#london insulation

[sprayfoaminsulationquotes]

Top Benefits of Spray Foam Insulation UK

One of the benefits of spray loft insulation is that it is sturdy; the structure of the house has more integrity as a result. Foam will fill the cracks properly, with the attic better protected from water even if a storm rips off the roof. Below, we’ve put together some of the major benefits of spray foam insulation.

[thegreatyin]

slowly yet surely,,

[dogbunni]

if I have been a little quiet this past week that is bc life is swinging a giant cartoon mallet at my head and cackling like the joker experiencing the adrenaline rush of batman driving the batmobile towards him at 120mph. thank you

[closedcell-uk]

Closed Cell Foam Removal Specialist

A Closed-Cell Foam Removal Specialist is an expert trained in the safe and efficient removal of closed-cell foam insulation from structures. Closed-cell foam is a high-performance insulation material known for its dense structure, air-sealing capabilities, and moisture resistance. While effective, this foam can be difficult to remove due to its strong adhesion and rigid nature, which is why a specialist is often required.

Expertise and Skills:

Technical Knowledge: Closed-cell foam removal specialists have a deep understanding of how closed-cell insulation behaves, including its adhesive properties and impact on surfaces. They know the best techniques to apply depending on the material’s condition and the surface it's adhered to.

Specialized Tools and Techniques: These professionals use specialized equipment for mechanical removal (scraping, cutting, or grinding) or chemical agents to soften the foam, making it easier to remove. They may also use heat application methods, such as infrared or heat guns, to aid in extraction.

Problem-Solving Skills: Specialists assess each project individually, determining the safest and most efficient removal strategy based on the type of foam, the installation environment, and the condition of the underlying structure.

[sprayfoamremovals]

Spray Foam Insulation Condition Surveys

With years of experience in the spray foam removal industry, we now offer you the service of carrying out a complete and rigorous survey of your spray foam insulation installation.

[atw-external-doors]

Enhance Home Security and Style with Our Range of Front Doors

Your home's front door is more than just an entry point. It serves as a statement piece, blending functionality, style, and security. At authentictimberwindows.com, we take pride in offering a diverse range of front doors, from classic oak options to exterior doors designed for both aesthetics and safety.

Safety First: Top-Notch Locking Systems

Ensuring your family's safety is our utmost priority. That's why we've integrated top-notch locking systems into our doors. Our high-security locking mechanisms, including a 3-star high-security cylinder and multipoint locking system, are engineered to keep your home secure, providing peace of mind for you and your family.

Expert Installation: Ensuring Functionality and Aesthetics

Choosing the right door is crucial, but proper installation is equally essential. Our team of expert installers is dedicated to not only ensuring the door's functionality but also enhancing the aesthetic appeal of your home. With their expertise, your door will not only look amazing but also add significant value to your property.

Long-Term Assurance: 10-Year Guarantee

We stand by the quality of our products and installation services. That's why we offer a 10-year guarantee, providing you with the confidence and assurance that your investment is protected. Your satisfaction and peace of mind matter to us, and our guarantee reflects our commitment to quality.

Aesthetic Appeal: Diverse Range of External Doors

Every home has its unique style. We understand this diversity and offer a wide array of external doors to match various architectural designs. From classic oak doors to modern, elegant designs, our collection ensures that your home's entrance reflects your personal style.

Transforming Your Home's Entrance

Investing in a new front door is not just about enhancing the appearance of your home. It's about reinforcing security and creating a welcoming entryway. At [Your Company Name], we strive to offer not only a beautiful selection of front doors but also the assurance of safety and quality, ensuring that your home's entrance makes a lasting impression while keeping your family secure.

[poppy86579]

6 Reasons to add an Addition to Your Home

Owning a home is a dream come true for many people. If you’ve been enjoying your home for many years, there may come a time when it’s time make a change to breathe some new life into your home by making some additions and improvements. A room addition is a great way to transform your home to give you space that you’ve been longing for.

Building a room is a big task, so it’s important to choose the right contractor to guide the renovation and execute the work to your specifications. For home renovation in South West London, look no further than Doran Bros. Construction. As one of the leading renovation contractors, you can count on us to design and build your new add-on space that will exceed your expectations.

There are many benefits of adding an additional room to your house. Here are a few reasons why….

1. A Room Addition Creates Multiple Possibilities

When it comes to home improvement additions, more space is often high on the wish list, and a room addition is an obvious solution. A room addition gives you flexibility for the future. The additional space may serve one purpose today such as a home office, but in the future you might want to make it into a home gym.

2. Room for More Family Members

Young first-time home buyers may buy a new home to accommodate a small family. However, a home addition can provide more space for a growing family or for visitors.

 3. Added Property Value

A room addition can add property value to your existing home. A four-bedroom house would definitely have more market value than a three-bedroom house.

4. An Economical Solution to Moving

Building a new room (bedroom, bathroom, office, etc) is a much more economical solution that allows you to stay in your family home instead of purchasing a new one.

5. Add or Improve Natural Light

The addition of a sunroom can capture the warmth and light of the sun as well as reducing energy bills. And, if built properly, it can also improve house insulation.

6. Additional Functionality

Having an extra multi-purpose room can add more functionality to your home.

When you’re ready to get serious about a home addition project, contact Doran Bros. Construction. Continue exploring our website to see some of our house renovation projects in South London.

