#hairdressing equipment

[hairbeautynetwork]

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[vern-hairdressing-style-college]

Short Spiky Man's Haircut Tutorial - Vern Hairstyles 98 "SPIKY HAIR" - Fresh, Neat, and Super Cool✨ Get this hairstyle now!

[zippityzap]

Getting a haircut tomorrow and i’m excited :)

[factoryedgesharpening]

Factory Edge Sharpening

Website: https://www.factoryedgesharpening.com

Address: 331 Spyglass CT, Rio Vista, California 94571

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Yelp: https://www.yelp.com/biz/factory-edge-sharpening-rio-vista

Nextdoor: https://nextdoor.com/city/rio-vista--ca/

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[factoryedgesharpeningus]

Website : https://www.factoryedgesharpening.com

Address : 331 Spyglass CT, Rio Vista, California 94571

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Yelp : https://www.yelp.com/biz/factory-edge-sharpening-rio-vista

Nextdoor : https://nextdoor.com/city/rio-vista--ca/

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[glamsalonfurnituredelhi]

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[gobeautysalon]

Alibaba beauty facial chair Electric massage table | GoBeautySalon.com

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[ohworm-writes]

Scenarios for Firefighter 141 x fem!reader who’s a hairdresser?

I could just see each scenario of them being supportive boyfriends just heart eyes for her in her shop while her customers are jealous.

Oh my gods you're so intelligent for saying this because, yes, all of them would be so supportive of their partner's career as a hairdresser.

First and foremost: every single person who works at the station (be it the volunteers, EMTS, paramedics, firefighters or even the Fire Chief, 141 boys or otherwise) goes to your salon to get their hair done, be it the ones at the tops of their heads or their facial hair, whether you do it or not.

It's a win win, in all honesty. Your shop gets more customers, the boys are promoting and supporting their partner's work, and you get to listen to and share stories, secrets and drama about your boyfriend with the people he works with!

PRICE gets his facial hair done by you and you alone- you're the one who encouraged it, after all, and who best to trust than with his most defining aspect than you? When time allows, he'll come into your shop, still dressed in his PPE, or, at the very least, his bunker pants, waiting with a smug grin on his face for you to tend to him, completely tuning out all of the confused or starstruck looks he's getting by the other customers inside.

(Usually, it isn't even like you're trimming it or anything, just grooming it so that it sits more cleanly on his face. Is it so bad that he wants your hands on his face? After all, you have that adorable, concentrated expression you have on as you're leaned in close to him when you work, combing and brushing strands into place with the sole focus of making him look as presentable as possible.)

He keeps trying to put his hands on your hips throughout the entire process, but it always ends with you swatting his hands away and giving him a playfully stern look, whispering to his with a warning to quit it (he never does). All of the customers in the shop are confused by the interaction, some genuinely worried for you, others utterly jealous, because why on Earth would the local firehouse's Captain be putting his hands on you?

He ignores them, their stares, and any comments or remarks they may make, giving you the most lovesick expression as you tend to him with such attentiveness, talking to him about your own day while he talks about his, mumbling away to you about the jobs he's completed thus far, how the newest fire academy graduate working at the station has been a pain in his ass, and whatever else comes to his mind.

He always suggests how you should just take the day off and ride back to the station with him while he's still off call. You never do. He pouts. You press a kiss to his forehead. It's a song an dance the two of you go through every single time he comes by, and although, he will admit, he is a little disappointed you won't take him up on his offer, he knows you take your job seriously and wouldn't ever be willing to blow it off just to spend the day with him, and he has respect it. Plus, it's a foolproof way to get a kiss from you.

If you ever do, though, he's quick to grab your things and usher you out of the door with a grin, placing his helmet onto your head with a grin, the heavy weight of the item forcing you to straighten your posture as he moves you into one of the free seats with that same smug, satisfied grin on his lips, honking the horn without shame as he drives the two of you back to the station.

GHOST always walks in to your shop as if he had just came back from a call, dressed in a mask and a hood, his helmet on, all of his equipment still on his body as he wordlessly walks over to you, choosing to stand either behind you or next to you as you work on a customer, silent most times.

It's a shame he never removes his facial coverings when he comes by, double the shame, given he doesn't let you work on his hair whatsoever. That doesn't mean he doesn't care, though. He buys half of the products you use, after all, and he listens to ever rant and story you have to share about your job with unwavering attention, memorizing some of the process and methods you've spoken of (if he tried, he could probably layer hair flawlessly just from having listened to you so intently).

The customers are usually confused or freaked the fuck out by some random fireman coming over and staring at them as they get their hair done (and, frankly, they wouldn't be wrong to, especially when he watches with an unblinking stare as your hands and fingers deftly work through the strands with an unyielding concentration; it looks like he's glaring to those who don't know better, which can be unnerving).

But when he starts to talk after a few prolonged minutes of silence, he's asking about how your day's gone so far and what exactly you're working on right now, ignoring the customer completely and staring at you through the mirror in front of the three of you, giving short responses and hums, his tense, smoke scented body relaxing minutely as you speak, a loving expression that only you can catch hidden beneath his gaze.

If you ask him about how his day went, he'll usually say something along the lines of "I'll tell you later". It's not dismissive, but rather, he just prefers to talk about his work when the two of you are alone and not in the presence of others. It's a personal thing for him, his work, given how sensitive the information can become at times, and it's not something he wants some random civilian listening to him talk about.

