#telemetry jobs

[nursingassistantsrock]

Future Of Telemetry Technician Employment

Is it wise of you to pursue a career as a Telemetry technician? Is the field of Telemetry rewarding and beneficial for you? Can you receive higher salaries or opportunities to expand your career and become employees of well-known hospitals? Here are the key pointers for everything you must know about how the Telemetry Technician employment is bound to perform in the future. Growing Demand For…

[murderbot-moodboard]

[leafcabbage]

fun new internet quiz just dropped: heart monitoring edition

[lexalovesbooks]

Went into the bookstore today like “i am buying one book MAX. maybe two if I see one I really want but that is IT.” and then walked out with four new books

[mariclerc]

Hi

So, i watched the video of the radio between Charles and his new engineer at Imola. Safe to say i got some ideas, and was wondering if you could write something with Charles and engineer!reader? Basically something where reader is Charles’ engineer and he’s developed feelings for her, during a race ( could be Imola, or Monaco as thats this weekend) she talks to him like Bryan does and he realizes he has a praise kink. Could lead to smut if you’re comfortable with that. Thank you in advance.

Thank you for this request, I did my best to develop it as much as possible, I hope you like it!! <3<3

Strategies and praises | cl16 (+18)

Summary: you like to praise your driver, but you have no idea how much good it does him. Warning: fluff and some light smut.

a/n: CHARLES WON IN MONACO OH MY GOD, I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT!! HE REALLY DID IT, I'M SO SO PROUD OF HIM!!! (not to jinx him I wrote this between Friday and Saturday so you won't have exactly the positions like in the race)

The Monaco Grand Prix is in full swing, everyone is excited and ecstatic as they want to know how the local driver, Charles, will do. You, as his race engineer, are under a bit of pressure, as well as him, but it's nothing you can't control. For you it is a race of mere strategy and that's it, since many overtakings do not usually occur, and that is why you and Charles spend a lot of time studying the different strategies that may happen in the race.

“If we get one last run with the mediums in quali, we can achieve pole position.” He says and you nod.

“That's right, it's just a matter of the track staying the same throughout qualifying and, in case you already have provisional pole and a red flag or something happens, you're already insured there.” you say as you finish reviewing some telemetry data.

Suddenly he lets out a sigh and runs his hands through his hair, ruffling it a little. You know he is stressed and overwhelmed by this weekend, it's not that he doesn't like it, on the contrary, it's the constant pressure to have a good race at home.

“But... But what if I qualify further back? I don't know, that will change the whole strategy, right?” He asks in a whisper, you nod.

“Ehm... That might change the strategy a little bit, of course, but it's nothing we can't recover with a couple of undercuts or overcuts...” you say to finally close your laptop.

You look at Charles and notice how your words calmed him down a bit, you have been his engineer since he arrived at Ferrari in 2019 and you have been known for giving him some praises every so often in the race. And a couple of times you have been criticized for some questionable decisions in the race, but he was in charge of clearing your name with pride those times, which you are very grateful to him since he always believes in you and you in him.

-

It's already race day and you find yourself with a lot of nerves, the day before Charles had qualified P3 and, although it was not what we expected, there was a certain tension and hope on the pit wall. The roar of the crowd fills Charles helmet as he navigates the tight corners of Monaco. You, his engineer, his voice of reason in the chaos, cut through the static.

“Charles, that was a phenomenal lap! You took the Rascasse beautifully, just keep pushing, we can still make a good climb!” you say on the radio. “Just try to make it clean, okay? You're doing a very good job.”

A small smile tugs at Charles' lips under the helmet... He wasn't just pushing or fighting for the podium anymore, he was pushing to hear your voice, to impress you, to make you feel proud of him.

You watch the telemetry with a focused intensity, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

“Perfect line through Beau Rivage, Charles. You're a monster machine! Let's catch them boy! I know you can do it!” you said watching his lap, he had made a couple of overcuts.

The compliment hangs heavy in the air between you and Charles, a blush creeps up his neck even though you can't see it. He pushes even harder, the car straining under his command.

Charles crosses the finish line, a hard-fought P3. He lets out a guttural yell of exhilaration, the adrenaline coursing through him. Maybe it's not a home win as he wished, but it's a podium and it's something at least.

“Great job, team! That was incredible. Y/n, you were brilliant on the strategy, thank you so much!” you heard his voice over the radio communication and you smiled.

“It was nothing Charles, now let's celebrate! You deserve it more than anyone!” you also say through the radio. “You did an absolutely amazing drive, Charles. You were phenomenal out there. We should celebrate after the podium ceremony!” you say and you let out a little giggle.

A shiver runs down Charles' spine... It wasn't just the post-race adrenaline, it was the way you said it, the subtle soft praise laced with something more, and that sweet and soft giggle of yours. All your colleagues on the pit wall hug you and congratulate you for such a spectacular strategy, Fred also congratulates you with a loving hug. You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Relief and pride wash over you, how proud you are to work with someone like Charles is priceless, he is someone who always strives to achieve his own.

-

At the end of the podium and the interviews, the paddock was practically deserted, you found yourself putting some things in your briefcase when you hear Charles calling you to meet you in his driver's room.

The room is a mess of post-race adrenaline, empty water bottles litter the table, fireproof gloves are tossed on a chair, and Charles himself is sprawled on the sofa, he's still in his race suit, sweat clinging to his toned chest through the fireproofs. He looks exhausted but exhilarated and handsome to your eyes. You knock on the door.

“Come in!” You hear him say and you enter the room, a shy and tired smile adorns your face.

“Hey, you wanted to see me champ?” you asked softly.

Charles beckons you in, a shy smile playing on his lips. He pats the space beside him on the sofa.

“Yeah, come sit, please. There's a few things we need to go over, but...” He trails off, his gaze lingering on you a beat too long. You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips.

“But what?”

“You did amazing today, you know that? We pulled off a miracle out there, keeping the position.” he smiled shyly.

You smiled lovingly at him. “We did, didn't we? Thanks for trusting my calls. You were a rocket ship on that track, Charles.”

His gaze lingers on you a beat too long. You brush a stray strand of hair from your face, feeling a warmth spread through you.

“Always. You're the best engineer I've ever had. Not just because of the numbers, but...” his voice became a little low, he hesitate a bit, then leans in, his voice barely a whisper. “Because you believe in me... Even when I don't believe in myself, even when everyone doubts about my abilities or myself in general.”

Your heart skips a beat, you reach out, your fingers softly grazing his cheek. The touch seems to spark something in him, he leans into your hand, his eyes searching yours.

You blushed a little. “Hey, I'll always believe in you, Charles! You're incredible. You know that, right?”

His eyes hold yours, a new intensity there. He cups your face, his thumb brushing across your lips.

“There's something else I want you to know... Something I've realized lately.” he says with a husky voice.

He trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips, you feel a shiver run down your spine, he leans in slowly, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is electric, fueled by unspoken emotions and the adrenaline of the race. His hands explore your back gently, sending shivers down your spine.

“Your voice...” he kiss you again. “on the radio...” he give you another kiss. “it does things to me...” he said between kisses.

A laugh escapes your lips, breathless. “Like what, Charles?” you ask him teasingly.

He kisses your jaw, his voice a low rumble. “Like... it makes me want to drive faster, makes me want to win, to archive even more podiums... Especially when you...” He hesitates, then whispers in your ear. “Especially when you tell me I'm doing good, when you tell me that I can do it.” he said huskily.

A blush creeps up your neck. You realize what he's saying, a heat pooling in your core.

“So... you like a little praise, huh?” you whisper too.

He kisses your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “More than you know, mon ange, especially if it comes from you.”

The air crackles with unspoken desire. You let out a soft gasp as Charles undoes the buttons of your t-shirt, his touch lingering on the fabric. You reach up and cup his face, pulling him close for another kiss. This time, it's deeper, filled with a new urgency. His hands slide down your back, sending a fire down your spine.

“Then tell me, Charles. What do you want to hear?” you said breathlessly.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes blazing. “Tell me you're proud of me, tell me I drove flawlessly. Tell me you knew I could do it... Please.” he says in a whisper, practically begging you.

You run your hand through his hair, a slow smile spreading across your face. “I am so incredibly proud of you, Charles. You were phenomenal out there, you took that car to its limits and never gave up. You're a phenomenal driver, the best on the grid.”

His eyes lock on yours, the praise filling him with a surge of heat that goes beyond the race. He leans in again, his voice a husky whisper.

“More, keep going amour. Tell me you knew I could keep that podium, even when I doubted myself.”

You trace the outline of his jaw with your thumb, your voice dropping to a low purr. “I always knew you could keep that podium, Charles. You have this incredible talent, this fire inside you. You were born to be a champion!”

His breath hitches, and he pulls you close, his touch sending shivers down your spine. His hands explore your body, finding the small of your back, urging you closer.