[chaussetteblanche]

Hi darling, I was wondering if you could write an imagine about Kit Connor x plus size reader where the readers is getting a lot of hate from social media for dating Kit.And he comforts her.If you don't want to it's fine. Have a nice day ❤️

hi lovely !! thanks so much for requesting <3

pairing : kit connor x plus-size!reader summary : your relationship with kit gets leaked and you get hate because of your size word count : 970 warnings : none, except for one use of 'fucking'

Your mind reflects the stormy London sky as it starts to darken. You're enveloped in a throw, a steaming mug of tea placed on the coffee next to your couch. The apartment is quiet, save for your quiet sniffles. Suddenly, someone knocks at the door. You groan quietly, closing your eyes tightly. You felt more tears roll down your cheeks.

"Darlin', it's me." His voice rings out from behind the door. Curse your apartment for having no insulation whatsoever. It really was no wonder you'd gotten complaints from the neighbours after Kit and you had had an eventful night. "C'mon, love, open up, I want to see that beautiful face of yours."

The video played over and over in your head. You hated the fact that you'd come to despise it because when Yaz had sent it to you, you'd swooned. Like, actually swooned. It was a video of the Heartstopper cast and their partners at a party. Only seven seconds of it had gone viral. The seven seconds it took for Kit to literally make heart eyes at you as you danced. The seven seconds it took for you to walk over to him and ask him if he wanted to dance with you. The seven seconds it took for him to pull you into a mind-devouring and reality-erasing kiss. The seven seconds it took for him to tell you that he loved you, for the first time, against your lips.

Frankly, he was the last person you wanted to see right now. But he was also the only person you wanted to see. Letting out a small, wet sigh, you got off the couch and trudged over to your front door, your bare feet resonating throughout the room as they hit the hardwood floor. With a click, you'd unlocked the door and opened it.

"Oh, darling." You hated the look on Kit's face when he saw the state you were in. Eyes red and puffy, hair messy, cheeks tear-stained, you knew you weren't at your best. But surely you couldn't look that bad as to turn his face into the epitome of guilty concern.

"I'm so-" "Don't you even dare," you interrupted him immediately. "None of this is your fault. The leak wasn't your fault and neither is the response." Kit licked his lips, eyebrows furrowed in such a way that you couldn't help the tears welling up in your eyes again.

"Can I touch you?" he asked softly, carefully. "Of course." You were engulfed by him as soon as you'd finished speaking. Kit always gave the best hugs, but this one was different. There was a kind of protectiveness to it, something that said I'm here, I won't let them hurt you any longer. A sob wracked through your body and Kit all but swallowed it as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your lips. "You don't deserve this, I'm so sorry this is happening.

He pulled the door shut, locked it and led you back to the couch, where he puffed up the cushions before he sat down and pulled you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face into his neck, soft sobs muffled his skin. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you ever closer.

You cried and cried until you couldn't anymore. You cried for all the times people called you disgusting, unattractive, unhealthy because of your weight. You cried for all the times you let yourself get beat down by a society whose beauty standards rested upon a number on a scale. You cried for all the times you loved yourself, unconditionally, and felt beautiful as a fuck-you to society and everybody who had made you feel unlovable. You cried for all the time Kit had made you feel beautiful and wanted and loved not despite your size and weight but because of them. You cried because you felt like that young teenager again, locked up in her room looking for magical weight-loss diets online because you couldn't stand looking at yourself in the mirror.

"I-" you hiccuped, "I hate the fact that it's getting to me. I don't want it to get to me. I've gone a long way since I let it get to me last." Kit cooed quietly, placing a kiss on your wet cheek. "This doesn't change anything, my sweet, you are still strong and have still come a long way. This doesn't set you back in the slightest." "I just wish I didn't care. And I wish society wasn't this fucking stupid." "I know, my love. It's mean and unbridled and unfounded disdain. It's unfair and you don't deserve it and I'm so, so sorry." You gently hit his shoulder. "I told you not to apologise, it's not your fault, Kit." He sighed and leaned his head back onto the back of the couch. "I- I know it's not technically my fault but I still feel somewhat responsible. Those people watched the show, some call themselves my fans and what they're doing to you, it's- And I can't do anything about it."

You pulled your face away from the crook of his neck, which you had left embarrassingly wet, and looked into his eyes. "I can't stop you from feeling guilty, but know that I don't hold anyone accountable in the slightest, except for the person who leaked that video of us kissing and all these people insulting me because of my size." Kit stared at you for a second. "I don't think you have any idea of how much I love you."

Your wet cheeks reddened in the slightest, your eyes looking down. "Do you wanna get your mind off it and watch a movie? We can order take out," he suggested. You nodded, a small smile etching its way onto your lips. "Nothing has ever sounded better."

[wildbluesorbit]

Wounded || JTK

…a continuation of London

18+MDNI

Paring: [drunk]asshole! Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy, back with more asshole Jake today! I know the last part took a very sharp turn but I promise I am telling a story. It's darkest just before dawn and all that. might have even wrote in a little surprise This piece is inspired by this little diddy, please give it a listen as there are so many lyrical references. Everyone say thank you @tommie-gvf for editing! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter; I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think!

Summary || Time heals all wounds, yet a year’s passing begs the question if Jake and you are just too broken to ever put the pieces back together.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, agoraphobia, haphephobia, mentions of nightmares, alcoholic consumption and inebriation, anger, brief mentions of physical aggression and bodily harm, verbal aggression, unsolicited touched, allusions to depressive episodes, allusions to sexual assault, [non-aggressive] attempted forced entry into readers bedroom

*disclaimer: I am in no way a mental health expert and google research can only get me so far*

Word Count || 4.8k+

You swear if the door could speak, it would mock you as you swarm around it. Like an impending predator ready to pounce on its victim; except that you aren’t and it isn’t. You simply stare at the ominous mass on hinges intent on boring a hole through the wood. For just maybe tonight, life would pour in through a glare-induced breach. For once, maybe the world would be kind and come to you.

