this, I’d be happy to—”

“Katori,” Karasuma cut in, trying to stay polite, “I’m just helping Osamu. You should probably take a break after the rank war, too.”

Katori pouted, but her eyes softened as she looked at Karasuma. “Well... if you say so, Karasuma-kun... but just remember, I’m always here to help you! Not like some people.” She threw another side glance at Osamu, who was now deeply regretting being anywhere near this vending machine.

As she sauntered off, she gave one final, overly dramatic wave to Karasuma. “See you later, Karasuma-kun~! Don’t let Four Eyes take up all your time!”

Once she was out of earshot, Karasuma handed Osamu his glasses back, looking faintly amused. “Sorry about that. She’s a bit… intense.”

Osamu sighed, relieved that the ordeal was over. “That’s one way to describe it…”

“Don’t let it bother you too much,” Karasuma said, patting Osamu on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back, Four Eyes-kun.”

Osamu groaned at the nickname, though he couldn't help but crack a small smile. “Please don’t start calling me that too…”

[ali-annals]

summer's a knife (it's a cruel summer)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Rating: T | Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ao3 | WC: 2.2k | TW: mentions of blood, cleaning wounds

A/N: This is part of a series called The Eras Tour (Jasonette’s Version), a collection of Jasonette-centric fics I wrote for the Maribat discord server Maribat? Get In!’s 2024 Civil War event. Not beta’d.

“So, wanna tell me what happened that you’re halfway to swiss cheese?” “Not really.” “Fair enough.” She peered at the wound. “You’re lucky–seems you shouldn’t need stitches.” “Oh goodie,” he deadpanned. “Want to tell me why you’re in a place like this, then?” “Awfully chatty for a nurse, aren’t you?” “Awfully grumpy for someone getting free healthcare, aren’t you? Besides, you seem like you’d grumble about my lack of bedside manner if I didn’t talk. Excuse me if I can only think about things related to what I’m currently doing.” To her surprise, he threw his head back with a laugh. “I like you.”

The neon lights of the vending machine cast a colourful glow on the person in front of it, probably a male based on height and body type. His face was covered by the red hoodie he was wearing, but Marinette could tell he was aware of her presence behind him. 

Something was off about him. He’d immediately shifted to a defensive stance when he sensed her behind him (it was very rare for someone to notice her when she’d been walking as softly as she had been), there was an awfully clean rip through the side of his hoodie–almost as if it had been made with a knife, and he was almost going out of his way to appear unsuspicious–which was of course the most suspicious thing. 

“Are you going to buy anything?” she asked, moving a little closer.

His head turned and she made out dark hair and a strong jawline, teal eyes glowing from the depths of the hooded shadows. 

“Go ahead.” He shuffled out of the way.

His voice was a little raspy, but she liked it. He turned on his heel, obviously about to leave, but paused when her voice reached him.

“Wait.”

He waited, something she hadn’t actually expected him to do. 

“You look hurt. I’ve got first-aid training, if you want help.”

Those glowing teal eyes met hers, sizing her up as a predator might. She felt judged, but not unsafe, something that should have been strange, given their size difference and the general aura of danger that he exuded. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Why not?” she returned. “I have the ability to help someone who looks like they need it. Side wounds are a pain in…well, the literal side to deal with. It’s awkward. And we’ll likely never cross paths once we check out of this skeevy motel; we’re obviously here because we can keep secrets.”

A small smile cracked the lower half of his face. 