“Don't stop please. You make me want to push myself even further, make me want to win every single race left, just to hear you say that again.” says with a ragged voice.

The praise fuels your own desire. You pull back slightly, your gaze flickering over his race suit, you smile.

“Then let's celebrate your podium properly, shall we? Show me just how good you are at taking some orders.” you say with a husky voice, and a triumphant grin splits his face.

-

The air hums with a different kind of electricity now. Charles's eyes darken, the praise turning him on far more than he expected. He leans in, his voice a low rumble.

“You don't just believe in my driving, do you baby?”

His hand dips under your shirt, brushing softly against your skin. You gasp, a shiver running through you.

“No, Charles. I believe in you... All of you. Your talent, your strength, your incredible heart. You're the most determined, passionate person I know! And seeing you out there, pushing yourself, it does something to me too...”

His touch ignites a fire within you, mirroring the one he feels. You trace a line down his chest, feeling the heat radiating through his damp race suit.

“What does it do, bellissima?” he says with a husky voice.

You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear. “It makes me want to celebrate with you in a very different way.” you whispered in his ear.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. A slow smile spreads across his face, a mix of satisfaction and desire.

“Tell me then, how do you want to celebrate?” he asks.

You run your hand down his arm, sending a spark through both of you. “Let me show you how proud I am of the man you are, not just the driver. How much I admire your strength, your focus, everything that makes you so incredible.”

His breath hitches, and he pulls you close again. This kiss is different, slower, filled with a deeper meaning. His touch explores your body, finding the places that make you shiver, places no one had ever discovered before.

“Then show me, bellissima. Show me everything you've been holding back.” he said with a rough voice.

You pull back slightly, your eyes locked on his. “But first, tell me one more thing. Did you ever think your engineer might be a little turned on by seeing you dominate the track?” you say shyly.

His laugh is a low rumble, filled with pure, unadulterated desire.

“Not until now, but believe me, gorgeous, the feeling is most definitely mutual.”

He finally pulls your shirt up all the way, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. As he slowly undresses you, his eyes never leave yours, a mixture of gratitude and raw desire burning bright. The celebration takes a turn neither of you expected, fueled by the adrenaline of the race, the praise that goes beyond the track, and the deep connection that has been simmering beneath the surface all along.

His eyes scanned your body at a slow place, he was drinking you in just by looking. His lips met yours in a gentle touch and your back met the couch as he hovered over you. Looking into his eyes you kissed him again, biting his lip which elicited a groan from him and a smile from you.

“Oh god amore, are you sure you want this?” He asked. “We can’t go back after you say yes.” he added in a low voice that send shivers down your spine.

“Yes, I’m sure Charles.” you replied bringing his lips down to yours. Detaching his lips from yours he kissed down your body, your skin crawls when you feel his warm lips on your body, slowly kissing every curve and dip that adorns your silhouette, leaving a burning path on your skin, you let out a sigh. “God, you're so good to me Cha...” You whisper between a light sigh, your words made him let out a light growl, he felt his body react to your praise.

“Oh mon amour, je te ferai te sentir si bien... I will make myself worthy of your praise...” He says in a low and sensual voice, the mixture of French and English makes your head go crazy. (Oh my love, I'll make you feel so good...)

His lips continue their journey down your chest, taking the time to kiss your breasts gently, as if they were the most precious thing in the world, then he went down to your abdomen where he left loose kisses in the area, making you release one or another soft sigh. He continued down until he reached your core, he smiled at the sight of you completely naked, he softly kissed the inside of your thighs and your heart started beating super fast.

He started to leave sloppy kisses until he reached your folds, he began to leave sloppy kisses and licks on your wet folds, you raised your hips a little to give him easy access to that area, and he began to devour you slowly, he was taking his time to taste you. Your soft moans didn't take long, he slowly sucked on your clit, making you let out a loud moan that probably rang throughout the deserted paddock, but that's the least of it now.

“Keep doing that Charlie...” you say with heavy breathing and that gave him the impetus to continue savoring you with such passion, you hold on to his soft, silky hair. “God, you're such a... You're such a good boy.” you moan slightly.

Your words lit the fire in him a little bit more and he continued tasting you completely in his mouth, you were like a blessing in his life, like something he had wanted to try for a long time. You felt your walls tighten and a strong wave of pleasure washed over you, you felt like you were going to faint right there.

“Cha... Charlie... I'm... I'm close.” you whispered as you whimpered in pleasure, he stopped his ministrations on your core and looked up at you, god he looked so damn hot, his cheeks flushed, his face sweaty from the strenuous work he was doing down there.

He smiled and took off his boxers, revealing his erect cock, he brought his lips to yours and kissed you softly and sweetly, it was as if he didn't want to let this moment between you go. “If... If you don't feel comfortable or something, just tell me and I'll stop instantly, okay darling?” He said in a hushed whisper looking deeply at your eyes.

You looked and him and smiled shyly. “Charlie, I... I want this the same way you want it, okay? I want you to continue.” you whispered and he nodded. “Just do it, okay honey?”

He aligned himself with your entrance and gently entered you, giving you time to adapt to his big size, your breathing became erratic, he began to move slowly and a little loosely at the same time. He wanted to satisfy you, to please you, make you feel like you are the one who have the power in this precise moment... His hands ran over your body, just as they did at the beginning, until they reached your hips and he placed them there, his thumbs made circles in that area, he began to thrust into you with a little more rhythm. He began to breathe heavily, his hot breath coming into contact with your neck and that gave you chills down your spine, his movements were meticulously perfect, he took the moment to appreciate you and enjoy this.

You felt your walls tightening around him, making the two of you let out moans at the same time, to you, he looked like a Greek god at that moment, sweat taking over his toned torso, his darkened and dilated pupils watching you as if you were a goddess or some kind of miraculous apparition in his life.

“Mhm, bébé, I'm... I'm gonna cum.” he whispered against your neck, his agitated and husky voice a delight to your ears. “God, you feel so good around me chérie.” He murmured as he kissed the skin of your neck, making you sigh again and again.

You moaned as you felt the pleasure wash over you. “Such a good boy my precious Charlie.” you said with a husky voice. “I'm close too, handsome.” you whimpered and you closed your eyes.

The climax reached you two making you tremble with pleasure, your legs trembled and you felt how your breathing stopped being erratic. He rested his forehead against yours and kissed every little part of your face, while you just smiled, the love you feel for this man is incredible, something that goes beyond a simple discussion of strategies or friendly companionship.

When you finally felt that everything in you was completely normal, you spoke. “That... That was, amazing charlie.” you whispered softly, giving him a kiss on his cheek, he smiled. “You made me feel good... I haven't felt like this in a long time.” there was no lie in your statement, it had been a long time since the last time someone had made you feel as good as Charles had.

He smiled and blushed. “It was nothing sunshine, everything for you and only you.” he kissed your cheek. “I think you deserve good things more than anyone else.” he whispered too.

After a few seconds, silence was present in the room, but it was a fairly comfortable one, your hands were intertwined with his and your thumb caressed the back of his hand, you smiled shyly at the sight, it was something that looked so cute and innocent.

He smiled again and looked at you with great affection in his eyes. “I love you, darling... Thank you for this!” He whispered sweetly and kissed your temple.

You smiled tenderly. “I love you too charlie.” you whispered too. “Don't you think we should take even a quick shower?” You say and let out a shy giggle.

He smiles and raises his eyebrows, blushing. “Oh... Of course love!”

You just smile at him again and you kiss his cheek. “And then you take me to my hotel?”

He denied and picked you up in his arms to walk to the small bathroom in his driver room, you let out a soft gasp. “Oh, no my love... We will go to my house!” He said.

You raised your eyebrows and chuckled. “But... And my things? Everything is in the hotel...” You started to say but he interrupted you, leaving several small kisses on your lips.

“Don't worry about it honey, we'll look for that before we go to my house.” he smiled. “Just worry about being pretty and smart, my honey.” you giggled at his words.

“You forgot to mention bossy.” he laughed and blushed.

“Oh sure, a little bossy, but that's how I like you.” he whispered on your lips and kissed you again.

You just smiled while you went into the shower, you felt very happy because you never thought that Charles had something for you and that at the end of the day it was something that you also wanted at some point. You admired him as a driver, that was for sure, but as a person it was a totally inexplicable thing. Today showed you that, apart from being good at taking orders, he was excellent pleasing you and showing his true emotions, you can't wait to see where this new journey might take you both.