You are drawn from your reverie by Jake calling your name, “It's okay, we don’t have to go.”

Already aware of the panic-induced rushing heat, you pull your insulative hair back from your flushing face.

You foolishly attempt to speak your courage-feasting fear out of existence, “Oh no, we’re going and we’re going to have a great time!” 

Jake, unconvinced, sleepily rubs his eyes and begins to slip off his well-loved vans at their perpetual displacement by the door.

“Really, it's fine, I’d rather stay in tonight anyways,” he huffs. 

You’re fidgeting alternates from your hair to the cold metal locks of the door, “Why are you taking off your shoes? Let's go!” 

He rests his tenacious hands on your shoulders as he starts to help you shimmy your coat off, “There’s no deadline, angel. It’s okay to not be ready. Don’t push.”

“I want to go out, I promise you,” childish pules make their way through your chest. 

You restrain yourself from stomping your feet like a restive toddler and blink away the unwelcome tears piercing the back of your eyes. 

“I know,” Jake’s voice echoes throughout the empty foyer as he hangs up your jacket, “but there’s no rush, I promise you too.”

It has been a year since London and Jake invited you to live in Nashville with him and Josh. At first, you had agreed only if you could help around the house just until you got back on your feet, but after a few weeks it had become prodigiously clear nothing beyond this point would be that painless. 

As soon as you made home in Nashville, you found yourself struggling to keep up with the world booming just beyond your bedroom. The look on Jake’s face when you were diagnosed with mild cases of haphephobia and agoraphobia almost made you dread you hadn’t stayed to wither away in London. On good days you managed a hug or even a car ride to the store but it was seldom, and only ever accompanied by Jake. You remained constant with your therapy and enervated yourself trying to break through life’s new barricades, but it proved a cheap fuel to get you through most days. 

You have lost count of the amount of nights you got ready for an evening out with Jake, in which he had to go on without you because you could not bring yourself to step beyond that petrifying threshold. So just like the many lost evenings before, you insist he go without you and, like always, you’d be waiting for him when he comes back.

“Fine, but not because you told me so,” you tease, “and put your shoes back on. You know the rules!”

If you couldn’t go out, you made certain you didn’t drag anyone else down with you. And if you are trapped inside, you make sure your weight is being pulled within.

As soon as it was clear you wouldn’t be leaving the house for a while you hunted for work you could perform from the comfort of your bed as a means to not sit idly with the demons trapped inside with you. Since you already had a business degree you landed on being a virtual accountant. But when you had free time you kept the Kiszka residence running smoothly.

Of course, they already had assistants and maids for domestic upkeep of the house and mostly everything was paid for, but you took initiative in commandeering any duties that slipped through those cracks. From taking care of plants and pets to ordering groceries, and even cooking some nights; responsibilities the twins claimed they wanted for themselves in an effort to stay grounded. Yet whether they accept it or not, they are rockstars with no time for such mundane tasks. 

The twins always make sure you know how much they appreciate you. You’d never admit it, but sometimes flowers or a cheesy note here and there is a small token that pulls you through the day. 

Danny and Sam also visit you when they have a chance. The boys always set aside a few minutes to catch up when they were at the house on a work call. Sometimes they’d take turns stopping by with lunch, checking in on your progress. They’d always tell you they miss you and encourage you to go out. Although, constantly being abraded by the same words can be challenging at times you never objected; you found their strategy endearing. It makes you feel like a princess; except for the days it made you sorely feel like a prisoner. 

Yet no matter what the other boys do, Jake is still the pinnacle of it all. The only one who understands the gravity of your experience, as he was there to witness it. He is the only one you feel you can talk to on the rare occasion you do want to talk about it. The only one who recognizes why you are the way you are and knows the tracks your mind runs on. The only one who truly knows how to take care of you when you don’t. Which means he is also aware you hadn’t found the mental capacity to figure out how the two of you fit into each other's lives.

Before the arrival of any real contemplation or diagnostics, you had tried a few times to rekindle the embers of your once-raging flame, but somehow everything always got put on hold or fizzled out. Some nights would consume you two. You’d imagine his pink plush pout everywhere and your touch seemed to send electricity through the man, but you always tapped out, neither of you addressing it. A few times you clung to the concept of Jake and you, charging through the strain of wanting to pull back and he was the one who would call it, consoling you when you hadn’t even registered you had started to cry or hyperventilate. That’s when you noticed Jake redirecting his time and energy into being your friend first and foremost. 

However, he never holds it against you as most nights are spent in your bed anyway. Sometimes he comes in to watch TV, read, listen to music, or just talk until he falls asleep next to you. Seldom do you pursue Jake’s touch, but there is an unbounded stillness about these nights; a safeness enabled by his giggles even breathing so close. These nights are your favorite, submitted to memory as long as fate will allow.

But more often than not, Jake’s nights start in his bed and journey to yours, pursuing his self-assigned task of soothing you back to sleep after a nasty nightmare would goad you awake.