Usually, right before he leaves, he'll lean in close, the bottom of his mask hovering above your shoulder, right next to your ear, whispering about how you should come over and spend the night at the station with him, making the excuse that the others miss playing cards with you or something equally as lame, but truth be told, he just wants to wake up with you in his uniform.

SOAP lets you do anything you'd like to him. Facial hair? Sure, why not. He could pull off a handlebar, right? Hair? Yeah, we could do a full buzz, why not? Dye? It's... it's best you pick the color, because he'll just put a bunch of random colors on a wheel and spin it. Whatever it lands on, he'll have you do. (It landed on platinum once, and he didn't realize how many sessions he'd have to have and the fact he'd be blond for months on end before it actually matched.)

The way I want to say that he'd pull up to your shop with the siren blaring so badly, but my firefighter loving heart says he'd be more responsible than that (because they're literally not supposed to have it on in case of emergency, and he won't even use the horn because he doesn't want to mess you or any of your co-workers up as you work).

However, that doesn't mean that he won't come into the shop and fling open the door with just a little too much enthusiasm, greeting all of your co-workers as he walks in. Sometimes, he'll even bring the lot of you lunch or coffee if time allows and he isn't needed immediately back at the station (and, yes, he has everyone's orders memorized, of course).

He's dressed all up in his PPE, coming up behind you as you work, pressing a kiss to the back of your head, making sure not to be too enthusiastic or harsh with his movements, not wanting to mess you up, gently grabbing your waist (his gloves press into your apron and get them dirty, but neither of you complain) and placing his chin on your shoulder, talking with you about anything and everything, staring lovestruck at you through the mirror, eyes hooded, gaze coated with love and adoration as he watches you work.

Your co-workers are used to the PDA, the customers are not. A lot of them are confused or offput by it, though, there are those select few that cast glares at either of you (because, come on now, both of you are hot! It's hard to not be jealous of one of the two of you, or even both). There's an attractiveness that comes with being a firefighter (don't we all love a man in uniform?), so more often then not, glares are cast at you.

He'll just press a kiss or two to your cheek to reassure any worries you may have, grinning madly at you as he stares at you in the mirror before pulling back, not wanting to distract you any longer, giving you one of those crappy, plastic stickers with the fire department's logo on it (he does this every single time he sees you, so you just give the stickers to any kids you do hair for), blowing you a kiss before walking out.

GAZ who swears up and down he could marry you because, when you initially asked to do his hair back when the two of you first started dating, sensing his skepticism, showed him how you had done work on a number of people who matched his hair type, and, although he didn't tell you, noted you did a better job than his current barber (and god damn did you line that boy up right).

He always comes in between calls, dressed in his bunker pants and station-issued t-shirt, tucked in, strolling in casually, waiting patiently until you're finished with your client to approach you, your favorite drink from that one spot he heard you talk about last time he came in in his hand, a smile painted across his lips as he approaches you, kissing you on the forehead without shame.

Some of the customers give you both weird looks, either uncomfortable with the PDA or confused why, first off, a firefighter was in the barbershop/salon so casually on a random Thursday afternoon, and two, why he was being so lovey-dovey with you? (They wish it were them so badly, it's pathetic, and Gaz tells you just how pathetic he finds it in private, fighting back the urge to scoff and roll his eyes whenever he catches the stares in person).

He'll sit in the seat, talking with you as you sweep the floor of hair or clean up your work station, leaning into it comfortably, slowly spinning around it as the two of you converse, asking you about how you're days going so far, stealing a sip of your drink with a cheeky grin every once in a while as he listens to you speak (he likes it especially when you whisper out complaints to him about some of the customers you've had so far, or share some of the conversations you've had or overheard with customers).

And the look in his eyes as he listens to you speak? God. The only way to describe it is enamored, completely overwhelmed with love and awe and admiration and every positive word you could find in a dictionary. You often joke with him that you can see his eyes popping out cartoonishly in the shapes of hearts as he stares at you, to which he only responds, saying "It's 'cause you look so good when you talk about doing the thing you love... can't help myself".

He'll talk about his work, a tone of boredom hinting at his tone, not as interested in talking about his own job when he could be listening to you, but if you want him to talk, who is he to deny you? (Like, he could have had the most eventful day, dealt with a goer, two Class B's, or something worse, and he'd act like it was nothing).

Presses a kiss to the back of your hand and gives your a grin as he's called back to the station, telling you to give him a call when you get off so he can come pick you up in the truck. (He always tell you that "royalty like you has got to have a proper carriage, don't you think so, love?").

[sanzaibian]

Life is really unjust.

My name is Killian Ndiaye, and I’m intimately acquainted with its bad side. My father died while I was young, leaving me to be raised along with my younger sisters by only my ma. We weren’t rich by any means, so it meant that my ma made ridiculous hours at her job, and that us, when old enough, had to pitch in with part-time jobs. Thankfully, I was quite an intelligent kid, and still managed to have quite good grades. However, that didn’t mean that school life was easier, as I was always labeled as the “poor nerd” in class, wearing the few simple clothes I owned and sporting the buzzcut my ma cut for me. As she always said, others just cared more about looks than about life.

However, this was not the last of my struggles, quite the countrary as it turned out that I wasn’t the cis straight man I was supposed to become. High school was formative in that sense, as it’s in there that I noticed that I wasn’t into girls like the other guys my age were, and like ma expected me to be. I… had a very hard time admitting that I was gay. Ma always told me that those “queers” didn’t know what life was like, and that they were just living carelessly, wasting their parent’s efforts… I didn’t want to wast my ma’s efforts, as I love her, yet I couldn’t hide from the truth. I’m gay, and that’s just it.