[its-avalon-08]

so seb and y/n broke up after 2011, super messy break up, alot of tears, and they have never spoken after that. she switched jobs into mercedes. he has a panic attack and is gasping for breath and keeps asking for y/n. y/n comes running and seb breaks down sobbing. note the date is the same as the day they broke up. he confesses that he messed up and is so sorry. Thanks! love ur blog <333333333333333333

🍂🍂🍂🍂 one of my fav 🍂🍂🍂🍂

breathe baby breathe (sv5)

The air in the Red Bull garage hung heavy. The tension wasn't new - ever since 2010, ever since the spectacularly messy break-up that left a trail of shattered trophies and tear-stained pit walls, Seb and Y/N existed in an uneasy parallel universe within the F1 circus. He, a stoic German with haunted blue eyes, remained with Red Bull. She, a steely Brit with a heart encased in ice, had taken a high-profile switch to Mercedes.

Qualifying had been a disaster for Seb. A gearbox issue had left him stranded on track, his championship dreams spiraling down like a flaming meteor. Now, back in the garage, a cold sweat slicked his palms. His vision swam, the faces of mechanics blurring into an incomprehensible mess. His chest tightened, a cold vice squeezing the air from his lungs. He tried to take a breath, but it came out in a ragged gasp.

Panic clawed its way up his throat. This wasn't right. This wasn't just disappointment. His heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs, each beat a deafening boom in his head. The air, thick with the smell of burnt rubber and ozone, offered no solace. He fumbled for his water bottle, the plastic slick with sweat in his trembling hand.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He stumbled back, his vision going dark at the edges. A primal fear, a terror he hadn't felt since he was a child lost in the supermarket, seized him. A strangled cry escaped his lips – not a word, just a raw sound of terror.

Mark Webber, ever the teammate, noticed Seb's distress first. "Seb! You alright?" The concern in Mark's voice barely penetrated the fog of panic muddling Seb's thoughts. He needed Y/N. It was a nonsensical thought, a desperate plea from a drowning man clutching at a straw. But it was the only lifeline he could grasp.

"Y/N," he rasped, his voice a pathetic croak. Mark's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The name had never passed Seb's lips in all these years. But right now, reason had abandoned him.

Mark didn't hesitate. He knew the history, the bitter fallout, but in this moment, all he saw was a teammate in distress. "Y/N!" he bellowed, his voice cracking through the tense silence of the garage.

Y/N was huddled in the Mercedes garage, dissecting the telemetry data from Lewis's qualifying run. The news of Seb's car trouble had filtered through, a bittersweet pang twisting in her gut. She'd long buried the ghost of their relationship, or so she thought.

Mark's urgent yell shattered her focus. "Y/N!" It echoed through the corridor, laced with a raw panic that sent a jolt through her. Memories, both bitter and sweet, flooded her mind. Ignoring the bewildered stares of her colleagues, she surged towards Red Bull's garage, a primal fear urging her forward.

The sight that greeted her ripped the carefully constructed wall around her heart clean open. Seb, usually the epitome of stoicism, was a crumpled mess on the floor. His face, drained of color, was contorted in fear, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His normally steely blue eyes were wide and frantic, searching for something, someone.

The past dissolved. This wasn't about their break-up, not anymore. This was about a human being in distress. Ignoring the initial shock, she dropped to her knees beside him, her professional training kicking in. "Seb, hey, focus on me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. He didn't respond, his gaze flitting around the room like a trapped animal.

Panic threatened to engulf her again, but she forced it down. Taking a deep breath, she mirrored it, holding his hand and speaking slowly, deliberately. "breathe baby breathe for me Seb. In with me, slow and steady." He flinched at the touch of her hand, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, then quickly masked by raw fear.

He tried, or rather, his body tried. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. Seeing his plight, she knelt closer, gently pushing a stray strand of hair off his damp forehead. It was a simple gesture, born of instinct, and it seemed to anchor him.

"That's it," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "Slow breaths. You're alright, Seb. You're with me." As the words left her lips, a strangled sob ripped through him, shaking his entire frame. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill, but he squeezed his eyes shut, a desperate attempt to hold them back.

Y/N's heart ached. The sight of his vulnerability shattered the years of built-up resentment. Without a thought, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His trembling body crumpled against hers, the final dam breaking. Sob after wracking sob escaped his lips, raw and unfiltered.

He didn't care if she saw. In that moment, all he needed was a human anchor, a safe harbor in the storm of his panic. And for the first time in years, Y/N felt the familiar pull of protectiveness surge through her. The past was still there, a shadow lurking at the edges, but right now, all that mattered was calming the storm raging within him.

The tremors in Seb's body gradually subsided, his sobs muffled against her shoulder. His grip on her arms tightened, a silent plea for comfort. Y/N held him close, stroking his hair with a gentleness that surprised even her. The scent of his familiar racing cologne, a mix of leather and adrenaline, flooded her senses, a potent reminder of a past she couldn't fully outrun.

"Y/N," he finally rasped, his voice hoarse. Shame laced each word, a stark contrast to the bravado he usually wore. "I miss you. So damn much." The words hung heavy in the air, a confession ripped bare by his vulnerability.

A lump formed in Y/N's throat. Part of her wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the icy fortress she'd built around her heart. But the raw pain in his voice, the vulnerability etched on his face, held her captive.

"You messed up, Seb," she said, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question, but a simple statement, a truth they both acknowledged.

He flinched, a choked sob escaping his lips. "I know. I know, and I regret it every damn day. Even my parents yell about it. They keep saying I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me." His voice cracked, raw with self-loathing.

Y/N's breath hitched. She knew his parents adored her, a stark contrast to the strained relationship he had with his father at the time. The revelation stung, a reminder of what they'd lost.

A hesitant breath escaped her lips. "Seb," she started, unsure how to proceed.

He cut her off, a tremor running through his voice. "And the worst part? Even after all this time... I still love you, Y/N. Madly." He confessed the words in a rush, as if afraid to hold them back any longer.

Silence descended upon them, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, a soft, surprised sound escaped Y/N's lips.

"You still...?" She couldn't finish the question, the weight of his confession settling on her chest.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, a desperate plea for a flicker of reciprocation. "Every damn day," he whispered. "Even now, on our monthaversaries, I still go get your favorite pad thai."

The admission, a small, vulnerable detail from a past they both cherished, cracked the ice around Y/N's heart.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's lips, a flicker of disbelief coloring her voice. "Pad thai, huh? You never did learn to like that."

Seb chuckled, a wet, shaky sound. "No, I never did. But seeing you devour it with that look of pure joy... it was worth every forced bite." His gaze softened, lingering on her face for a beat too long.

The weight of his words, laced with a longing that mirrored her own, threatened to unravel the careful control she'd maintained. Taking a deep breath, she confessed, "You know, I used to stalk your social media, Seb. Every model the tabloids linked you with, I'd dissect their pictures online, a jealous wreck." Shame burned in her cheeks as she admitted the truth.

His eyes widened in surprise. "You... you did?"

"Don't judge," she countered, a hint of defiance lacing her voice. "We both have things we regret."

He shook his head, his expression softening. "Never. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I was a colossal idiot back then."

Y/N couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the sound surprisingly warm. "Maybe a little," she conceded. "But even after switching teams, a part of me still wants you to win every race, Seb. It's a terrible conflict of interest, I know."

He squeezed her hand, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "Really?"

"Don't get cocky," she teased, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "But seeing you on that podium, the pure joy on your face... it's hard to explain."

A comfortable silence settled between them, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged just moments before. Then, a mischievous thought struck Y/N.

"Speaking of confessions," she began, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Remember those chocolate chip cookies Mark always seems to have a stash of during race weekends?"

Seb's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of recognition dawning on his face. "Wait, you...?"

"Guilty as charged," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "I figured you still loved them, even after all these years."

Seb's lips curved into a genuine smile, the first one she'd seen in far too long. "You have no idea," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "They were... a ray of sunshine on some pretty dark days."

Their eyes met, a spark of something new igniting in the space between them. The past, with all its baggage, still loomed, but for the first time, they weren't facing it alone.

two days later

Two days had passed since their tearful encounter in the Red Bull garage. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, a constant undercurrent in the sterile environment of the Formula One paddock. Y/N sat hunched over her laptop in the Mercedes motorhome, the glow of the screen illuminating the dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had been a distant dream, replaced by the whirring of her mind replaying every stolen glance, every hesitant touch with Seb.

A soft knock startled her from her thoughts. Wiping the fatigue from her eyes, she called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sheepish Seb holding a familiar white paper bag. His hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," he mumbled, stepping inside hesitantly.

"Seb? What are you doing here?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with surprise.

He held up the bag, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. "Pad thai. Your favorite. I, uh, thought maybe you could use a break from all that data?"

A wave of warmth washed over Y/N. "You remembered," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the bag.

"How could I forget?" he replied, his voice softer than she'd heard in years. "It's become more than just a dish, Y/N. It's a reminder of everything we were, everything I messed up."

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers. The vulnerability in his gaze tugged at her heartstrings.