You once asked him how he always knows; to which you immediately regretted as he responded sometimes he intuitively felt compelled to check on you. While other times you could be heard from down the hall; yet you secretly suspect he sometimes sneaks into your room to avoid nightmares of his own. Nevertheless, the last thing you ever wanted to become was Jake’s babysitting project, so you always make an effort to stay away from the phone when he is on the road. 

Days Jake was away proved bearable as many tasks around the house demanded your undivided attention. Yet evenings, when you stalled your mind long enough to fall asleep became excruciating. He’d usually check in after a show or drinks but the prowling monsters always came out of hiding as soon as he hung up. You almost always ended up sneaking into Jake’s bed, seeking comfort in the little strands of him living in his bedroom. You’d never confessed this though. 

Jake reels you from where you had been tucked away in your thoughts, “Danny’s here! Last chance to rescue me from this trainwreck and hog me all to yourself?”

He bats his long eyelashes at you and nods optimistically. 

“Have fun,” you giggle, shutting his whole pleading puppy dog act down. 

He grants you a bashful wave goodbye as you implore him to carry on his evening, as you would feel terrible if he stayed home just because you couldn’t leave. He agrees while perusing your eyes like he does every time before he parts from you. 

You had learned to read this signature appraisal as Jake’s silent survey as to whether he should actually leave or not. He never wanted to see you struggle to ask for something you needed if he found he could anticipate it. Though, It is always accompanied by one other departing look that you could never decipher.

That is until one day, compelled by your confusion that always follows, he told you he was fighting the urge to kiss you goodbye. He said it not to pressure you or coerce you into reciprocation, but just to be honest with you about what place you hold in his eyes. 

Jake whines one more time before you assure him he has no choice, “Do I have to go?!” 

You throw your hands in the air in an exaggerated dusting motion and feign a pestered grunt, “Shoo! Shoo!”

He notifies you he will be right back and his ringer is on if you need anything. You almost envy how gracefully Jake parts from you and vanishes through the door frame with no trouble at all.

— JAKE —

The music is too loud. The lights are too bright. The bar is far too crowded. The company your brothers force on you is nauseatingly obnoxious. You are decidedly miserable. You want nothing more than to crawl inside a cab that hauls you back to her bed. You’ve wanted nothing more for the past year. 

Instead, you endure it. Lead by example and don’t be an enabler. Your only comforting thought is that you don’t have to do it sober. You wash down your despair with the rest of your numbing elixir.

Reluctantly, you are pulled from your dissociation, “Jake?!”

You look up from your empty glass, flocking eyes of anticipation indicating they’ve reached a part of the conversation that requires your participation. You simply apologize and signal the waitress for a refill.

You feel your brother’s elbow gently prod against your rib cage, “What’s up?”

Josh means well, asking the question discreetly, but it still brings the pre-existing conversation to a halt. You wave him off, poorly portraying placidity. He doesn’t buy it, along with everyone else.

A girl you had met maybe a handful of times, you just can’t seem to recall her name at the moment, sat across the table from you. She had been tagging along recently and was particularly fond of Sam. You are clueless as to what purpose her next words serve or why they find you the way they do, just that she is illogically brazen as you don’t really know a thing about her and vice versa.

The nameless girl snickers unprompted, “Still couldn’t get your little puppy out of her cage, huh?”

The startling amount of intimate knowledge this stranger possesses is nearly paralyzing. Your eyes narrow in on a wide-eyed Sam.

Sam’s hands flail about as if he is looking to materialize a shield out of thin air to hide behind and panickedly begins to babble, “Wait- I didn’t tell- She wasn’t supposed to- She was eavesdropping!”

“I heard she won’t even let you pet her,” she smugly clicks her tongue.

All at once, the same raging fire that blazed within you that night in London lends itself to you once again. Painfully flickering in and out every so often, it never returns this lucid. 

That same destructive flame that scorched any and all sense of restraint to a crisp that night, roaring louder in your ears than any other voice of reason. The same seething blind red that found Hunter beaten beyond recognition, the only identifiable weapon being your hands bloodied and bruised and split. 

Like clouds catch the dancing auburn flare of a beaming bonfire, you question whether your face is a glowing ember reflecting your own raging flame. You aren’t certain you could say or do anything without completely losing your shit in this very bar.

Instead of fuming, you only finish your drink in an eerily serene manner. The only indication of rage being your knuckles wrapped white around your glass, your control alarmingly intact by a quickly unraveling thread.

You walk over to the bar to close out your tab. You refuse to give into the red haze as your brothers call after you, thoughtlessly beseeching for you to remain present and what that would mean for you. 

The bell above the door rings through your ears and the crisp chill breeze of night hits your face as you step through the exit, half extinguishing the fire lit by some loose-tongued stranger. 

You know you should go home but the last thing you want to do is further burden her in your short-fused state. You had been diligently adamant in keeping this monster carefully caged in her presence and weren’t about to let your hard work be tossed aside by some prick with a loud mouth. You can pretend to play it off, act like there is nothing wrong but that wouldn’t be fair to the both of you. She would see right through you. 

You decide you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here. You nuzzle into the warmth of your jacket as you wait for your noble rescue, via Uber.  

— YOU —

You vacillate between consciousness and void as your phone begins buzzing. Half asleep, you let it ring until the din resumes, fully pulling you from slumber. The unnaturally bright screen pierces through the dark room and Danny’s contact photo stings your adjusting eyes.

You force your slumber-frozen vocal cords to rasp out, “Hello?”

Danny’s tender voice sounds through the line, “Hey, sorry to wake you, hun. I just wanted to make sure Jake made it home okay?”