I vainly thought that I just needed not to be like “those gays”, those who live in the hairdresser’s, the clothing store and the clubs, looking all like fairies, and that everything was going to be alright. How shameful it was when, at 17, I started questioning my gender, so disconnected I feel to masculinity and other men’s experiences, and so uncomfortable I am with the facial hair that just won’t stop growing… I thought that if I just suppressed it, if I was just the most “normal” I could be, then everything was going to be alright. That perhaps, I just needed to alleviate a bit my dysphoria, and everything was going to be alright.

However, my ma is a very observant person. As I was approaching majority, she started to make comments about a girlfriend, and about me stubbornly shaving my face. I just dismissed those questions, still foolishly hoping that everything would end well.

When I was 18, she asked me whether I was gay. I couldn’t lie to my ma.

And we arrive to now, a few years later. My ma “didn’t want a fairy in her house”, so I stayed with a few friends. But when they went to college and I couldn’t, I was left to fend for myself alone. Now, I live in the streets, and spend my time alternating between finding part-time work and begging in the city. I do it whenever I need to go somewhere, and though I don’t do anything illegal – I even spend some of my meager funds on a transports card – it absolutely does not mean that I’m suddenly well-liked.

Few are those who spare any money. And on top of that, because I’m a black man, I hear plenty of racist comments. As if they thought I didn’t hear them asking me to “return to my country”, even though I’m already there… And the most depressing fact of this all is, because I can’t really shave anymore, my dysphoria is going through the roof. My life is hell, but I keep at it in the vain hope that I’ll be able to climb back to a respectable life.

However, today was especially terrible. I had found an interesting job of installing the equipment for a big concert, and actually ventured quite far from the center of the city to go to the big theater. When I arrived there, they told me that they weren’t looking for anyone, they had all the help they needed. Dejected, I left, but as I was leaving, another young guy entered. I hang out a bit to hear what was going on, and I heard that he was hired for the temporary job. I guess they thought I would steal from them or something… It’s so unfair ! I love music, and at school always wanted to do something that had a link to it ! I was so hyped to work in this job ! I thought that if I worked hard enough, people would even notice me and my good knowledge of the equipment, and would consider me as a good partner for further work ! But, as ever, all those dreams were, once again, cut short…

On the way back, I started begging, but as I reached the back of the first bus, I saw what looked like a man in a dress, wearing makeup and nail polish, being harassed by an older-looking woman.

“(…) and any sensible person ! How do you expect me to do nothing while a pervert is preparing to go to women’s bathrooms and assault girls ? You should be ashamed of endangering others ! - Miss... please stop… I swear I won’t do anything bad…” The person in a dress said, clearly on the brink of tears. - And how can I trust you ? I know you snakes, you’re just saying this to then go and continue your business unharmed !”

As she was about to continue harassing that person, I decided I needed to step in. I want there to be justice at least somewhere, even if it can’t be in my life. I step between her and the person in a dress, and ask calmly :

“Miss, please stop. They are clearly really hurt by your comments, and everybody around us is uncomfortable with this display.” I say, as I watch everyone else looking away, as if nothing’s happening. Courage shines ever so hard… - Oh, now a beggar is coming ? You should go back to your country or find a goddamn job rather than profiting off of our hard work !” She said, clutching her designer bag, as if I was going to steal it. - Miss, these comments are really racist. Please stop.” I stay, choosing to remain calm and composed. - What, can’t I say what things are ? That’s really all the wokist’s fault, nowadays we can’t say anything, we have to walk on eggshells at all times ! I’m not racist, but if you want racism to stop, you have to stop overreacting at everything !”

She looks at me with a smug look, as I’m about to lose it. I can’t answer anything, because, unfortunately, one can’t argue out of nonsense ! Especially someone like me who’s not trained in rhetoric – I had part-time jobs at the time ! … at least, I can shield that person with a dress from further harassment. I look behind, and see them smiling to me, thankful for my help. If I can help at least one person, I’ll be happy.

Suddenly, the sound of thunder rings in my ears.

No one seems to be bothered by it, save for the old woman who seems to be just as uncomfortable as I am. I turn to see the person I was protecting, however their eyes glow an unnatural color… What’s- Before I can even try and understand what’s happening, a headache strikes, and I instinctively put my hand on my face. Fuck, I hope I haven’t gotten a cold or something, medication is hard to come by…

As I’m holding my face, a few fingers make their way in my beard (ugh). But suddenly, I feel it shifting. Intrigued, I touch my beard more thoroughly, and feel the hairs receding, growing smaller and smaller, until they finally come back under my skin. How did that happen ? I mean, I like not having a beard, but still, it’s not normal… I look in front of me and it seems that the woman is losing wrinkles. What’s happening !

The bus stops. Quite a few people leave. Why was I here ? … yes, I had to do something with the people on it… was it work ? I don’t quite remember… However, as I look around me, I suddenly notice that the people who looked away previously looked a little bigger. As if they were… bulking up ? As I notice that, I feel pain on my body. When I look down, it seems that my undernourished body looks more healthy… No, not just healthy, it looks… muscular ? I’m… inflating, somehow ?