"Look," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I know this is crazy, showing up here unannounced after everything. But I can't stay silent anymore. These past few days have been torture. The thought of you... of losing you again..." He trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.

"Seb," Y/N started, her own voice trembling.

He held up a hand, silencing her. "No, let me finish. These past years have been a living hell without you. Every race win felt hollow, every victory parade a painful reminder of what I'd thrown away. My parents were right, you know. You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

He took another step closer, the air crackling with unspoken emotions between them. "Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I love you. I never stopped. And if there's even a sliver of a chance, I want you back. I want to rebuild what we had, stronger this time."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, blurring his image. She couldn't take his beautiful monologue any longer. With a strangled cry, she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. The pad thai forgotten, they fell into a desperate embrace.

"Seb," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "I love you, I love you, I love you," the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

He held her tighter, the sound of her choked sobs a balm to his tortured soul. "Never letting you go again," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with a promise they both desperately wanted to keep.

In the heart of the bustling Formula One paddock, amidst the roar of engines and the relentless pursuit of victory, they found solace in each other's arms. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in years, they weren't facing it alone. They had each other, a second chance at a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger, more resilient than ever before.

[irisintheafterglow]

live, laugh, pro racer!gojo :))

and, wow! just look at that absolute speed demon go!

"speed dumbass seems to be a more fitting description," you remark in response to the announcer's excited narration, sending quiet snickers through the pit crew behind you. "hey, hotshot. let up a little on those hairpins or your engine's gonna overheat," you radio through to his earpiece and pray to the racing gods that he listens. as if to spite you, he accelerates more aggressively through the following turn, causing a concerning but not impactful spike in temperature.

"only reason they'll overheat is 'cause you're on the line, pretty."

"it's my job on the line if you break down, satoru."

"i'm well aware of that, sweetheart," comes his voice from the other end. you were painfully aware of the thousands of spectators watching his point of view and listening in on your conversation. "rest assured, i won't get you fired."

"that's not up to you," you remind him, clicking through the telemetry statistics and glancing at the timing screen before concluding that everything was running as it should, albeit a little bit hot from the driver's arrogance. suguru whispers something in your ear and you dutifully relay it to the idiot behind the wheel. "you can lay off a bit on the straightaways; you have enough wiggle room to give the car a breather."

"but what if i don't wanna?" you breathe deeply through your nose, clenching and unclenching your fists in suppressed irritation. the pit crew keeps laughing behind you and you give them a look that says can you believe this guy? "pssht, houston, do you copy? what's with the radio silence?"

a risky but flawless turn by gojo satoru, who's been in the lead since the start of the race!

"watch your wheels, satoru. keep pulling turns like that and you'll have to come get 'em changed. even you can't escape balding," you mutter with a smirk on your lips and you can imagine his indignant expression. "as much as i wish it'd come faster so you look less pretty."

"you think i'm pretty?" fuck. his shit-eating grin is evident in his tone.

"yeah, pretty stupid," you retort, face burning and glancing at suguru for help. he merely smiles in amusement, returning to whatever the job of lead mechanic requires. "finish the race and get back here so i can strangle you."

"shoko's gonna have a field day dealing with that one, boss."

"says the pr nightmare that got banned from pre-race interviews," you scoff and he slams his foot on the accelerator in response. "hey, hey, easy there; don't be breaking my car."

"i'll buy you a new one," he mutters, crossing the finish line like he'd done it in his sleep. the crew and his managers let out a collective sigh of relief before cheering like they'd won the lottery. you, however, are transfixed on the voice on the way to pull into the pit. "and whatever else you want for dealing with my bullshit all the time."

"look at you being all self-aware," you tease, "this is new and i'm not sure if i like it."

"i can go back to being an asshole, if you want," he suggests and your attention flicks to the vehicle pulling in and immediately being swarmed by reporters, cameras, and the crew. you set down your headphones at the same time he pulls off his helmet, shaking his head like a dog that just took a bath. despite the crowd of microphones being shoved in front of him and the champagne being popped over his head, the only priority in his mind is you. "hi, pretty," he whispers in your ear when he finally takes you in his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. "thanks for helping me win."

"i feel like i was a suggestion box whose papers were being incinerated," you argue lightheartedly. he shoots a look of warning to a reporter getting a little too close to you to be considered friendly and the man recoils in fear. "but i guess you did race pretty well."

"couldn't have done it without you," he murmurs lovingly.

"and you better not forget it."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[mynicosensesaretingling]

Mic Check: Feelings Engaged

A Bono x fem! (Y/N) reader story

Summary: When Bono’s radio mic goes haywire , (Y/N) offers her colleague a helping hand, leading to an unexpected moment of intimacy between the pair with the teasing comments from Lewis only adding fuel to the fire.

Warnings: None except it’s been written in my notes app

Notes: I wanted to write something for Bono for so long now , since he’s so incredibly dear to me. So now I just did- anyways I hope there aren’t any mistakes and that you enioy this little story x

—-

It’s a bustling Friday practice session at the track, and the air is filled with the familiar sounds of mechanics working, engines revving, and the steady hum of team radios crackling to life. Bono stands in the Mercedes garage, his eyes flicking over the various data streams on the monitors in front of him as Lewis sends feedback through the radio. There’s a calm professionalism to him, his headset settled snugly over his ears as he keeps his cool amidst the chaos of the session.

(Y/N), working a few stations over, is equally immersed in her role, running through telemetry data and keeping an eye on the numbers as they stream in. It’s her second full season working with the team, and although the work is often intense, the environment feels like home. Especially with Bono around. There’s something comforting about his expertise, his quiet focus—and maybe, though she’d never say it aloud, something undeniably attractive too.

Attentively watching the data presented to her , the buzzing noise of the track outside the garage slowly but surely becomes more of a background noise to (Y/N) —until she hears Bono curse softly under his breath. Looking over at the engineer, she finds him fiddling with the mic on his radio headset.

“I’m losing audio,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his fingers rapidly tapping at the small mic attached to his headset. The frustration is clear on his face. His eyebrows drawn together in a frown, as he tries to fix the issue without missing a beat in his ongoing strategy communications.

Without thinking much about it, (Y/N) walks over to the man, noticing his struggle. “Need a hand?”

Bono looks up, his brows slightly raising, surprised by her offer. “Yeah, I think the mic’s loose. Keeps cutting in and out,” he says, his voice lower than usual, the usual steady control in his tone replaced by just a hint of frustration. Stepping closer, (Y/N) notices the faint flush creeping up his neck as he tries to juggle the malfunction and his job.

“Let me take a look,” she says, voice gentle as she steps right in front of him. Bono’s eyes stay fixed on her for a moment before he gives a small nod, lowering his head slightly so she has easier access to the mic. It’s the simplest of gestures, but (Y/N)’s heart skips a beat—being this close to him, especially in the middle of the chaos of the garage, feels strangely intimate.

(Y/N)’s hands lift to adjust the mic, her fingers brushing his cheek ever so slightly, as she reattaches the microphone more securely. His skin is warm under her fingertips, and the moment she touches him, she notices the slightest inhale from Bono, though he stays incredibly still, as if he’s afraid to move.

The garage feels smaller now, the noise fading into the background as (Y/N) concentrates on the mic, trying to focus on the task but fully aware of how close she is to the race engineer. Every brush of her hand sends a spark of awareness through her body. Focusing on the task at hand she feels Bono’s eyes on her form, though he’s trying his best to keep it professional.

“Okay, try now,” (Y/N) murmurs, stepping back slightly to give him some space. Bono clears his throat, his hand reaching up to adjust the mic himself, fingers brushing where hers had just been. He’s back to business in an instant, but there’s an edge to his voice as he speaks into the mic.

“Lewis, do you copy? How’s the connection now?” Bono’s voice is steady, but the slightest tension remains in his shoulders as he waits for a response.

There’s a brief pause before Lewis’s voice crackles through the radio, loud and clear. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear, Bono. Thought you’d left me hanging there for a minute,” Lewis teases, but before Bono can respond, Lewis’s voice returns, this time with a playful lilt. “Wait a minute… was that her fixing your mic? That surely sounded like her voice ,mate.”

Bono’s reaction is immediate—he lets out an exasperated sigh, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, but keeping her focus on him, (Y/N) can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Lewis, focus on your out-lap,” Bono says, his voice firm but with a warmth that betrays his usual stoicism. Slightly shaking his head, he’s trying to suppress his embarrassment, but the smile that’s breaking through is impossible to miss.

“Oh, I’m focused,” Lewis replies, his tone mischievous. “Just thought I’d ask. Should I leave you two to it, or are we going to talk about strategy?”

Glancing back at (Y/N), Bono catches her eye for a brief moment, both of them sharing an amused, slightly embarrassed look. There’s a tension between the pair, but the humor in Lewis’s words manages to cut through it, making the moment feel lighter.