Still groggy from sleep, the question riddles you, “What? I haven’t heard him come through. He’s not with you?”

“Shit- He’s not at the house and he’s not answering his phone,” he mutters to someone on the other end.

Panic sets in and forces you to spring upwards, “Danny? What’s going on? Where’s Jake?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” his uneasy tone and evasion of your question do little to console you. 

“Daniel-,” you don’t get the chance to finish before you hear Jake stomping up the staircase.

“He’s right here, Danny, goodnight,” you rashly exhale the update before hanging up the phone and tossing it on the bed, of which you’ve already vacated and are headed for the stairs. 

You rush out of your room to see a sloppily inebriated Jake oozing up the steps. You swiftly plod down the incline till you reach the same level as the teetering drunk, intent on assisting him in his expedition to bed.  

You frantically begin to ramble off questions, “What happened? Where were you? Are you okay?”

You pet the frizzy hair away from his face and into a ponytail. Taking care of Jake suffocates any hesitation from his heavy touch as you throw his arm closest to you over your shoulder and place your hands around his waist for balance, eliciting a lazy giggle from him.

“They cut me’off,” he slurs, “can you b’lieve that?”

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “I can actually.”

Once he makes it atop the staircase he dwells there. You keep moving forward to allude him to follow but he instead crumbles into you.

Jake plops his head heavy onto your shoulder and nuzzles into your neck. His hands follow, wrapping around the dip of your waist to keep balance. It has been nearly a year since you last felt the weight of his warm skin press into you. The pungent smell of liquor offends your nostrils as his warm, heavy, drunk breaths tickling your neck become one of irrational remorse.  

Your first instinct to peel him off of you roars throughout every nerve ending of your body, but you don’t. After all he's done, Jake needs you now. Even if it's only to help get him to bed, you don’t mind being wildly uncomfortable for a few minutes. 

“I’m sor- I’m sorry, I just- then she said- I didn’t wanna ‘pset you- I’m so sorry- I just miss you, princess,” he babbles whined apologies into your clavicle, beginning to unnerve you.

You grunt trying to pull his limbs back into motion, “What are you talking about, Jake? Are you okay? What happened?” 

He resumes staggering forward on his own accord, even wasted he is much stronger than you. 

He giggles at your question, completely amnesic to his previous mystery guilt, “Am I O-kay? I’m doing… great! It’s you- Are ya’ O-kay?”

You answer the question simply to appease Jake and keep him mobile, “I’m doing just fine, let’s get you to bed.”

Together the two of you pad down the dark hallway. You make it in front of his bedroom door just before his fluctuating footsteps cease yet again.

He yanks his arms from your grasp in indignation, “Don’t lie to me! You aren’t- I know you aren’t!”

Frustration creeps in, and you take a deep breath. You return his hands to your own and soothingly run your thumbs along his knuckles. You patiently explain that he has had too much to drink and will feel better after water, pain relievers, and sleep. All you want is to help him get some rest. Yet he still refuses to move, a swaying brick wall.

“You know the guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me,” he aimlessly blurts out. 

You wince, throwing your head up to the ceiling. This is the last thing you want to discuss, especially with an intoxicated toddler of a man.

You and Jake rarely talk about what happened that night. You’ve addressed it maybe once or twice when he approached you about seeing a therapist or when you seldom tell him what happens in your nightmare.

You drop his hands to mask your face with your own, struggling to remain in place and not flee from his sight, “Jake-”

The fast manner in which Jake summons sobriety in his next words is almost unsettling, still inebriated but much less so. Enough to have a coherent conversation now. Just enough to wage war with a cleverly choreographed army of words without any real contemplation or inhibition.

He curtly hiccups, “Don’t you think you’ve carried this weight way too far?”

He speaks as if you have any say in the matter. As if you are choosing to remain prisoner to the shadows in your mind. As if choking on paralytic terror and trauma day and night is the path of least resistance. You draw back from Jake in one large clarifying step and place your hands under your arms to conceal their tremors. 

You do your very best to plant your rising tone, “I don’t know what you want from me, Jake?”

“I want you,” he begins to storm, his hands sloppily flailing about to gesture his points, “I want your laugh and I want your smile. I want to knock ‘em down like we used to, you know? I want to kiss you and touch you. God only knows how much I would love you if you’d let me!” 

You know he is only drunkenly rambling but it doesn’t dull the gashes his words leave. How could he insult you to think you couldn’t possibly feel the same? That you don’t ache for times the two of you used to parade through the night, wading through trouble and chaos, spontaneity as your only navigation. How you tear yourself apart knowing you’re the reason it's all recollection and not an existing reality?

You routinely dwell on the former enamoring parts of you. You are a phantom. A mere fragment. A poor cover of an adored original. The waste of a girl everyone antecedently loved, including you. Only a spectator stuck behind a glass, forced to look in on your life being fucked up by some imposterous variation of you. Every element you loved about yourself had been stolen from you.

You raise your defenses, “You don’t think I want that too?! I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this! It's never been this complicated, Jake.”

Your appeal to his empathy goes void as he further scrutinizes you, “So what? You’re the only one who is recovering from that night?! And I'm just supposed to be cool with you doing nothing? You want me to be okay with you neglecting yourself? Let you walk around like you’re some wounded thing?!”

He dissects you, rendering you raw and helpless. You aren’t sure how to reason with him so you remain still, renouncing the idea of a clever rebuttal. He, a hostile beast, you don't want to spook. Yet it only seems to reload his fire. 