The bus starts again, yet this time, its course seems smoother… I look in front of me and notice that the old – now young – woman’s hair is now tied up in a bun. Almost instinctively, I take my hand to my hair, and feel it moving. What was a short messy afro is growing, however, something even weirder happens. As it grows, I feel strands joining, growing into large spirals. It’s no longer a sponge-like mass, it’s more like… coils ? My hand presses less and less. I need to be careful about my hair, I don’t want to have to go to the hairdresser again !

I stop myself at my thoughts. Hairdresser ? They’re a waste of time ! Only those who don’t care about life – or don’t have to care about life – go to those and try to look good. Yet… it feels good. No, actually, it feels... right… Like, it’s right to want to look good ? I mean, look at me, I have muscles, I have good hair, I look good ! Suddenly, I feel my t-shirt straightening and softening. I look down as its color drains, and it splits in the middle. I smirk, and as the collar hardens and folds, I open it the shirt up to the middle of my chest, right as buttons materialize.

The woman in front of me, now sporting a much more formal costume, sighs and gives me a black jacket. I take it and put it on expertly on top of my dress shirt, fitting it right down to the belt holding my dark jeans. She then sits on one of the seats, more in the front of the bus. She really looks stylish, as one should… after all, fashion is the be-all and end-all ! One of the other passengers comes to me, quite a muscular guy dressed in a black suit, and starts putting makeup on me. I close my eyes as foundation, concealer, mascara, and tattoos are put on my face and body. I can do it all myself, but having a professional do it is always better. That’s why I always go around accompanied.

I suddenly open my eyes. What the hell is happening ! I don’t have a tattoo ! I don’t do makeup ! Hair and clothes suffice ! ... I scratch my shaved sides, until I reach my earrings. Yeah, it suffices… good hair, good clothes, good makeup and good accessories… it suffices…

“Are you good, Mx. Ndiaye ?” The makeup artist asks me. - Yes, don’t worry, I’m good.” I say, with a deep yet feminine voice. It seems wrong somehow… - Do you want to see the results ? - Of fucking course !”

The makeup artist grabs a pocket mirror and holds it to me.

Oh yeah, I’m so fucking gender ! Plus my necklaces oozes fanciness. Like, it makes me look so fucking rich ! I look around me. The vehicle somehow seems more… cramped, even though at the same time it seems more spacious, with its large seats. My head hurts, it really feels like something is wrong…

Suddenly, the limousine stops. Annoyed, I shout to the chauffeur :

“Magdalena ! Why the hell are you stopping ? We’re not at the villa yet !”

The chauffeur looks back. Wasn’t she an old grumpy woman just now ? She looks so young and has such fancy clothes, even though it’s quite clear that she isn’t from high society.

Ugh, my head really hurts...

“I’m sorry, Mx. Ndiaye, we have new guests to pick up at your request.”

I look around and see that person with a dress leaving. Suddenly, it all comes back as a flash of light. I’m not supposed to be an ultra-rich person, I don’t need all of these fancy clothes and accessories ! … I’M SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE STREETS !

That person, as if they were reading in my mind, answers in a rich and deep yet slightly unsettling feminine voice :

“You have the gratitude of the calamities, Mx. Ndiaye. Accept this… gift.” They say, smiling as they get out, followed by the makeup artist and one of my two personal guards – the other staying at the front of the vehicle.

Suddenly, it’s as if a fog descends on my mind. Like, what was I thinking about ? Oh, yeah, I was thinking about my next song that I’ll film in the villa ! Ugh, it’s so annoying that my agent asks me to pump out banger after banger like, I have all the money in the world… but I guess it’s alright to work a little. This way, I get famous and get laid, and that’s the only thing that really matters. As I’m about to shout on the chauffeur to ask why she’s not turning the limousine back on, two guys, a cute twink and hot hunk, climb aboard. I lick my lips. It’s gonna be a great night.

“So, guys,” I say, letting them take place in my arms at my right and my left. “have you heard of my new song that’s gonna come out ? If you’re good enough, I might even let you in in the filming for the clip…”

And the limousine sets off.

The sun comes to my eyes, and I wake up in a giant luxurious queen bed, with my two conquests sleeping tight at my left and my right.

I smile as I get up, naked. Yesterday’s clothes were flung in all directions, and as I approach them, I see they’re all crumpled. I chuckle. We had a ton of fun last night… Besides, Magdalena’s gonna be the one to pick that all up. I take from the closet a nice pair of white pants and a white shirt, and put them on quickly. I go to the balcony, and look at the view.

Life is really unjust.

I get to live the perfect life, while others are left to pick up the remaining pieces.

But when you’re on its good side,

Life is fucking lit.

[scotianostra]

On 24th February 1923, the world famous steam train, the Flying Scotsman, went into service.

From the 1920s the train was considered the height of luxury. Onboard there were first-class restaurant facilities, a cocktail bar and radio equipment, so passengers could hear the horse-racing results.

There was even a hairdressing salon where men could have their facial hair shaved with an open razor, made possible because the barber's chair was set in such a position that there would be "no jolting". I'm not sure I would have a shave in a moving train!

The train's hairdresser was reportedly known as "Sweeney Todd of the Rails", given his precarious trade.

In 1928 the train broke the record for the longest regular non-stop train journey in the world, when the LNER ran an express service for the entire 393-mile route.

This record would last until 1948, when, unintentionally, the train broke its own record. The Flying Scotsman ran for 408 and a half miles in May of that year when flood damage to the main line caused diversions via St Boswells and Kelso.