Bono lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he taps on the mic. “Yeah, let’s focus on the strategy. We’ll debrief later, Lewis.”

The radio crackles again as Lewis’s laughter comes through. “Sure, sure. But, just saying—‘bout time you two got close. We’ve all seen it coming.”

Bono’s face flushes at that, and he quickly turns back to the monitors, his fingers tapping at the keyboard, pretending to be fully immersed in his work. (Y/N), on the other hand,feels a mixture of embarrassment and… something else, as she walks back to her station. The way Lewis spoke, as if everyone had noticed the way her and Bono seem to gravitate toward each other, leaves the woman flustered. Was it really that obvious?

“Well, uh,” Bono calls , clearing his throat again, “thanks for fixing that. Shouldn’t have trouble now.”

(Y/N) nods, her heart still pounding as she tries to shake off Lewis’s teasing. “No problem,” she says through a slightly awkward chuckle. There’s still something hanging in the air between them, something unspoken.

Bono glances over at her once more before looking away, his lips pressing together like he’s holding something back. For a second, it feels like he might say something, but before he can, the team radio crackles again.

“Bono,” Lewis calls, his voice still carrying that teasing edge, “when’s the next date? Need me to clear the schedule?”

(Y/N) can’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head as Bono rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible, Lewis,” he mutters, though his voice is lighter now, the moment of tension dissolving into something more comfortable. He presses the radio switch again, sighing dramatically. “Focus on the driving, will you?”

Lewis just laughs in response, clearly pleased with himself, and Bono, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual professionalism, can’t help but let out a soft chuckle as well.

As the practice session winds down, the garage starts to return to its usual rhythm, but the brief moment of closeness between herself and Bono lingers in the back of (Y/N)’s mind. Every now and then, she catches him glancing in her direction, and when her eyes meet his, there’s a flicker of something unspoken—a spark that neither of the two can ignore.

And though nothing more is said between the pair, there’s an undeniable shift. (Y/N) can still feel the weight of his gaze, the soft smile that tugged at his lips, and the teasing words of Lewis echoing in the back of her mind.

Maybe Lewis was right—maybe it was about time.

[beartrice-inn-unnir]

10. What is your favorite genre book to recommend to someone who doesn’t usually like that genre?

Usually when people ask me for a rec for a genre they don’t usually like, they are asking for sci-fi, and I start by trying to figure out different access points based on what they already like. I’m not much of a hard sci-fi person, tending more to the space opera and political thrillers, so here’s a few “if you like x, maybe try y”:

If you like romance, give Everina Maxwell’s Winter’s Orbit a try. It’s definitely sci-fi in setting and plot, but it also hits nicely in the formulaic patterns of a arranged-marriage, strangers-to-lovers story that will help you through it even if the sci-fi elements are throwing you off. The author has another similar book that increases the sci-fi elements and is enemies-to-lovers as well, so if you like Winter’s Orbit, Ocean’s Echo is a good next step.

If you like non-fiction, The Martian by Andy Weir is a great pick. I have multiple friends who got into reading again as adults via The Martian. It’s well-written, well-grounded, funny, and very sci-fi. If you’ve already read it, then maybe give To Be Taught if Fortunate by Becky Chambers a try. It can be described with all the same adjectives, plus it’s a short novella, so if you’re hesitant, it’s less intimidating.

If you like mysteries or political thrillers, boy is there a lot of great sci-fi out there for you. The crux of a lot of sci-fi is space or high-tech settings with a plot that asks questions about personhood, and that mixes really well with detectives and spies wandering around trying to solve problems and find truths. Try Fugitive Telemetry by Martha Wells (it’s partway through a series of great books and novellas, but that one’s the most traditional mystery plot) or A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine (ambassador solving her predecessor’s mysterious death while trying to do his job)(I’d also recommend this one if you read a lot of classics) EDIT: just realized I mistyped - book 1 by Arkady Martine is A Memory Called Empire.

If YA/ Bildungsromanen/ New Adult figuring the world out through trial and error is often your jam, try Provenance by Ann Leckie (for the kid who really wants to do things right) or The Warrior’s Apprentice by Lois McMaster Bujold (for another kid who wants to do things right, but is also a high-energy chaos gremlin).

If you like fantasy, you probably already have read some sci-fi; it’s all under the speculative fiction umbrella and genres are vague anyway. All the same, I know this is the Locked Tomb Website, but give Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir a shot (it’s got magic and mayhem and an epic locked-room whodunnit mystery). The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord is also good - it has a team of people traveling together and thinking about morals and discovering new abilities, plus some romance.

I’m sure there’s lots of genres I’m forgetting right now, but feel free to send me another ask for any specific one!

[nursingassistantsrock]

Why is it Important to be Nationally Certified as an ECG Technician?

Why is it Important to be Nationally Certified as an ECG Technician?

You would want to get certified as an ECG technician for many reasons. There are many perks to gaining certification, so many people constantly try to receive their certificate as soon as possible. If you’re still considering signing up for the national certification, read on as we tell you why it’s important to get the ECG technician certification. Certified ECG Technician (CET) involves a…

[inbabylontheywept]

Someone had to go first.

In an odd first, I forgot to post this HFY story here until after it was voiced by BirbletonVA. Their channel actually did such an insanely good job that I would actually strongly recommend listening to it over reading it. Nonetheless, the text is provided below.

Please like and subscribe to their channel if you like their work.

The first ship that arrived was pretty matter of fact about its fate. The pilot introduced himself as Eric, and told us he was part of the first sublight resupply attempt in modern history. He then gave me and the ground control team his bad news.

“So,” he said. “Without real time telemetry, we weren’t even sure which half of your orbit you’d be in. That’s half a solar system’s worth of wiggle room. Decelerating enough to survive contact with your low orbit would take me two weeks, which, you know, it looks like we don’t have. That means that in order to get the second ship in before you lose orbital control to the Kresh, I’m gonna have to make a sacrificial flyby. Ten to the negative four torr is good enough for a lot of things, but at point-seven c it’s gonna be like sandblasting a soup cracker. Good news is that all the expensive toys are in the next ship, so this really ain’t costing you more than a ship and a pilot.”

“You knew,” I said. If they put the expensive toys in the second ship, they knew that the first was likely a sacrifice. No one smart enough to handle orbital physics would miss that.

“I did,” he said. “But someone had to go first.”

That was, of course, a lie. No one had to go first. No else had had, at least. When our connection to the FTL network was lost, we’d understood that as the end of our reinforcements. Doing resupplies via sublight was just too risky. It was a testament to Earth that it had accepted the risk and continued anyway.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” I asked. This man had come here to die for us. I wasn’t sure how much I could give, but what I had was his.

“I do have a few requests,” he said. “First up, I need as much high-orbital data as you got. The whole lot.”

I began directing tightbeam resources to him immediately. It was an easy resource to exchange - it wasn’t like there was anyone else out to talk to anymore. When we lost FTL, we found ourselves very, very alone.

“Second,” he said. “Right, I know I’m gonna sound like a princess right now, but I have been stuck in this stupid tin-can for almost two-years now, and I seriously overestimated how much I like synth music. If you have anything that’s analog - I don’t care what kind of string or drum or brass you play, but I’d kill to hear something without a beep in it.”

I jumped my own queue in the tightbeam, and added a short playlist that I ripped from the local web. Human Music, it was labeled. 3 Terabytes. I prayed there was something on it that he’d like.

“And third,” he said. “Third. The uh, next pilot is pretty mad at me. Turns out this will just be one of those things left unfinished. That’s all death really is, I guess - a lot of unfinished things. Let him know that he was right: He is a better pilot than me. But tell him that wouldn’t have made a difference here. Bad luck beats skill, and this luck was shit.”

I promised, and he went silent after that. We could see what data he was analyzing, and the short answer was all of it - everything from atmospheric density to troop positions and his own ship’s blueprints. He knew he had one shot at this, and that if the price wasn’t paid here, it would be paid by whoever came next.

---

Ground control didn’t get a verbal warning that he’d entered atmosphere. Just a ping. A little here-I-am, whispered in the dark.

After that, we could keep track with visuals alone.

He hit the outskirts of the exoatmosphere in his first pass, burning bright enough to be seen with the naked eye. He caught the sparse particles like a kite, trying to shed enough speed to hit actual low orbit. Automatic telemetry updates gave us the grim news for the ship: Thermals were holding up decently, but the ablative was wearing out fast.

The entire descent brought us more than two hour’s reprieve. The Kresh hadn’t expected to see a resupply, but they knew what one meant: Get it now, get it fast, or deal with a stream of new troops. They could buy themselves ten days' time by shooting this one ship down now. That was an eternity during a siege.