Almost repulsed by your lack of refutation, he reboots his one-sided yelling match, “You used to speak so easy, and now it’s like you're afraid to talk to me! When are you going to stop being so apathetic towards this and face your demons?! When are you going to come around again? You used to be this surge of energy- We all miss you- I miss you!” 

His words prick tears from your eyes but you fight them, swallowing the lump of self-pity in your throat. 

You poorly return fire with volume in an attempt to conceive a sob, “You just- you don’t get it, Jake!” 

Jake thrusts his head back in a growl. The sudden shift in his weight causes him to fumble backward, your hands automatically gravitating to his rescue in fear he might trip over his own footing. But you cross your hands back into your sides as soon as he catches himself, not even aware of his staggering he proceeds in his reprimand. 

“I don’t need to get it,” he mimics your weak excuse of a defense, “I just need you to be okay! I don’t expect you to be fine right now or even the same. I just want to know that you will be okay and I have yet to see any indication. You won’t leave this house and the only people you socialize with are my brothers and I. I’m convinced you don't want to grow! I mean- as soon as you start doing well again you shut yourself in your room, is this going to be the rest of our fucking lives?”

You let your mouth hurl words without any ideation of consequence, “I’m not one of your screaming fuck-dumb fan girls, Jake. I don't owe you a thing and you don’t get to speak to me this way. And I don’t expect you to understand but don’t worry, I won’t crowd you anymore. You’ve made it clear I’ve overstayed my welcome so I’ll be out the door.”

You press into the balls of your feet now, completely committed to bolting from any further confrontation but his next words make it nearly impossible to ignore.

His impudence is a cruel dagger, “Yeah, you know you have to actually leave the house first?”

“A colossal fuck you, Jacob,” you snarl.

“Just another thing you have yet to do,” he ruthlessly twists the knife yet again.

All emotion drains from your face completely paralyzed by his venom. You're convinced all the oxygen in your lungs has deserted your body, leaving you gasping and choking for any response. Not even able to make eye contact with him, your eyes swirl around the room; half an attempt to search for some indication this is all a dream, half an attempt to roll back the oncoming tears.

You are sick and tired of crying.

The one person you have trusted with your tears is now the one pouring them back into your crying eyes. Weaponizing your drops, he now trains the blade to your throat.

You hum a tune of uncertainty to cover the lump in your throat as you subconsciously slide your feet backward against the hardwood floor, “Um- Ja- I- You’re drunk, Jake, get some rest, okay?”

You can’t possibly stomach being angry with him any longer. You’ve had enough rage and hate for a lifetime. You don’t want to vilify or associate any of it with the man in front of you.

Though he’s not perfect, you couldn’t imagine asking for more. Jake has been so good to you in a season full of so many tears, panic attacks, mood swings, outbursts, meltdowns, isolation episodes, sleepless and nightmare-ridden nights. He is always there to make sure you are eating, and getting out of bed, and showering, and taking proper care of yourself. He is the one to organize your ground on days you’ve been so numb and dissociated you nearly forgot how to speak. He’s been there to take care of you when the day is so overwhelmingly amplified and intrusive it makes you physically ill.

Jake had placed his heart in being attentive to the little things. He knows when you are holding your breath. He sees when you are avoiding your reflection. He can sense when you are fighting to complete basic tasks. He recognizes when you put effort into something you have been struggling with. Jake makes sure to nurture signs of growth as they come but is always there to gather you when you relapse. He’s always been there to remind you of who you are and how much you are loved. 

This is the first time he’s lost his patience with you and he isn’t even in his right mind.

More than earned your forgiveness, Jake is the reason you can still forgive. The reason you aren’t as bitter and angry at the world as you’re justified to be. 

Yes, you decide that he more than deserves exoneration. Because even though it feels as if it’s millennia away, when you’re one day reunited with your smile, it will be Jake who brings it back to you. A sculptor slowly chiseling away at stone until his piece is restored to the beauty that lives in his memory. 

And though you let his trespasses go you can’t save yourself from the wounds his words have reopened. You scrunch your lips to the side to conceal their quiver. 

“Goodnight, Jake, sleep well,”  your words come out a whisper in an effort to not let your voice break.

Grief commandeers your limbs, immediately puppetting you on your heels and towards your bedroom. 

“Where are you going? Wait- no- I’m sorry- I didn’t- fuck,” Jake’s aggression seems to wilt away as he is swallowed whole by his own words, still thick in the air.

Jake’s pity would be the final nail in your coffin.

The padding of your feet against the cold floor hastens as you hear Jake pursuing behind you. You gracefully gap your door open just enough to float through the sliver and lock it behind you in time to hear Jake's foot and forehead clumsily thud against the wood. You step away from the door as he jiggles the rigid knob to realize it is no use. 

“I’m sorry that was-,” you can hear him running his fingers along the ridges of the door as he is trying to compose himself, “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean it- I just- please open the door?”

You only ever want to tell Jake yes, but what you need now is space. Denial of his plea nearly shatters you across the floor. 

“Please- I’m just- I’m so sorry,” you’d never heard him sound so small.

He never begs like this so you know he is still drunk. You lazily crawl into your bed deciding it is not a good idea to open the door. More mumbled apologies beg their way through the wood and you bury your head under your blanket to drown out the temptation. 

Jake turns his back to the barricade and slides down against it till he reaches the floor, a subtle plop as he takes a seat. His prayers and repentance flicker out until you realize he’s talked himself to sleep against your door. 