Throughout World War II The Flying Scotsman was one of the few titled trains that continued to operate along the East Coast - it carried troops between London and Scotland, although the headboards and roofboards were removed for security.

And, on 21st June 1958, in a historic move which would signal the decline of steam, The Flying Scotsman was hauled for the first time by a diesel locomotive.

The service is currently run by government-owned East Coast.

In May 2011 they relaunched the service, painting one of their locomotives, the Class 91 No. 91101 with Flying Scotsman branding.

At the launch East Coast said the move was "part of our policy of bringing back train names and restoring pride, passion and even a touch of glamour and romance back to the East Coast railway".

It's not all a romantic journey though, just last September there was, what the called a "slow speed” crash with another heritage train hours before visitors were due to board it.

It happened lwhen the ocomotive was being shunted into place to be coupled with the Royal Scotsman train carriages, which were stationary.

A spokesman for Royal Scotsman train owner Belmond described the collision as “minor” and said there had been no major injuries.

"We are grateful for the prompt attendance by paramedics who were on site to assist the few passengers and team members who sustained minor injuries,” the spokesman said.

"One passenger and one team member are attending hospital for a precautionary check-up.

"All passengers have been transferred to a hotel where our team is on standby to offer support and to assist with our guests’ onward travel arrangements."

Last year ater travelling 10,000 miles across the UK as part of its centenary celebrations, world famous locomotive Flying Scotsman will spend the first part of 2024 on static display at the National Railway Museum in York before resuming rail tours later in the year.

The custodianship of The Flying Scotsman is up for tender later this year, so by this time next year I may be telling you about new "owners"

[vern-hairdressing-style-college]

Have fun with short bob haircuts ✂️✂️ Make you have countless different looks

Contrast hairstyles are beautiful from all angles.

Neat and stylish with wispy effects. Put curls together to modify face shape. 😊 Add a sweet temperament overall!

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 6

There were *always* reminders that Casper was not amongst humans. 

If a human child annoyed a parent, did something mildly wrong or endangered themselves, it was common for their offending hand to receive a slight swat. It was never meant to be enough to hurt the child or even sting. It was meant to be a sudden negative sensation that caught the child's attention and instilled an understanding not to do something. 

However, when Casper reached up, wormed his fingers underneath his hairline to scratch at the itch that was burning his scalp, the geckin hairdresser merely poked the human's offending hand with her short, but still sharp claw as she would a geckin child. It felt like being pricked with a needle and had the young man whip his hand away as an instinct. 

"Stop touching it." She ordered. 

To be fair to her, she had spent ample time already ensuring that the wig was correctly set and Casper, worrying it, was threatening to undo her efforts. 

"It's itchy." Casper complained, looking down at his fingers where a jewel of bright red blood had appeared on the side of his finger. Human flesh was not as protective as geckin scales. Already, he had picked up a myriad of small scratches, scabs and even scars; just from interacting with the other aliens amongst the stars and their sharp claws. He put the finger to his lips and ensured that the bright red liquid wouldn't stain anything. 

"It's not itchy, now hold still." The black geckin ordered again, focused on her work as she applied make up to the young man's face. He watched in the mirror as the darkened patches around his eyes were brought back to a lighter shade, something resembling what he looked like when the human had first arrived.

"Why is it blonde? I had brown hair..." Casper asked, frowning at the mirror and the lightning yellow hair that topped his scalp.

"Just be glad there was even a wig of this type on the planet, we didn't have options *human*." Snapped the artist. She glanced back to the mirror, then back to his face, squinting. Appraising him.

A picture of his face as it was, was attached to the mirror that the stylist referred to often. It was supplied by the planet's administration so the geckin knew what she was aiming for with the wig and makeup. Casper merely sat in silence as his pale skin was returned to a healthier pinker shade. He'd changed a lot.

He had mildly expected her to overdo it, or make him look silly, but since it was the government demanding a stylist, apparently, she was very skilled at her craft, and it was evident in her work. Before long, Casper looked like a healthy human again. The young man remembered briefly, that this was what he was supposed to look like.

"Right! Is he ready?" Demanded a voice from the doorway, as it opened the same moment the voice spoke.

"As he can be..." The geckin mumbled, glancing from his face to his reflection. "He's so pale..."

"Ah he's fine! Fighting fit! Aren't you?" Demanded the voice.

Casper whispered a 'thanks' to the stylist who only shrugged and began packing her plethora of equipment away. The young man stood and found a government official in the doorway, stood atop a bipedal platform that was adorned with the government seal on the very front. The young man had no idea who this guy was, but the geckin was looking to him expectantly.

"Of course. Fit as a fiddle." Casper retorted, wiping his hands down the front of his outfit. It was of fine make, the materials felt expensive, but the fit was off. Made by alien hands who worked around the strange dimensions of the clothes they were making. It was obvious the tailer, albeit skilled, had biases. It was tight across the shoulders, a tailhole in the trousers had been hastily stitched up after being left in. It felt like the legs were overly tight on his thighs, but then drowned his calves in loose material.

Still, he wasn't expected to wear this getup for long. Long enough to fool someone. Just enough to get the GC off both his back and the geckin administration's. As Casper approached, the newcomer backed out of the room and began walking, gesturing for the far taller human to follow.

"Okay, so I know we've gone over this already, but one last time from the top." The diminutive alien demanded. Casper caught up and mentally went through the checklist. He all but physically ticked off his fingers as he spoke.