“If you’re so insistent on helping, be my guest,” he shrugged. “My room’s just down the hall.”

~~~

“I don’t usually go to men’s rooms without even knowing their names, but I’ll make an exception tonight, I guess,” she joked, sensing his nervousness.

Which she found strange–what did he have to be nervous about? Sure, he was wounded, but she was way smaller than him and as far as he knew posed no threat to him; their roles should be reversed. She’d retrieved the first-aid kit from her room, one she’d packed herself before she went on the run. 

He half-sat, half-collapsed on the creaky twin bed, a foot too short for his tall frame, while she removed her rings and placed them in her bag, washed her hands, and laid out what she thought she’d need.

“Shirt off, please.” She sat on the edge of the bed, beside him, rolling up her hoodie sleeves.

“Awfully forward to guys you don’t know,” he snarked, pulling the hoodie off, revealing a stained white t-shirt that he pulled off one-handed. She really envied that guys could do that.

“Like I said, you’re an exception,” she retorted primly, snapping the wrist of the glove against her skin. “Ooh, that looks painful.”

He hissed as she prodded carefully at the slowly bleeding stab wound just under his ribcage. “Ow!”

“You can call me Mari, if you decide to curse me out in a minute,” she informed him, using his already-ruined t-shirt to wipe away the worst of the blood, which was already crusting over in places. 

“You can call me Jay,” he offered in return.

“So, wanna tell me what happened that you’re halfway to swiss cheese?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.” She peered at the wound. “You’re lucky–seems you shouldn’t need stitches.”

“Oh goodie,” he deadpanned.

“Want to tell me why you’re in a place like this, then?”

“Awfully chatty for a nurse, aren’t you?”

“Awfully grumpy for someone getting free healthcare, aren’t you? Besides, you seem like you’d grumble about my lack of bedside manner if I didn’t talk. Excuse me if I can only think about things related to what I’m currently doing.”

To her surprise, he threw his head back with a laugh. “I like you.”

She tapped the adhesive of the bandage down gently. “I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“You sound like my father,” he groaned, covering his face with his forearm. It was a very nice forearm, and the pose really showed off his non-bloodied muscles. It wasn’t a bad view at all.

With a sigh he answered. “I came here looking for a friend. They’d told me they knew something about a thing that could fix something that I have. I couldn’t find my friend at the spot we agreed to meet up, so I went out looking, and then I got attacked.”

“Wow, so specific,” she said dryly, gathering up her things. “I guess that’s safer.”

“You have no idea. Care to share why you’re here? Let me guess…secret lover?”

She snorted, balling up her gloves and tossing them neatly into the garbage can across the room. “No. I don’t do romance anymore, and I have standards, anyways. If I have to sneak around to meet him…big nope from me.”

“Then…you’re on the run from your billionaire father who’s threatened to marry you off to an acquaintance for his business?”

She laughed outright at that, unrolling her hoodie sleeves until they hung at her wrists again and slid on her rings. “Do they do that in this day and age? No, my dad’s a baker, not a billionaire. I’m here because I’m hiding from a group of magical ninjas after me for my jewelry.” She laughed, flashing her beringed hands in his face.

His hand grasped her wrist, observing the silver bands circling her fingers. His touch was warm, gentle, the rough calluses on his fingers providing a strange stimulation that headed straight to her nerves, but his eyes were sharp, wary as he scanned the metal.

“Thank you for looking after me,” he said sincerely, gaze meeting her own.

She remembered to take a breath. “You’re welcome. I’m glad it wasn’t worse. It seems like you’ve experience with injuries of this style, so I’ll assume you know how to take care.”

He grinned ruefully down at his scarred arms and torso. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

“Great,” she said briskly, dusting off her jeans as she stood up, snapping her kit closed. “Stay safe out there, and I hope you find your friend okay.”

“You’re just leaving?”

“Yep. I’ve done what I can.”

She thought he’d protest, but he only waved. “Thank you. Take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she smiled, stepping out of the room. She heard the click of the automatic lock and leaned against it with a sigh. 

It was dangerous, but she was going to stick around here a little longer. She had to, for his sake.

~~~

Noire slipped into the shadows as Jay slipped out of his motel window. He wore a black t-shirt instead of his old white one, but still wore the charcoal-grey cargo pants from that evening. 

The last ultramarine tinges of the sunset lingered in the sky, providing just enough light for Noire’s enhanced eyesight to track Jay’s path from the window to the ground, to the streets behind the motel.

Noire easily ran over the rooftops as he made his way through the winding streets of the city, probably looking for that friend he’d mentioned. So much for resting like he should after that wound, but going by the number of scars she’d counted on him, he didn’t live the most restful life. He talked to the girls on the street, a couple street kids that hadn’t hidden at his approach, and one abuela closing up her restaurant for the evening. They didn’t appear to give him anything.

He seemed to sense someone was following him, often turning as if to catch them in the act, or taking deliberately obscure paths that only a stalker would follow him through.