You finally let your feverish tears fall till they rinse you of your consciousness.

pretty please let me know what you think <3

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[bpod-bpod]

Crossing the Node

Nerve axons – slender projections, the route of signals from neurons to other cells – are insulated with a sheath called myelin to ensure signals stay on track, however, there are specialised gaps in the wrapping at Nodes of Ranvier which aid signal conduction. This study, using time-lapse microscopy in live mice, investigates how these nodes impact the essential transport of neurons' contents such as mitochondria (highlighted here in cyan) and endosomes (in magenta) along the axons, providing insight into nerve function in health, injury and disease

Read the published research article here

Image from work by Andrew P. Tosolini and colleagues

Department of Neuromuscular Diseases and UCL Queen Square Motor Neuron Disease Centre, Queen Square Institute of Neurology, University College London, UK

Image originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)

Published in iScience, October 2024

You can also follow BPoD on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook

[closedcell-uk]

Closed Cell Insulation Extraction

Closed-Cell Insulation Extraction refers to the specialized process of removing closed-cell foam insulation from buildings and structures. Closed-cell insulation is known for its dense structure, excellent thermal performance, and moisture resistance. While this type of insulation is highly effective, there are instances when it needs to be extracted, such as during renovations, due to improper installation, or when addressing damage or deterioration.

Reasons for Extraction:

Renovations or Remodeling: When spaces are being remodeled, closed-cell insulation may need to be removed to accommodate new construction, reconfigurations, or updates.

Improper Installation: If the insulation was applied incorrectly—whether in terms of thickness, consistency, or coverage—removal may be necessary to correct the installation.

Deterioration or Damage: Over time, even closed-cell foam insulation can become damaged due to environmental factors, leaks, or physical wear and tear, requiring extraction to replace the damaged insulation.

Moisture Issues: Although closed-cell foam acts as a moisture barrier, persistent water infiltration can sometimes occur, leading to mold or other structural problems that require extraction of the insulation.

[callmewrinkles3]

Sandwiches

Summary: Dan’s delayed coming home from winter testing. Emmy’s in bed. Fluff.

March 2019

The flight from Barcelona to London wasn’t long, but Dan was exhausted. Two weeks of winter testing meant his brain was mush in a good way. The car felt good. Not great, but he was comfortable. He could work with comfortable. But then there was a delay so they were diverted to Gatwick and it was a pain getting through. But finally after far too long he was getting his bag and getting into the taxi with Blake.

Emmy hadn’t replied to his landed text so hopefully she was actually asleep for once. She never really slept when he was driving, even in testing when it was safe. But then they were in the taxi and he put his phone away so he didn’t smile stupidly at it and give everything away. Having his manager and one of his best mates living next door to his girl was awkward for so many reasons. Especially this one.

“Talk to you tomorrow, Mate? Well, today?” Blake asked and Dan shook his head.

“Day off? Weekend off, fuck it. When’s the next thing I actually have to do? Sim work, right?”

“Sim on Monday yeah.”

“Fuck it. We’re off this weekend. I’m gonna spend it sleeping and stretching.”

“See ya.”

The driver pulled back onto the road until Dan got him to stop beside the 24 hour shop. “Just here, thanks.”

“I thought you were out further?”

“My girl’s in his building and we’re keeping it quiet for now. We’re all friends.”

“Good luck.”

It was a ten minute wait to make sure Blake was actually in his place before Dan started the minute walk down the street. He spent the time productively and picked up a bouquet of flowers for Em. They’d very carefully ignored Valentines Day, unwilling to have that conversation and let his heart be broken if she didn’t feel the same way he did. So instead it was purple and yellow tulips that he had in his hand while he climbed the three sets of stairs to get to the tiny attic apartments.

Opening the front door by pushing in the one spot guaranteed not to squeak, the first thing he noticed was the chill in the air. A quick glance at the crap storage heaters showed they were supposed to be on, but there was no heat emitting from them. Fucking landlord too cheap to fix it even when Dan had called multiple times after Em had. She’d repeated the story about how the handyman taught her how to use the heaters instead of checking them one too many times, her “I was using them in uni halls and I was warmer then, Danny!” filling the air.

Sitting in the middle of the table was a beeswax wrap covered plate and a bottle of water. Pulling the wrap off he discovered the BLT sitting there on crusty bread. His girl always left him something if she was going to bed, crisp bacon and tomatoes that were well insulated to stop the bread going soggy making him so happy. This was home. The way no matter what was going on Em made sure to have a sandwich waiting for him to get back to her if he was due in at night. For the first time in too long there was someone who cared about him just because she liked him and that was magical.

He finished eating and took a swallow from the bottle before capping it and wrapping his arms around himself to keep the heat. It was quick to brush his teeth and run a cloth over his face to get the worst of the travel grime off. But finally he pushed open the bedroom door to see the best thing. His Emmy was curled up on the side of the bed he usually slept on, a black and yellow hoodie on to keep her warm in the March chill. Her arms were wrapped around the Jigglypuff plushie he’d bought for her in Japan the year before and she was so peaceful it nearly hurt him to have to get her to move. He pulled his clothes off quickly and pushed the starry night duvet out of the way so he could slip into the bed.

“I’m back, Emmy. It’s just me,” he murmured as her eyes opened and a grin spread across her sleepy face.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He kissed the top of her head as she curled up against his chest and tried to get comfy again. A moment later he felt her shuffle and watched as her hands moved her hoodie up.