"The GC are checking up on me. Making sure I'm healthy and happy. I don't know this. I am to act 'mildly surprised' that they're calling. If they mention the fact the other humans are missing, I'm to be shocked and ask if they are okay. If they offer one of these new guardians or their program, I 'naturally' suggest assigning Qik, as she and I have become good friends and she's been looking after me." Casper summarised succinctly. "Happy, healthy, not using giant mechs."

"Excellent, don't forget to do that tooth thing. Lots of that tooth showing thing." The geckin continued, not looking back to Casper as they approached another door. Smiling, the geckins, nor the lopeljacks smiled. They weren't apes, teeth were a threat display to them, but they knew and understood that Casper smiling was a 'good' thing, at least his handlers did. The young man blinked, thinking back to when he had last smiled.

Three weeks ago? Qik had told him about a joke in the mess hall. He didn't go to the mess hall now.

The door they approached opened and the room beyond was revealed to contain a whole geckin media team, sat at various chairs, all with consoles that connected via wires to a lone console that sat in front of a backdrop and an empty chair, both sized for a human. The image of the backdrop was one of an ample living room with a 'lived in' feel. Tasteful mess spoke of a comfortable occupant. The layout looked somewhat like Casper's own living quarters, but his were still almost unused. Most nights he got home, fell into bed, then woke and left in the morning. The only 'used' part of his room was the bed and maybe the bathroom.

Blinking, he corrected; his kitchen counter had several empty nutrient slurry bowls, stacked several high.

Qik was sulking in an unused corner, her own personal thunder cloud keeping everyone away from her. The significant frown on her face broke briefly when she gave Casper as a smirk lifted her features before her face dropped again. It wasn't hard to guess why she was angry; she was dressed ridiculously, at least for her. He resisted the urge to itch under the stupid wig as he crossed the room.

In the few weeks that Casper had known Qik, she had never been one for wearing anything other than her Nerve-Suit, a leather jacket with merc patches stitched into the arms and back or a mechanic's jumpsuit to protect her brown fur from oil whilst she worked on her own rig. The bright white material that currently clung to her arms and legs, was out of the ordinary, not to mention that the fabric leotard that covered her body left little to the imagination. It gave her a very 'feminine' appearance, despite Qik being far from the stereotype. This was all covered, by strips of see-through silk that hung down off her body from around her neck, the material rippled in unseen air currents. It gave her a very clean, bright look, despite her face looking like she'd eaten a bee recently.

Casper joined her in the corner while the official went over to speak with one of the media team in hushed and hurried tones.

"You okay?" The young man asked the brooding figure.

"I hate wearing this shit." Qik snapped, glowering at the geckins who obviously had a hand in her current state. Casper glanced up at her and noticed a red dot had appeared around jewellery that had not been in her ears the day before. He touched his own ear and cleared his throat.

"You're bleeding. Haven't seen you with jewellery before." He said, adding his observation casually. She looked good.

"Course you haven't! I'm not taken." She snorted, pulling a tissue with red dots already on it and reached up to dab at her ear.

"Taken?" Casper asked, his brow furrowing. He knew so little of her, despite spending weeks under her tutelage.

"If you see a lopel with jewellery in the ear, it means they're not available. They.." she said, nodding to the geckins. "Say it makes me more appealing to the GC. Hurts like a bitch."

"Huh, you never had a piercing?" The human asked, mildly shocked this was new for her. She seemed so world travelled, he would have expected something like a piercing as a minimum.

"Obviously I have. If a contract needed me to sneak in somewhere, I'd use jewellery to pretend I'm one of the 'safe' ones. You know? Keep my ears up, act like I have a single braincell?" She explained, tilting her hand as if it was a normal conversation to talk about what amounted to espionage.

Casper couldn't resist grinning and adopted her stance, leaning against a wall, arms cross, one foot up for balance.

"You're going to need to explain all this before I join your merry band." Casper pointed out, the lopel to his left rolled her eyes and Qik sighed dramatically before speaking. Her tone was of a teacher, she wasn't being harsh with him, she was just on edge.

"Lopels with tall straight ears are non-combatants, they're the ones that have never had a hard day in their life. It's hard for someone like me, to re-straighten their ears once they droop. Without ear braces, I mean. Guards and security will look closer at lopels with dropped ears, like mine." Qik explained, briefly lifting one of her ears between two fingers. It appeared as if the ears had no cartilage in them and hung loose and low, completely floppy.

"Stress is the factor. It can be any kind of stress but get shot at enough times and your ears just fall one day. That's when most mercs switch from social covert contracts to overt contracts." She finished, waving a hand as if dismissing the subject. Casper had spent enough time with Qik now to have learnt he would only receive insults if he pressed the subject and merely filed the information away for later.

"Remember what we talked about." Qik whispered suddenly, straightening, and uncrossing her arms. Casper nearly asked her why she'd remind me now, when the geckin high commander walked in and room went still.

AS the same for all geckins of status, she too had a bipedal platform, but it made nary a whisper as it turned the corner into the room. How Qik had heard her, even with her oversized ears, was lost to Casper.

"Right. The call is due any minute. We ready?" The high commander demanded in a cold tone, looking over the room once before peering at the human and lopel together. She looked like any other geckin, only with black and purple stripes across her scales.

"We are." Qik replied, stepping away from Casper. She was distancing herself from him. He had to do this on his own. Casper mentally disconnected himself from his nerves, from his fear, just how Qik had shown him how to do it in combat.