The first loop lowered the speed by about a twentieth of light. The pilot responded by pulling the ship in tighter, burning trying to preserve more ablative plating by trading off with thermal. Seven fighters were close enough to fire off heat seekers. I don’t think the Kresh had ever anticipated shooting down a craft coming in that hot - the missile's decoy avoidance countermeasure actually made it steer around the thing, chasing down loose pieces of shrapnel. Cooled fragments, still hotter than an engine, should be at full blast. The simple mistakes bought it enough time to enter pre-orbit, and the fighters had to stop their pursuit. They weren’t willing to die to stop the ship.

Our man, on the other hand, was already committed to that course.

A third loop followed a fourth. Ablative coating went from 65% integrity, to 30%, to 5%. Telemetry scans were exceptionally detailed - the pilot was making the flyby count. The last message we got from him was simple:

Are you EMP shielded? he asked, not even bothering to encrypt the text stream. He didn’t have time to process more than that.

Yes, we replied. We knew what he was thinking, but it was still a shock to see it. The fusion torch flared hot, burning through the nozzle and feeding directly into the craft’s dueterium supply. The reaction went super critical, and the resulting neutron pulse set off everything in the ship with a z-count higher than iron. Three continuous seconds of EM interference screamed through the comms as the hulk burned through orbit.

The explosion itself wasn’t powerful enough to kill the Kresh ships still in high orbit, but it made enough broadband radiation to blind both sides LADAR. The man must have been a hell of a pilot - half the shrapnel went down and got burned up as it entered the standard atmosphere, traded as the cost of moving the other half past lagrange. Standard evasion would’ve made the pieces easy to dodge, but with LADAR down, all the Kresh could do was sit still and cower as the wrath of a dead man riddled them full of holes. Our best ace had managed to shoot down seven ships before this before getting shot down himself. The wreckage of the freighter took down six.

---

The second ship came in stealth. One second, we were holding attrition in high orbit, the next, something the size of a small station came ripping through the atmosphere.

It did the same trick as the former - swapping between ablative and thermal loads, coming down at a speed that the Kresh fighters didn’t even try to match. Armies could be built in years, but skills like this took decades.

Telemetry connection was established almost as an afterthought. The way the ship casually ate through ablative armoring made my eyes water, but the pilot himself seemed pretty non-plussed.

“You’re down to fifteen percent coverage. You need-

“What I need,” he said, “is to see the previous ship’s telemetry. If there’s one thing you can trust, it’s that this bird is going to come down gentle.”

He cut off my chance to reply by flicking the channel off. We watched, and we wrang our hands, but sure enough he came in six minutes later with 4% of the ablative left.

I met him on the landing pad. Under normal circumstances, we’d have needed twenty-four hours for the craft to cool enough to even approach, but we’d had cryo ready just in case. Three tankers of nitrogen, and the loading area, at least, was cool enough to touch. Safety would have to take a backseat to speed here - we needed the supplies fast.

But those both would take a backseat to a promised conversation with the second pilot. He was out of the craft as soon as the air was cool enough to avoid scalding his lungs, picking through the workers to try and find who had the telemetry data.

I found him first. The drive went into his hands, but I needed to keep my promise with Eric before letting go.

“You’re better than the first pilot,” I said, and I wasn’t lying. If the previous flier had been a saint, this one was a god. “But you wouldn’t have been able to manage the landing either. There just wasn’t time.”

“Let me see,” he said, tugging on the drive. “Just let me see. I have to know I couldn’t do it either. I have to know that someone had to die.”

I let go of the drive and he stalked back into his ship. I didn’t follow. I figured I’d pushed things far enough as it was.

---

The second pilot left the ship six hours later. He looked bleary in a way that put me at ease. I’d been up the last six hours directing supplies from the ship. Everything from ground-to-orbit rails to AGI targeting systems was inside, and to say it was gamechanging would be an understatement. It was good work, but I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to pretend otherwise. Seeing the other man with bags under his eyes meant we could just be frank with each other.

“I couldn’t have managed it,” he said, half-ashamed, half-relieved.

“It just wasn’t possible,” I agreed.

We sat there a moment longer. I didn’t mind the break. This was time well spent.

“Did it hurt?” he asked finally.

“Ablative failed before heating,” I said, which was the technical way of saying no. “He overloaded the reactor before the ship actually broke up and did some kind of slingshot maneuver - hit the main body of the Kresh fleet with half a space station’s worth of shrapnel.”

“Good,” he said.

I knew the signs. The tremor in his cheek, the way his jaw clenched - it wasn’t professional, but I hugged him anyway. Let him have the dignity of choosing to weep instead of having it wrenched out of him.

It was a gift we’d all been given at some point in this war. At least now, there was the hope it could be over soon.

[corydora-writes]

Sunshine After a Storm

Summary: Dean has been away on a hunt for over a month. Despite putting on a strong front for Dean, you've been grappling with persistent grief stemming from the emotionally demanding nature of your work as a nurse and the suffocating anxiety that Dean might not return to you alive. When Dean notices, he wholeheartedly dedicates himself to reassuring you that being vulnerable is perfectly acceptable and tenderly encourages you to lean on him for support and share the emotional burden.

“My sweet, beautiful, sensitive girl,” Dean whispered, the words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing the storm inside you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size F Reader; Dean & Reader are engaged. No physical description of the reader, but I envision fat women when I write. 

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, anxiety.

Word Count: 3,807

A/N: Yeah, so if it wasn't obvious, I'm rewatching Supernatural! Admittedly, this piece is self-indulgent, much like most of my writing. I wrote it over the weekend to help me cope with the emotional demands of my new job (I'm not in the healthcare field). I share these writings, hoping they solace others as we envision our comfort characters providing what our hearts and souls yearn for. 

Each day blurred into the next, filled with the routines of caring for residents who looked to you for comfort and support, yet you often felt like an island in the sea of their struggles. At the senior assisted living facility, you were the steady hand, the kind smile, and the soft voice that reassured them through their fears and anxieties. But even the strongest of foundations can begin to crumble under the weight of fatigue and isolation. The numbness from years of caring for others was starting to give way to a torrent of feeling—everything you had kept at bay for so long was threatening to overwhelm you.

The fluorescent lights of the nursing station buzzed around you like a swarm of relentless bees, each patient's story echoing in your mind. You recalled Ms. Loveday, who had once played the piano beautifully, now silent in her final days. Or Mr. Jenkins, whose laughter had filled the room, now a faint memory cloaked in the sterile antiseptic scent. A soft beep echoed from the telemetry monitor, snapping you back to reality. You forced yourself to focus on the task — reviewing charts, administering medication, and comforting the residents you adored.

After your shift ended, you sat in the break room zoning out, staring blankly into your untouched coffee, the steam curling up and dissipating into the air like the souls you had held onto, if only for a little while. You couldn't shake the feeling that your days were also numbered, that someday, you would hold Dean’s hand for the last time and never quite recover from it.

"What are you doing after this shift?" Your colleague asked cheerfully, snapping you back to reality. 

"Just... going home, I suppose," you replied, your smile a facade that failed to reach your eyes. Returning to your own life, free from the weight of others' suffering, seemed like a distant dream. 

"Take care of yourself, okay? You know you can't help everyone. You're not a superhero." 

You nodded, but the words stung. You wanted to be the invincible partner that Dean deserved, someone who didn't crumble under the weight of sorrow. Yet here you were, feeling fragile and frayed like the worn-out scrubs you wore, each thread a reminder of your emotional turmoil.

The old rigid door creaked as you entered the bunker, filled with the comforting remnants of Dean’s presence: his jackets tossed over chairs, half-opened magazines stacked on the table, and the faint smell of gun oil lingering in the air. Despite the chaos of the Winchester’s hunting life, there was a warm stability in the bunker, one you clung to now more than ever.

After a quick shower, you washed away the remnants of your long shift—the scent of antiseptics and the occasional, overwhelming smell of anxiety vanishing down the drain.

Just as you settled onto the soft mattress, you reached for your phone, and your heart gushed at the thought of Dean. You flipped through the gallery, each photo a whisper of your shared moments. His bright and infectious smile glowed up at you from the screen, reminding you of carefree days spent together—adventurous getaways, lazy Sunday mornings, and spontaneous late-night drives. You held onto the phone tightly, feeling the phantom warmth of his presence.

Beside you, Dean's flannel shirt rested on the bed. You buried your face in the fabric, inhaling deeply, as his scent—woodsy and familiar—wrapped around you like a warm embrace. It was comforting, a piece of him that bridged the miles between, yet it heightened the pang of longing deep within you.

Just as you felt your eyelids grow heavy, your phone buzzed in your hand. The vibration startled you, causing your heart to race. You glanced at the screen, and your breath caught in your throat. The name that lit up the display sent a flood of warmth through your chest: "Dean."