She’d gradually grown closer as the night deepened and the shadows hid her more fully, and she ducked behind a dumpster when he seemed like he might turn around again.

Then she saw them, five of them. All in black, like her; armed, like her; stalking Jay, like her.

Jay saw them, too. She was mildly impressed by that.

“What do you want this time,” he asked one, exasperated.

So they’d done this to him. She recalled what he’d told her before. He was looking for something to fix something he had. 

Taking a chance, she stepped out, drawing the ninjas’ attention to her. 

“I believe I’m what you’re all looking for,” she said.

~~~

Whoever was knocking on her door before noon should be Cataclysmed, Marinette decided, getting out of bed with a loud groan.

“What?” she snapped, answering the door with all the grace sleep-deprived Mari contained, which was about a thimbleful.

“Mari.”

“Oh. Jay. Got another stab wound for me to fix?”

“Thankfully, no. You’re the person I was looking for?”

“I dunno, am I?” she opened the door wider in silent invitation.

He sauntered in, settling into the rickety chair across from her bed. For her part, she dove under the blankets, relishing the small bit of retained warmth.

“So, I’ve been looking for you because I’ve been told you have a cure for Pit Madness.”

She tsked. “No wonder they’re after me. I wondered why, after all this time.”

“Why do you know the League of Assassins?”

She opened her eyes, sitting up to read his facial expressions. “Wait, those were League ninjas?”

He stared at her. “Who did you think they were?!”

“Uh. Ninjas from my magical sect? They don’t think I’m fit to…know the cure, so they tried to get me to give it up, but I convinced them I was fine with it. Why was the League after me, then?!”

“That might be my fault,” he offered sheepishly. “Ra’s doesn’t want to lose his last thread of control over me, so he was either going to get rid of me after I was cured or both of us if I hadn’t been fixed by the time his assassins caught up to us.”

“I’m going to push him into his precious Pits and then cataclysm them one day, I swear,” she mumbled, collapsing against her lumpy pillows. 

She sat up again. “Okay, cure. It’s not that bad in you, so it shouldn’t take long. Plagg, Tikki!”

The kwami appeared at her summons, inspecting the startled Jay. 

With a flash of their combined magics, Jay slumped in his chair.

“He should be good as new when he wakes up. It’s best to let him come to naturally,” Tikki warned her. 

“Thank you.” She handed over their snacks, twisting Plagg’s ring absentmindedly on her finger as she watched Jay sleep.

~~~

The summer passed far too quickly, Jay and Mari floating along in the haze of budding love. They spent their time together practicing spars, magic, and getting to know each other. They were surprised to find how similar they were in many areas, their compatibility lending ease to their relationship. But one day Jay told her he’d left his responsibilities far too long, and he had to get back to them. With those words, their breakable heaven shattered into pieces.

“I’d ask you to come, but…”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t work out,” she agreed.

“It’s better this way.”

“Yep. Stay safe, Jay.”

“Stay safe, Mari.”