"I need a quick word." The young man started with a firm tone, holding his stare with the commander. The black and purple geckin narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. Not a smile by any stretch. The entire room went silent as all eyes were on him and everyone held their breath.

"I wish to talk about a contract." He explained curtly.

"Is now the-" The commander attempted to dodge, but the budding new pilot had been coached about how they would attempt to avoid dealing with him when he was holding all the cards.

"Now is perfect. I am striking when I have the most control. Any time after this and the geckin government has the upper hand. The GC are about to ask if I'm happy. I'll be happy if I have a duplicate of Qik's contract. Your next mission is mine as well as Qik's, afterwards I am free to leave or write up a new one." Casper summarised immediately, covering all his bases, and ensuring no time was lost. He had to get this deal *before* the wellness check, not during or after.

"This is-" The geckin commander attempted again, trying to manoeuvre away. With the lopel's guidance, the geckins were, as Qik had warned; predictable.

"Ma'am. This is not a bluff. You know I'm good, that's why you've let me train as I have, but I'm not *yours*. I never was, that was an error on your phycologist's part." The man repeated the lopel's words, whispered as they were whilst they had suited up for the mechs in the last few days.

"The lopel will betray you the second the price is right." The commander pointed out. Exactly as Qik had foreseen.

"Then I'll deal with it then and you can say 'told you so', but right now I need that contract." He pressed, tilting his head down a fraction. The geckin hissed again, but her eyes never left the human's. Casper may have blinked, if he was the same person he was when he had first arrived on the planet. But the young man that had arrived wasn't there anymore.

He felt his emotions were far away, sat inside a metal machine, just waiting for him to reattach. Any nervousness was lost to the grey fog that his mind had. The only reason he was so awake and aware was because of the stimulant Qik had slipped him weeks ago. He took a hit any day he wasn't planned to be inside his rig. He was at his weakest in this moment, yet could no show that to anyone in the room.

Seconds inched by before the geckin sneered and blinked, nodding to the human.

"Very well. You have my word. When this backfires, you might remember the geckin government was here at your beginning and allowed you to leave when asked. We could arrange recovery and a new contract. One you may find favourable." The small creature that could order his execution stated flatly.

"This was just business Ma'am. I know I had you over a barrel with this, but I'm not so dumb as to think you'd give me up that easily otherwise." Casper grinned a cold grin. One that 'showed teeth' but was devoid of warmth and happiness. It was a smile that the high commander understood and returned. Qik had said the geckin military would ultimately respect someone who can push their advantage in overwhelming odds. Any geckin understood that, especially after the ssypno hegemony had tried and failed to vassalize them as a species.

At least they hadn’t succeeded yet.

"You're going to be vicious." The high commander complimented, "With that aside, are you ready?" She asked curtly, all 'niceness' gone from her tone. Casper carefully let out a pent-up breath and mentally shook himself.

He was not a vicious person, not really...

But he did fine it...

Easier...

In recent times to be disconnected. Still, that could have all backfired and blown up in his face if they had called his bluff. Even if Casper had called out for help to the GC on the wellness check, it would still take time for their closest craft to come and get him. Ample time for problems to appear and accidents to happen.

Before he could respond to her though, one of the media team piped up.

"Calls coming in, it's marked for his attention."

The high commander tilted her head and appraised the human.

"Ready?"

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[lordkingsmith]

On the subject of “if we gave people incentives, money, and healthcare and let them choose to do whatever they want” I’m in a local museum all about cleanliness and the history of cleaning equipment and health. The guy who founded it is a local celebrity whose entire Thing is cleanliness.

Apparently from the moment he could talk he was fascinated by cleaning stuff and wanted to do stuff like that. He got lucky and was able to do it, and got huge. You probably buy his cleaning supplies in stores and don’t know who he is, but that’s what he wants

He founded a children’s museum with the money he made to teach children to love cleanliness and safety. And I spent three and a half hours watching my nibling have the time of their life in this museum of clean.

While not everyone will be a local celebrity who opens a museum (not everyone wants to) I can’t help but think how many kids would happily choose this job opportunity if allowed. Or do this but hairdressing. Or other massive amounts of “lesser” stuff.

I’m not explaining well but I am in a museum proof of what happens when you give someone the choice and support and safety net to actually, literally, be able to be whatever they want.

Because some people want to fix toilet clogs and study the history of cleanliness and that’s great

[theoriginalmarke]

GOODBYE MOM

Her pain is gone, the battle is over.

She had 83 years of adventures. Indiana, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, Florida. Las Vegas, Utah, Arizona. Hairdresser, teacher, real estate, furniture sales. Fine jewelry at the MGM Grand when it first opened. Lots of adventures.

I have an appointment with the funeral home this morning. She'll be cremated and we'll probably have a memorial service at her church later.

While going through her paperwork looking for information I'm going to need I realized just how much work I have ahead of me. Sorting and cleaning and deciding and... it's a lot.

I have people I've never met to call today. I texted several neighbors yesterday. The neighbor across the street was watching and showed up the minute the hearse drove away. Bless her heart.

The equipment company just texted and want to come this morning to pick up her bed and oxygen and such. That's going to change my schedule. I need to squeeze in a shower and I'd kind of like something for breakfast if I have time.

I guess I better get moving. Sigh. I'd rather go back to bed and snuggle with the dogs.

I love you, baby. I miss you.

Y'all have a great day.

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Hairdresser!Reader

Back To Work (Part 6)

Summary:You make good on your promise of giving Steve his haircut, whilst also learning a few things from him about Eddie.