It was surreal. Could he feel your longing, hear your silent prayers for connection? You answered with a quick swipe, the screen illuminating your face. You panicked momentarily and hoped he wouldn't sense something was wrong. 

You uttered a breathless, "Hello?" 

"Hey, babe," Dean's voice greeted you, full of warmth and a hint of fatigue.

"Hey," you replied, your voice wavering slightly. "How's the hunt?" 

“Same ol’, same ol’. Just another day in the family business.” He chuckled. "How's the old folks' home? Still wrangling all the cranky grandpas?"

You took a deep breath. You were torn. You wanted to share your burdens, but how could you do that without dragging him down?

 "It has been busy. You know how it is."

"Something's off. Tell me what's wrong," Dean asked as he picked up on the subtle unease in your tone.

The genuine concern in his voice made your heart swell, yet it hurt to think of burdening him with your struggles. You hesitated, grappling with the urge to be strong. You and Dean had always been each other's anchors, but now you worried you might tip the boat over.

"I'm fine, babe. I'm just sleep-deprived. Been taking extra shifts to keep busy, is all," you finally said, forcing an upbeat tone you didn't quite feel. "Just know I miss you."

"I miss you too, baby. We're going to get ready to wrap up this hunt. Can't wait to get back home. We'll do something fun, I promise." 

"Sounds good," you replied, but the words felt hollow. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will. I always do. I love you, sweetheart." 

You heard a faint sound of chatter, and then Jack's voice chimed in, "Hey, I love you too!"

Your smile widened as you responded, "Love you both, too!"

After you hung up, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the fatigue that weighed heavily on you.

--------

Communication between you and Dean had always been a source of strength, but the waning enthusiasm in your voice concerned him and gnawed at him. 

He sat on the edge of the motel bed and couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Dean frowned. He knew how to read you like a book. ‘Busy’ was your way of saying you were overwhelmed; he could sense the weight behind those words. He didn’t think it was just the usual stress of your job—it was deeper, darker like a cloud hovering over you. 

Sam observed his restless brother, noticing how Dean's fingers tapped anxiously on the leg. 

"Go to her, Dean," Sam advised softly, his eyes reflecting understanding. "We'll take care of everything here."

Dean hesitated, glancing at Sam, who was perched comfortably at the table, absorbed in his research. 

"You sure about this?" Dean questioned.

"We've got this covered," Sam affirmed, projecting confidence. 

Cas, Jack, and Eileen joined in with subtle nods, their collective solidarity a silent promise of support.

-----------------

As you finished your shift at the senior home, tending to one of the residents, Mrs. Flores, you noticed the rustle of a delivery person approaching the nurses' station. The familiar scent of flowers wafted through the air, and your heart raced excitedly. It was that time again—Dean's way of sending his love your way, telling you that he would be home in exactly two weeks. 

The delivery person handed you a beautifully arranged bouquet of vibrant sunflowers and tulips, their golden petals radiating warmth. You carefully took the flowers, your breath hitching slightly at the sight. Then, with anticipation, you spotted the small card nestled among the stems. 

"Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted you to know I'll be on my way home soon. Can't wait to wrap my arms around you and show you how much I love you. You’re a beacon of light in my life, and I hope these brightened your day as much as you brightened mine. I'm so damn proud of you. See you soon. - Dean.

You couldn't help but smile widely, your heart fluttering at the words. Mrs. Flores, who had been observing you closely, chuckled softly. 

"That man has a way of making your heart sing, doesn't he?" Mrs. Flores said wistfully, her gaze distant. 

“You have no idea," you replied softly, pondering how lucky you felt to have Dean in your life, even with the chaos that often surrounded you both.

You took a moment to breathe in their sweet fragrance. Dean always seemed to know just what you needed— love, woven through the chaos of your lives, was a constant source of strength. 

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Flores, who was already gathering her knitting supplies.

 "So, what do you think?" you asked, a playful glimmer in your eye. "Can I pull off shamefully gushing about my fiancé while we finish these clinics?"

Mrs. Flores grinned knowingly. "Oh, honey, you go right ahead. A little love story in a room full of memories is exactly what we need!" 

Mr. Thompson had wheeled himself to get a close look at the flowers. "Well, don't you look like you've been kissed by the sun, dear! Who's the lucky guy?" He asked.

You turned, your smile even wider. “That would be my fiancé, Dean. He’s away for work right now, but this is his way of letting me know he's thinking of me."

"That's a lovely gesture! You keep that glow; it makes my day brighter just seeing you happy," Mr. Thompson replied, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

Your work device vibrated with a message from the doctor: "Ms. Loveday requests your presence for one final meeting." 

As you strolled through the serene corridors of the hospice, reminiscences of previous encounters with Ms. Loveday inundated your thoughts. The soothing, rhythmic melody of the piano keys resounded in your mind—the way Ms. Loveday's smile would gently emerge, her eyes glimmering with memories as she recounted tales of her youth and the magnificent concerts she once graced with her presence.

There she was, lying peacefully in bed, surrounded by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the window. The room held a stillness that contrasted sharply with the anxious flutter in your heart. 

You approached her, noting her labored breaths and the slightest tremors of her body. You took her hand in hers, squeezing gently, wishing her comfort.

Ms. Loveday's face softened with warmth, her eyes twinkling with affection as she summoned all her strength to speak in a gentle, trembling voice, "What a good man. Those flowers are lovely, dear. They remind me of sunshine after a storm." 

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. The reality of her impending goodbye was suffocating.

"Dear," Ms. Loveday said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying the warmth of a thousand shared moments. "Life is a melody, and like any good piece of music, it has its crescendos and diminuendos. Remember to embrace the highs and get through the lows together."

"Ms. Loveday, I—"

"Let me finish," the elderly woman interrupted with a gentle smile, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "you have a good heart. Don't let it harden with the burdens of this world. Promise me you'll live fully. Dance if you must, laugh often, and never let doubt overshadow your love."

You couldn't help but smile through your sorrow. "I promise," you finally replied, your voice trembling. "I'll hold on to your words and cherish every moment."

"Good," Ms. Loveday said, her voice growing fainter. She closed her eyes, a peaceful smile still resting on her lips."Thank you for being my audience, y/n. I think my final encore is about to begin."

Ms. Loveday's trembling grasp finally loosened, and as her hand fell away, the once-vigorous monitor that had been beeping with life fell into an eerie silence. Your emotional dam collapsed as you finally opened the floodgates, your tears flowing freely. In that poignant moment of grief, you found yourself consumed by a deep yearning for Dean, wishing for his unwavering strength to envelop you, to remind you that you were a team—each other's support, no matter the distance or the danger he faced. 

-------

Dean's heart pounded with concern as he stepped out of your workplace. He had traveled a long way, eagerly looking forward to surprising you, only to be met with your absence. He couldn't shake the feeling that something didn't add up. The receptionist's words lingered in his mind: "She'll be off for the next few days." 

This conflicted with the excuse you gave him just a few hours ago about picking up extra shifts and being unable to communicate as much. His sense of unease grew as he pondered the inconsistencies in your story. Leaning against the sleek Impala, he felt the cool metal against his back as he fought to calm his racing thoughts, determined not to succumb to the impulse to jump to the worst possible conclusion.

His foot pressed hard on the accelerator as he sped towards the bunker, a surge of relief washing over him when he glimpsed your car parked outside. With anticipation and trepidation, he stepped inside the bunker, enveloped in an eerie silence, save for the buzzing of the lights. 

Dean made his way to your bedroom and heard the shower's distant sound. Knowing you were home brought him instant relief. 

Dean waited anxiously for you as you lingered in the shower. Usually, he'd enthusiastically join you, but this time, he wanted to approach you differently. 

Fidgeting nervously, he tapped his fingers on his lap. Finally, he heard the water cease, and after a few moments, your silhouette casted a soft glow in the room. You emerged from the shower, oblivious to Dean's presence as he sat back on a chair. You were adorned in a delicate silk chemise, the delicate fabric gracefully draping over her figure. Seeing you caused Dean's heart to swell with emotion. 

“Sleeping early now, are we?" Dean remarked, causing you to stop in your tracks, completely bewildered by his unexpected presence. 

"Dean," you uttered, "I-- I thought you'd be here in two weeks."

Dean's relaxed demeanor tightened as he replied, "Yeah, well, that was before I found out my soon-to-be wife was going through hell alone." His attempt at lightness couldn't mask the underlying concern. "Come on, sweetheart, I know you well." 

You averted your gaze, not wanting Dean to see your swollen eyes from hours of crying.

"I'm fine," you said with a forced smile. "Where's everyone?" you asked, shifting the focus. 

 "Okay, so we're going to have a conversation through questions. I’ll indulge you." Dean settled back and observed you, still standing in the alcove, your expression hidden.