I love you, she thought, but bit her lip instead.

~~~

I love you, she thought, flicking through the photos they’d taken together, the nights she let herself be maudlin.

I love you, she thought, seeing a man in a red hoodie laughing as he played soccer in the street with a few kids.

I love you, she thought, seeing the return of Bruce Wayne’s son, Jason Todd, from the dead, which had apparently been a cover for WITSEC. 

I love you, she thought, following the Red Hood to the Batcave, conveniently under Wayne Manor.

I love you, she thought, dressing to the nines in a type of outfit she’d never thought she’d wear.

I love you, she thought, watching Jason’s eyes flash with annoyance as a girl tried to flirt with him while he got a drink from the bartender at the gala they were both at.

“I love you,” she said, gliding up to him in rescue. She’d meant to say Hello, but it was too late now, so she smiled. “Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

A slow smile took over his face as he looked up and saw her. 

“Only if you agree that the worst thing you’ve ever heard is this: I. Love. You.”

“Looks like we’re in agreement, then.”

“All the best agreements are sealed-”

“-With a kiss?”

“We’re in agreement again, it seems.”

And then they agreed for a third time to stop talking and instead tell each other in a different way how much they’d missed the other. 

[nickleback-fan]

Short Story - "Tom"

Writing prompt: Write a story in which a characters position as an outsider has a major effect on the story.

Shh... Shh... Shh...

Those were the shrill sounds which I awoke to.

After a moment I stirred, and while at first disorientated, I made the attempt to examine my surroundings. The source of this strident noise which still filled my ears I soon discovered, a machine. It stood in the corner of the room, Imposing, almost evil. From it emanated innumerous tubings, each impossible to follow with the eye for more than a second - it's inconceivably tangled mass fooling my vision. An artificial diaphragm working insessently at its head, the culprit which produced the maddening drone. One of these tubes led to a mask, tightly secured to my face, undoubtedly administering some dreadful miasma, to which I owe my current state

For how long I remained in that position I cannot tell you, both mesmerised and terrified by the machine's repetitive motions. I pondered my next move, orchestrating hundreds of plans, yet I did not budge. I'm not sure what possessed me, what inspired me to finally act, but eventually i stuck out at it. It groaned - as if begging for mercy, before giving out. It was then I removed the mask, and surveyed the room. I venture out of the safety of my bedsheets and wander around the space. It is a strange place, although I cannot articulate why. It almost seemed as if it was examining me as thoroughly as I was it, peering from cracks and shadows. There was some distressing familiarity in it, while still feeling truly alien to me. I had seen many like it, it's drab walls, antiquated furnishing, giving a sense of archaic mystery to it. Despite trying my best to avoid doing so, it was at this point I accidentally caught sight of the machine once more. Menacingly, it stared back at me. Redolent of some cacodaemonic cosmic horror, tenticles reaching out in every direction; desperately searching for its next victim. This time however, I had no chance to lose myself in this vile mechanical contrivance, as I was interupted. It was then that the first rhythmic thud sounded at my door. I readied myself for what was to come.

My heart raced as the door opened. The click of the latch, squeak of the unoiled hinges, all building up to the entrance of this visitor. This suspenseful moment shattered as a rather innocuous figure came through the door. Saying nothing, giving no indication of what his intentions are apart from a short grimace towards the machine. He turns, and beckons me to follow. I obey, what choice do I have? With that, I step out into the unknown.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, from the dimly lit bedroom - it's only source of light being what little could pass through the curtains - to the blinding white LEDs of the hallway I had just set foot in. I tried to absorb as much as I could, without falling behind. This place felt unnatural. An endless passage, lined with doors identical to one another; no windows to speak of. The white linoleum floor squeaked beneath my companions feet. Air conditioning whirred, providing the soundtrack to this oppressive scene. After what felt like hours, an end was in sight. An overwhelming sense of dread filled me as we approached the end of the corridor. My imagination ran wild in those seconds, what "they" would do to me, whatever malevolent monster was behind this facility, what inconceivable horrors waited past this ingress.

What I saw was, in ways, worse than anything I had anticipated. Initially, I felt a sense of relief; I saw others. Regular people, like me. Joy washed over me, as for the first time in this terrible ordeal, I wasn't alone. This feeling however, was fleeting. Upon further examination, there was something wrong with these people. At first glance, yes, they seemed perfectly normal, but after a full inspection there was something missing. After my guides indifference towards what I did - so long as I remained in the room - was made clear by his general dismissal of me, I attempted to speak to the others. My greatest fears were realised; my queries were met with confused looks and half answers, as if they themselves couldn't understand what I was saying. I collapsed in a heap of despair. I was lost. Any hope of others like me, of company, lost. Surrounded by people, I was more alone then when I first awoke. An outsider.