“What’s up?”

“Wanna feel your skin. Know it’s you. I-“ She was cut off by a yawn. “The hoodie made me think you were Jigglypuff but I’m too sleepy.”

“I’ve got you. Hands up for a minute.” It took less than a minute for him to pull her hoodie off and throw it across the room, leaving her bare skin pushed against his as they curled under the blankets and got warm again.

“Nigh-night Danny. Tell me about testing tomorrow. We’ve got time.” Dan watched Em’s eyes close as she curled in tighter, their legs tangling together. They were flying to Australia in a couple of days to spend time in Perth before Melbourne and he couldn’t wait. It was two and a bit weeks that he got to spend almost entirely with Em curled up beside him with his family there. In the quiet of the night he could admit it to himself. He couldn’t wait to spend time at his home race with the woman he was in love with.

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024, #28 empty

Chapters 1 to 4 here on AO3

If you like the tattoo AU give it some love on my AO3, please. It would mean a lot to me. TYSM!

+++++

White Pony Tattoo - Part Eight (empty)

John followed Sherlock through another door that lead into a narrow and dim corridor and then into a tiny hall. There was one flight of stairs leading upwards and one leading down, Sherlock chose to go downstairs.

When they arrived in the basement, John felt the change in temperature and moisture. It was a bit damp down here where the old Victorian groundwork had been built into the London soil. John shivered involuntarily.

Sherlock, of course, observed John twitching and reassured him that the dampness was only tangible in the basement hall but not inside 221c.

“Don’t worry, I had the previously unoccupied basement flat modernized and insulated. I need a perfect room climate in there.”

Sherlock took out a key and fiddled with the lock.

For someone as nimble as Sherlock not directly hitting the keyhole was just implausible, so John suspected that he was just putting on a show. Drawing out the moment of reveal what lay behind the mysterious door like a seasoned magician who captivates the audience with every move of his fingers.

To John’s own amusement, he realized that he was holding his breath, filled with excitement. When John shivered once more, this time it was not due to the temperature.

“Ta-Daaaa!”

Sherlock finally had opened the door with a flourish and stepped aside so that John could get an unhindered view into the room.

John gasped and glanced at Sherlock whose face radiated pride and happiness.

It was a laboratory.

It was a completely equipped chemistry laboratory. John spotted two microscopes on a large worktable in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with workbenches and shelves, stuffed with lab supplies and glassware and notebooks. There was a spectrometer, a gas-phase chromatograph and other devices John didn’t know. A high-speed table centrifuge and a whole destillation setup including an absorption column occupied the central worktable besides the microscopes.

Stunned and overwhelmed, John entered, hearing that Sherlock was right behind him, closing the door.

“Wow, that’s fantastic. I’d never have guessed you have a whole lab down here.”

John turned around to get a panorama view of the room. On the wall beside the entrance door John saw a custom-made wooden display cabinet. It contained numerous tiny phials made of brown glass. Each sported a plain white label with a number and letter combination scribbled onto in spidery script.

All the while, Sherlock watched John taking in the lab he had created and a warm wave of deep affection for the doctor rose in him.

“Oh, is this your ink-laboratory?” John exclaimed, suddenly understanding.

“Very good, John.”

“You’re making your own inks here? I’ve never heard of someone doing this before. This level of perfection.” John looked at Sherlock, full of awe.

“That’s because I’m the only one. I’ve invented the customized ink and I have patented the process.” Sherlock preened.

“But how…” John started.

“I’m a graduate chemist, John. A very good one.” Sherlock lost himself in John’s ocean-blue eyes.

“Brilliant.” John whispered, staring back into Sherlock’s eyes that had changed their colour again into a bright cerulean blue.

Sherlock broke eye contact first. “I need to take a tiny sample of the skin at your arm, John. It won’t hurt.”

“I’m all yours.” I could be yours forever, if you want me.

Sherlock launched into work and into a rapid-fire explanation of what the customisation of ink meant. He talked about tiny aberrations in the acidity of the clients’ skin, the obvious varying nuances of skin colour. How long the skin had been exposed to the sunlight and would be in the future. Aging processes, UV-resistance and so on and on. All in the name of creating a long-lasting, never-fading and perfect ink for this one special customer.

Sometimes John understood what Sherlock explained, being a medical man. Other times he had no idea what Sherlock was on about. It didn’t matter. John was fascinated by Sherlock’s enthusiam and zeal, he practically radiated it like a sun.

Early on in the lab, Sherlock had quickly discarded the cool and detached, even stand-offish demeanour he had shown when they had first met today. It had been replaced with a contagious child-like joy when Sherlock was totally in his element, explaining his thoughts and experiments and showing John how the destillation apparatus worked.

The 35 minutes that John spent with Sherlock together in the lab, were the most intense he had ever experienced, his time during combat in Afghanistan included.

John was the centre of Sherlock’s world, the one fixed point Sherlock focused all of his attention on. It had been a heady feeling and was nearly too much to take in all at once.

Never before, John had felt so seen, so understood, so known by another human being.

Afterwards, they had said goodbye and exchanged their telephone numbers to keep in touch.

They had also exchanged a spontaneous hug, one that came across as a bit awkward on Sherlock’s side as if he was not accustomed to doing such gestures of sentiment.

Back outside the shop, John felt an enormous emptiness encrouching on him. It threatened to swallow him whole and drag him down into the endless lightless depths of a cold ocean.

John was alone.

++++++

tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk  @raina-at  @calaisreno