Word Count:1, 131 (sorry it's a short one this time!)

<-Previous Part Next Part ->

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You drive your way over to Steve’s home, a modest little place, an apartment on the edge of the town not from where he works in the coffee shop.

You knock at his door with your hairdresser’s kit in a bag slung over your shoulder.

“Steve! It’s me!” you shout from behind the door. 

He opens up the door, dressed in an old, well-worn t-shirt and a pair of shorter than you expected shorts. So this is what Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wears on his day off, huh?

“Hey! How are you?” he says, welcoming you into his apartment.

“Good thanks.” you nod. “So where do you want to do this? '' you ask, gesturing to your heavy bag of haidresser’s equipment.

“Oh you can put your stuff right here, it’ll be fine.” he says, tapping his hand against the small dining table in his kitchen.

You set down your bag as he pulls out a chair from underneath the table and sits down.

“So what are we doing today, Steve?” you ask, as you swish a hair-dressing cape around his shoulders to stop the hair going all over his clothes.

“Anything you can do that doesn’t involve any kind of clippers going anywhere near my head would be deeply appreciated, thank you.”

“Don’t worry you’re in safe hands with me.” you reassure, as you rake your fingers through his tousled mess of hair. “You’re going to feel like a new man once I’m done with you, Harrington.”

You grab your water bottle and begin by spritzing his hair just enough to wet everything down, before turning to grab your comb to slick through his hair. Then you reach into your kit to pull out your scissors to start snipping away at the longer strands. You alternate between snipping the hair and combing your brush through to ensure that everything is the right length.

“I drove past a perfectly good barber’s shop on my way here, so what’s this hang-up you have over hair clippers and going to the barbers?” You ask, easily falling into the natural chatter that you used on all your clients. It was one of the skills you prided yourself on, to put people at ease 

“Well, it’s just that when I was a kid my mom would always take me to the salon with her when she went, and I would get my hair cut there too sometimes. Then, one day, my dad took me to a barber shop, said it was about time that a boy like me should be going to the same barber’s as his old man, said that my long hair made me look like a girl, then they clipped my hair so short. I cried the whole time.” he says, the hurt in voice still present even now. "I even have a little scar at the back where the guy got a bit too trigger-happy with the clippers." He huffs.

Sure enough through the layers, there it is. A small line of scarring where the base of his skull flows down to his neck, where the hair refuses to grow.

"I guess I wanted to grow my hair out as an act of rebellion?" He offers, as some semblance of explanation. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you suit longer hair in my opinion. I’m just here to tidy you up.” you reassure with a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks. Anyway! Enough about me, a little birdy told me that you went on a date with a certain metal-head yesterday?” he asks, his voice raising slightly in a teasing tone. 

“A little birdy, huh? You mean Robin.” you poke back with a laugh. “Yeah, Eddie took me out to the Maple Bridge fall festival. It was nice.” you answer, with a slight smile playing at your lips as you begin to refine Steve’s layers.

 “Maple Bridge, huh?” he retorts with a smirk that despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, you just knew was gracing his features. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, we picked pumpkins and had a quiet drink in the barn. I had a nice time with him. Why is that interesting?” you say, unsure what Steve was getting at with his line of questioning.

“I’ve known Eddie for a few years, and if it’s one thing I know about him is that he loves the fall, like, all of it. Halloween, Pumpkins, Pumpkin Pie, everything. The whole shebang. He goes to the Maple Bridge festival every year. Never misses it.

Steve keeps talking as you start to ruffle a texturising clay through his now freshly cut hair, listening intently as he speaks.  

“..And for the past few years he’s always gone alone. We’ve all offered to go with him, of course, but he always insists on going by himself. So, he must really like you if he’s taken you there on a first date.”

“I don’t know what to say.” you stammer at the revelation of this news. 

“Look, I’m hosting a Halloween party next week. Robin's gonna be there, you can invite Eddie, it’ll be great, I promise.”

“Alright. I’m down for a party.” you say, as you reach for your hairdryer.

“Good. Of course it’s a costume party, so I expect to see you all dressed up.” he laughs.

You cut Steve off with the loud sound of your hairdryer, completely ignoring him.

“Alright! That’s you all done.” You say as you gather your kit up.

“Thank you so much, you’ve done an awesome job of it. Better than any other haircut I've had before, that's for sure." he says with a smile ruffling his fingers through his freshly styled hair. “This is for you.” he nods, pressing the money into your hand.

"Oh thank you!" You smile, slipping your money into your back pocket.

"Seriously! I'm going to be coming to you for my haircuts from now on!" Steve praises.

"Anytime! It was a delight to work on such a glorious head of hair such as yours" You nod.

"I really do hope you come to the party, it'll be nice to have some more friendly faces there!"

"I'll see you then!" And with that, you wave him goodbye as you make your way out of his apartment. 

You burst through the door to Robin’s apartment, dropping your bag on the floor as you come in.

"Robin. I need your help." you rush out in a panicked tone.

"What’s going on?” she spluttered back, matching your alarmed nature.

"Steve invited me to his Halloween party next week and I need to find a costume."

Robin breathes a sigh of relief, you always did have a flair for the dramatics.

"Don't worry, we'll find you something, We can hit up the mall tomorrow, there's gotta be something there."

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfiregirlxx @sunflowerdaydreamer @mmunson86 @avalon-wolf @ali-r3n @jesssssmaybankk

[gobeautysalon]

Beauty Salon Equipment Manufacturer |

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