I felt a hand on my back. Another, dressed like the man who arrived at my door what now felt like an age ago. He offered his hand, helped me up. Words of sympathy, how he heard I had s mishap this morning (undoubtedly referencing my destruction of the Machine). They felt rehersed, like he had done this one thousand times before. I did not know this man, nor did I trust him and his honeyed words. Nonetheless I did not make a scene, merely remained silent. He rambled about "doctors orders" and "that time of day" but I payed no heed. I saw what he was hiding. In his hands he brandished, beneath a light blue cloth, a syringe. Undoubtedly sedation, what else? What better way to deal with a troublemaker then to nullify the problem. I knew I had to act fast, no time for idle contemplation. I lashed out at him, like I had to the Machine hours before, disarming him momentarily. I felt my bones ache as I slowly attempted to flee. This small triumph however, was quickly thwarted, as my opponent seemed relitivley unphased at my outburst. He easily caught me, and escorted me back to the hall without difficulty. The entire journey, he chastised me, as if I was some misbehaving child who didn't know better. I was a young boy, refusing to eat his greens. I was confused, and disorientated. Why am I being met with such a response? Was I not, for those moments, dangerous assaultant, worthy of sedation? Does he see me as so little?

He ushered me into the bedroom, calling out to me as he shut the door "We will have a chat and try again later, alright Tom?". Upon hearing my own name, I froze. For the first time that day I looked down, and saw my withered hands. I approached the glass of water on my bedside table, and saw one of "them" staring back in my reflection. The lost expression, those empty eyes. I saw myself for who I was. I cross the room, and open the drawer beneath the wardrobe. My muscles ached as I bent - the strain of a long life - as I fished out the photograph. I looked at the stranger in the photo. The man whose memories came back to me occasionally. He is surrounded by people, loved ones, no doubt. I gaze longingly at the image. How I wish I could go back. But he is a stranger to me now, lost to the cruelty of age. I knew, deep down, that this wasn't the first time. And worst of all, I knew it wouldn't be the last. In my anguish, I carefully placed the frame back, and I wept. I wept for what I had lost. I wept for the life I had forgotten, but most of all, I wept for tomorrow. For the days of lethargy, misery and boredom. An outsider in my own mind.

[holyfunnyhistoryherring]

[Video: tik tok by user @peter.pan810 shows a person hand making wooden game pieces with silver and mother-of-pearl inlays.

Captions read, "Chinese chess is an ancient board game with a history dating back approximately two thousand years." The person soaks mother-of-pearl shells in water. Pulls them out and saws them into tiny rectangles. Sands them. "Soak seashells in water to soften, then saw them into small pieces and sand them evenly."

They lay out several sheets with Chinese characters on them. Each sheet has many repetitions of the same character. They cut them away in rectangles and glue them to the mother-of-pearl, then lay the pieces out on a wooden surface. "Glue. Air dry."

They begin sawing a tree stump with a red interior. Once there is a long round piece they can grasp in their hand, it is tied with rope a a swivel into a machine that will spin it as long as they keep pressing the pedal with their foot. Thus allowing them to carve it in shape of a column of small balls stacked together.

"Ground ivy." Strips of ivy are used to sand it down. The column is cut through, leaving each little ball with a flat top and bottom that need to be "File smooth. The hardwood is shaped into a drum-like form and roughly sanded."

The mother-of-pearl rectangles are cut into so only the part under the letters remain. "Lettering with a saw. Finishing with a file." This is further sanded and the glued on Chinese character is removed to expose a letter made out of mother-of-pearl.

These letters are now glued on the red wooden drums and traced, then removed so their outline can be chiseled in. "Lime. Outline the characters with a sharp needle,then apply lime to reveal the shape. Carving letters. Carve the letters slightly shallower than the seashell pieces for easier sanding later on."

A metal brand is heated up and pressed into the red wooden pieces. "Hot stamping." It leaves an intricate border, that is then carved in, to place gold looking wire in it. Wire need to be gently hammered and pressed in to really get in there for a smooth finish. "Embedding silver wire. The silver wire needs to be hammered in before annealing."

"Mix lacquer, lime plaster, and hide glue in proportion." Mixture is them placed in the letter shaped carvings in the wood. The seashell Chinese characters are then pressed in and the mixture that gets pressed out is wiped. "Setting mother-of-pearl inlay. Decorating utensils by setting clam shells as inlays is referred to as mother-of-pearl inlay. Air drying in the shade."

Person makes a chessboard with more red wood, and silver wire for the borders between spaces. "Chessboard." The red pieces are finished. "Waxing. Coarse grinding the stone, polishing the fabric, waxing to reduce wood cracking." The pieces are held in the light to show how overall shiny they are and then stacked in rows and columns inside a wooden red box. "Mother-of-pearl chess set."

/End video description.

Images: mother-of-pearl inlay on a black surface. First three show a bird, a landscape, and flowers, from up close. Last one is a photo of a table from a far. /End image description.]

holy shit is this gorgeous.

[myfloor01]

What to Expect from Professional Concrete Grinding Services?

Concrete grinding has become a sought-after service for improving the functionality and aesthetics of concrete surfaces. Whether it’s a residential, commercial, or industrial property, professional Concrete Grinding Services ensure smooth, durable, and visually appealing surfaces. From preparing concrete for coatings to eliminating imperfections, these services provide lasting solutions to various flooring challenges. Let’s dive into what you can expect when hiring professionals for concrete grinding.

Initial Consultation and Assessment

The process starts with a consultation, where professionals discuss your project goals and inspect the site. They assess the condition of the concrete, identifying cracks, unevenness, or imperfections. This step helps them determine the best grinding method and tools for the job. With their expertise, they provide a clear plan, cost estimate, and timeline, ensuring you know what to expect.

Advanced Equipment and Techniques

Professional Concrete Grinding Services utilize advanced machinery designed for precision and efficiency. These machines, equipped with diamond-tipped grinding tools, ensure smooth and even surfaces. Whether it’s removing old coatings, preparing for polishing, or leveling uneven floors, the equipment allows technicians to deliver top-notch results with minimal disruption.

Surface Preparation

One of the key aspects of concrete grinding is surface preparation. Professionals ensure that the surface is free of dirt, oil, or debris before starting the grinding process. This is crucial for achieving a flawless finish and ensuring that subsequent treatments, such as coatings or sealers, adhere properly.

Removal of Imperfections

Concrete grinding is an effective solution for removing imperfections such as rough patches, stains, and small cracks. Technicians grind the surface layer to eliminate these flaws, leaving behind a smooth and uniform texture. This step not only enhances the appearance but also improves the functionality of the concrete.

Leveling and Smoothing

Uneven floors can be a safety hazard and an eyesore. Professional Concrete Grinding Services level the surface, creating a uniform plane that enhances safety and aesthetics. This is particularly important for commercial spaces where heavy foot traffic demands a durable and even surface.

Dust Management

Grinding concrete generates dust, but professionals use advanced dust extraction systems to minimize mess and health risks. These systems capture airborne particles, ensuring a clean and safe environment throughout the process. This attention to detail makes professional services a superior choice compared to DIY methods.

Custom Finishes

Concrete grinding allows for customization based on your preferences. Whether you want a matte, polished, or textured finish, professionals can tailor the grinding process to achieve the desired look. This flexibility makes concrete grinding ideal for a variety of applications, from industrial floors to stylish interiors.

Increased Durability

After grinding, concrete surfaces are more durable and resistant to wear and tear. Professionals often recommend sealing or coating the surface to provide additional protection against moisture, chemicals, and stains. This step ensures that the investment in grinding pays off in the long term.

Cost-Effective Solution

While some may consider concrete grinding an upfront expense, it’s a cost-effective solution in the long run. By addressing imperfections and prolonging the life of the surface, grinding reduces the need for frequent repairs or replacements.

Eco-Friendly Approach

Professional Concrete Grinding Services are an eco-friendly option for enhancing concrete surfaces. The process generates minimal waste, and many contractors use environmentally friendly sealers and coatings. This makes grinding a sustainable choice for both residential and commercial projects.

Final Inspection and Customer Satisfaction

Once the grinding process is complete, professionals conduct a final inspection to ensure the work meets your expectations. They address any concerns and provide maintenance tips to help you preserve the newly ground surface. Customer satisfaction is a top priority, and they ensure the results align with your vision.

Conclusion

Opting for professional Concrete Grinding Services guarantees high-quality results that enhance the appearance, safety, and durability of your concrete surfaces. From thorough assessments and advanced equipment to personalized finishes and long-term durability, these services provide unmatched value. By choosing experts, you invest in a solution that transforms your space while ensuring lasting satisfaction.

[mosstro]

Prologue.

It began with her replaying her last memories, or at least the last thing she remembers. In her thoughts she was walking to school, the sky was covered in a thick blanket of clouds and despite that it was almost 8 am, she could recall how some shops weren't opened yet despite that normally they would, even the street was eerily empty, it was a series of abnormal things happening in a regular day. Then, she watched herself walking down her school's pristine hallway, finally leaving after a long day, the lights of the miday sun shining down the empty hallway as she walked to reach some stairs.

Both memories played in unison then slowly melted together into one, making the image of each event less clear. She sees herself waiting for the light to turn green to cross the street but also placing her hand on top the handrail as she began to walk down the stais then saw herself putting her foot on the crosswalk and just like that she was just walking down the stairs. Just as both memories played together and they ended together in unison with the loud sound of bones breaking. The sound made her flinch, just hard enough to wake her up but not enough to open her eyes, then she recalled that she did not remember falling asleep in the first place, but just as quickly that thought crossed her mind, it stopped being relevant because she was too groggy and a tad panicked to string her thoughts into a cohesive idea or even words for that matter.

So, she did the most logical next step, open her eyes.

Buuut that proved to be more difficult than she expected as she is met with what can only be described as full body soreness, her eyelids hurt in the same way an arm or leg would hurt the day after doing too much exercise, which was first for her. Slowly she open her eyes, is welcomed to a room full of natural light.

Above her... is a wood ceiling and a canopy over the bed. OK, so... she is inside a house making that one less question to ask, but she still had 30ish questions unanswered, and her questions kept on piling on the more she looked around. Painstaking, she raised her arms, and rubs her face and eyes, removing some of the gunk she had over them, and jumped to the next thing, sitting up!

Her body groaned, literally, her joints cracked and popped as she moved around, it's as if she was an ancient machine being turned on for the first time in ages. Her back and neck produced the worst sounds as she moved, they cracked so loudly that made her yelp in surprise, but finally, she had a better view of the room and it was clear to her that the space she was sitting in was alien to her.

The room was covered in an auburn wood from the ceiling to the floors, with two of the walls decorated with a pink and green wallpaper and finally, a large open window with light turquoise curtains, the bed was positioned in the middle of the room giving her a better view, which also included a slightly open door. Her mind was still a jumble mess but she knew that door had to be her next step. After removing the thin blanket that covered her, she placed her feet down, where she noticed a fluffy rug underneath her feet, then with all the strength she could muster she took her first steps... only to noticed too late that her legs could not hold her so she fell down just a short distance just from where she started.

Her legs were weak and the rest of her body that way too “But! if I can't walk... I can crawl on my knees!” She thought to herself, determined but still out of it.

She shuffle her way through the room walking on her hands and knees, moving forward as much as she could in order to reach the door and get her answers, surely there has to be someone around here, someone that she could bombard with questions, like where was she? Or what happened to her?! So she pressed on, because she needed answers.

But then... she stops, she stops moving and stops herself, just right in front of a mirror.

This mirror did not appeared out of tin air it was always there but it took her a long time to notice it, but a mirror is hard to miss specially when the reflection you see on it, looks nothing like what you're used to seeing on the other side.

Looking back at her is an emaciated girl dressed in a simple nightgown that looked way too big on her body; her skin is tanned but looked dull and sickly with freckles adorning her cheeks and nose, her eyes were big and her eyelashes were long... and growing from her head was ridiculously long, curly crown of blond hair that cascaded from the top of her head down to her body and pool down to the floor, and right there, behind the blanket of hair and those long eyelashes, is a pair of bright ocean blue eyes that reminded her of a gem she always wished to get her hands on.

The stranger in the mirror made her confused, then she suddenly felt really uncomfortable, this was not her... that hair she was looking at was not the right length, her hair is short, and this hair too long! She felt distressed, with an disgusting sensation that she could feel in both on her skin and bones. This was not right, and that made her even more confused.

Then she noticed something, a shiny silver object calmly sitting on top of a dresser, and she recognized the object as scissors. So without much thought she reached for them and without a second thought, she cut a lock of hair, giving her a window through the blonde curtain and making her relax a bit... but that wasn't enough! It was still too much hair for her to have, her hair is short! Short she says! So she grabbed another chunk and cut it too! Who cares if one is longer or its all uneven!? But just as she grabbed yet another lock between the blades, something behind her falls down to the floor and breaks. The crash makes her flinch, and immediately she returns to her senses.

Looking to the side, she finds a woman standing in the doorway, looking at her with a expression of pure shock, one only reserved for protagonists in horror movies. The mysterious woman is wearing a single piece dark-brown dress with a matching kerchief on her hair, ¾ sleeves and a perfectly clean white apron on her waist... But why is there a maid cosplayer here? Finally, she decided to speak, starting to feel uncomfortable with the maid just gawking at her as if she's an oddity.

“Um... hi!” She said, her voice hoarse and throat dry. “I... I was just cutting my hair”.

The statement was innocent but it only seemed to made the maid freak out even more her hands shaking like she did not know what do with them. Then she gasps realizing something, she turns around and runs out the room leaving the door wide open and just as quick as the maid appeared, she disappeared in the corner of the hallway, her footsteps dissapearing quickly in the distance as she ran.

Then, this strange place that was so quiet like an abandoned house, suddenly is filled with multiple voices and murmurs as the maid who just ran from the room loudly announced to everyone in it:

“Call the the count! Call Count Gael!! the young lady finally woke up!! the young lady woke up!!” Her voice screaming throught the house.

End of the prologue.

(The next chapters will be updated on: 16th and the 30th of this month.)

[tillmantools]

Cyclone Sandblasting Replacement Parts: Key to Maintaining Optimal Performance

Cyclone sandblasters are highly regarded for their robust construction, reliability, and efficiency in handling various surface preparation and cleaning tasks. To maintain their effectiveness and extend their lifespan, regular maintenance and timely replacement of components are crucial. Using genuine Cyclone sandblasting replacement parts not only ensures the continued functionality of your equipment but also enhances safety and productivity.

Understanding Cyclone Sand Blasters

Cyclone sand blasters are versatile tools designed to tackle a wide range of projects, from light-duty tasks to heavy-duty industrial work. These machines are engineered with durability and performance in mind, featuring user-friendly designs and efficient operation. However, even the most well-built equipment experiences wear and tear over time due to abrasive media and continuous use.

Replacing worn-out components with high-quality Cyclone sandblasting replacement parts is essential to maintaining the equipment's performance. Genuine replacement parts are designed specifically for Cyclone machines, ensuring compatibility and seamless integration.

Essential Cyclone Sandblasting Replacement Parts

Nozzles:The nozzle is one of the most heavily used parts of a sandblaster. Over time, abrasive media can wear down the nozzle, reducing its efficiency and precision. Replacing nozzles with durable options, such as tungsten carbide or boron carbide, can restore the blasting power and improve results.

Blast Hoses:Blast hoses are critical for carrying abrasive media from the machine to the surface being treated. Frequent use can lead to wear, cracks, or leaks, compromising performance. Replacement hoses made from abrasion-resistant materials ensure consistent media flow and enhance safety.

Cabinet Windows:Cyclone sand blasters typically feature a transparent viewing window that allows operators to monitor the blasting process. Scratches, etching, or clouding caused by abrasive particles can obstruct visibility. High-quality replacement windows restore clarity and ensure safety.

Seals and Gaskets:Seals and gaskets prevent leaks and ensure a proper seal within the system. Over time, these components can degrade due to constant exposure to abrasive materials. Replacing them as part of routine maintenance helps maintain the integrity of the machine.

Dust Collector Filters:Cyclone sandblasters often include dust collection systems to maintain a clean workspace and enhance visibility. Replacing clogged or worn filters ensures optimal airflow and effective dust removal, improving the overall efficiency of the machine.

Control Valves and Foot Pedals:Control valves regulate the pressure and flow of abrasive media, while foot pedals allow hands-free operation. Worn or malfunctioning controls can lead to inconsistent performance, making timely replacement crucial for precision and ease of use.

Conclusion

Investing in genuine Cyclone sandblasting replacement parts is essential for maintaining the performance, safety, and longevity of your Cyclone sand blasters. Regular inspections and proactive replacements of critical components, such as nozzles, hoses, and filters, ensure smooth operation and optimal results.

By using high-quality replacement parts designed specifically for Cyclone machines, you can minimize downtime, enhance productivity, and achieve professional-grade finishes on every project. Whether you’re handling delicate restoration work or heavy-duty industrial cleaning, maintaining your Cyclone sand blaster with reliable replacement parts will keep it operating at its best for years to come.