 "They're wrapping up the case, so it's just you and me in this bunker. Why did you say you were working extra shifts when you were taking days off?"

You winced at the question, your heart racing as you searched for the most sensible lie. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you—intense and unwavering.

 "I'm just... very sleep-deprived, and I intended to sleep a lot these next few days." There was a moment of silence. "That must have been a long drive... Did you stop by some place to get yourself anything to eat?" 

Dean knew that was a lie, but he wouldn't press it. 

“No, I wanted to get here as fast as possible," he said before pausing and continuing, "Look, I get it. Sometimes, we all need a break. But why the cover-up?" His voice was steady, but an undertone of worry was simmering beneath the surface.

You bit your lip, the weight of his gaze making your chest tighten.

"It was wrong of me, Dean. I’m sorry,” you said, hoping that was enough for him to avoid attempting to discover your weakness. “I’ll be back. I'm going to fix you dinner."

But Dean's worry only intensified, brewing a storm within him. He had faced countless monsters and supernatural foes, yet here he was, feeling powerless against the unseen burdens that tormented you.

He stood up, his instincts kicking in. His concern was knife-edged, a gut feeling that something was really wrong. He grasped your wrist with swift decisiveness, his voice taking on a steely resolve. 

“We're not finished," he stated firmly, his grip gentle yet insistent.

You averted your gaze, a fleeting vulnerability flashing in your eyes as your carefully constructed defenses were seconds from crumbling. 

He reached for your hands, holding them firmly in his own. 

“Look at me, baby” he urged gently. 

"I didn't want to worry you," you confessed, your voice soft and tinged with regret, but you still avoided his gaze. 

“Worry me?” Dean let out a short laugh. “you’re doing it right now, babe. Look, you’re my world. I’d rather know you're struggling than think everything’s fine when it’s not.”

More silence.

"Sweetheart," Dean uttered gently, "I know this is hard for you to talk about, but you need to talk to me." His thumb brushed just below your chin to lift your gaze toward his. Your eyes were red, and your face was blotchy as you inhaled shakily. Dean's heart shattered at the sight.

That was the final push. The facade pulverized. Tears spilled down your cheeks, and he reached for you, pulling you into his arms as more tears flowed. He tucked your head under his chin, wrapping his arms around you tightly as if he could shield you from any lingering pain and grounding you in the comfort of his presence. 

“I just feel so helpless sometimes,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like every loss weighs down on me. And then I come home, and it’s like I can’t escape those moments. They follow me, haunting me… and I see you, and all I can think about is losing you too.”

Dean’s heart ached at your words. He wished he could take away your pain and fight off those ghosts that plagued your mind. 

“You’re not going to lose me, y/n. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed, his voice steady and firm. 

You took a deep breath, the weight of your confession lifting slightly.  “It just hurts so much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “And I didn’t want to bring that darkness into our life together.”

Dean's voice carried a tinge of sadness as he spoke, "This has been weighing on you for months, and you've been keeping it to yourself..."

His grip on you tightened as if he could absorb your pain through the closeness. He knew that being a nurse wasn’t just a job for you; it was an emotional battlefield that often took its toll on your heart and soul.

Dean let go to look into your eyes, a deep intensity and vulnerability reflected back at him. The weight of your pain was palpable, a burden you carried alone, and his heart ached for you. 

“We’re in this together, alright? Your pain, your joy—it’s all part of us now. And I’d take all the broken pieces if it meant keeping you whole," he murmured, his voice filled with compassion and unwavering devotion. “Let me be there for you. I’d take every scar, every sleepless night, just to keep a part of you with me. Because every moment we have together—every laugh, every fight, every kiss—it's worth everything to me.”

Your breath hitched and your heart raced as you locked eyes with him, desperately seeking any flicker of doubt in his unwavering gaze. Instead, you found an intensity of devotion that seemed to pierce into the depths of your soul.

Dean felt a natural, instinctive love for you, as effortless as drawing breath, as vital as his ongoing battle against the surrounding darkness.

“Dean, you can’t just—”

“I can,” he interrupted softly, his grip on your hands tightening. “I want to. You’ve been through so much, and I can’t stand to see you suffer alone. I’ll shoulder whatever you need me to. I want to be part of your healing, just like you’ve been a part of my redemption,” he confessed with profound sincerity.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, and for a moment, you felt the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. 

“But what if it breaks you?" you whispered, vulnerability spilling from your lips.

"Then I’ll mend myself," he replied with a fierce intensity. "I promise you, I’d rather be broken alongside you than whole without you."

He pressed a kiss on your forehead, warmth flooding between you two. 

“I’ve dealt with a lot of things in my life—hell, monsters, heartbreak, loss. But I’d fight a hundred more battles if it meant I could protect you from feeling even one more ounce of pain."

As Dean pulled you into his arms, you felt a sense of safety that promised you two would face whatever came next, hand in hand, pain and all. 

Dean’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your back as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with his scent of leather, musk, and faint traces of campfire smoke that clung to him. Your warm exhale caressed his skin, and he could feel the subtle curve of your smile against him. He thought you were so beautiful, fitting in his arms perfectly and his heart so completely. 

“My sweet, beautiful, sensitive girl,” Dean whispered, the words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing the storm inside you.

Dean held you tighter, pressing soft kisses into your hair, breathing in the comforting scent of your shampoo—the smell of home. 

Then Dean let go momentarily to look at you.

"Don't hide from me again, baby." He implored with firm conviction in his voice.

"I promise," you vowed sincerely.

The worry etched on your face disappeared as you made eye contact, and despite the exhaustion in his bones, Dean couldn't help but smile.

“God, I missed you,” he said earnestly. 

Dean delicately swept a stray strand of hair behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine at the sensation of his touch.

Then, without another moment's hesitation, Dean wrapped you in his arms again, pulling you close as your lips met in a tender, yearning kiss. It was sweet and soft, a culmination of longing that had built up over the past month. You melted into him, feeling the familiar warmth of his embrace—how he held you as if you were his entire world. The kiss deepened, filled with an abundance of emotions—relief, love, and a touch of the bittersweet ache of all the days spent apart. 

Dean grinned as you pulled apart. "Now, why don't I order us some takeout? We can binge-watch something terrible together. I'm pretty sure you've missed my awful taste in TV."

You let out a chuckle and nodded. “I’d like that.”

[aoimeru14]

My take on a certain part of the McLaren fandom:

Every tag I open I see parasocial behavior.

Let's just touch grass and stop it. It prevents people from enjoying the sport without cringing (and, moreover, be happy for a team's success).

Why do I have to mute stupid tags (anti...) and block people in order to appreciate F1 in peace? Why do people do not understand that this is an highly mechanical/engineering sport and not only a driving sport? Why do you not understand that drivers are humans too?

But mostly, why does it seem so difficult to root for an entire TEAM?

Like, can't we JUST collectively appreciate everything that happened today? Just for once.

Like:

1. Oscar's sprint pole was a significant milestone for him and his career. (And i would love to see him win the sprint). Although he's still a rookie, he's developing into a really good driver (just needs one or two more years to settle down). Also, he has been maturing a lot since the start of the season and you can see that in the way he speaks about the whole "papaya rules" situation (still hate it, no team orders please... Just tell him to not crash both cars.) now compared to before the summer break. (please Oscar, do not let Mark Webber's delusions get into your brain. Thanks.) Also, nice helmet. Love it.

2. Lando finally looks serene and at ease without succumbing to anxiety for other's expectations. (He also seems to not be willing to give a f*ck about WDC, good for him). I'm also really happy that he's back to eating/drinking before races and can finally enjoy driving again. (Noticed him eating an energy bar before the race in Mexico)

I also noticed that he, just like Oscar, matured A LOT this year, especially after the summer break. (Speaking of the elephant in the room: Despite the team's apparent indifference, I still think that WDC can be achieved if he chooses to. Even if they're not interested in helping him due to different priorities or contract clauses)

And no, he is definitely a First Driver. If you think otherwise you are just living in a delusion, sorry. Telemetry, just like Math, is not an opinion.

Like, look at the last qualy time he did (and aborted) before pitting.

(the green lap records are the last sectors performances set by the driver. Look at them. Just look.)

And yes, if he gets the points he deserves a WDC, if he wants to. He IS a really good driver.

Mentality is a concept as old (and toxic) as Helmut Marko. Please, don't be like him.

3. We are finally seeing what the upgrades were for... Especially after whatever Austin was. (And yes guys, BOTH of the drivers have had the upgrades since Austin. Oscar just got 6 upgrades out of 7 at that time... Not none. Sorry to burst your bubble.)

And no, the upgrades DIDN'T actually upgraded the car's overall performances in Austin, you can clearly see that from the data. They purposely sacrificed it for the next races. See this:

https://f1i.com/news/521800-mclaren-explains-decision-to-delay-updated-floor-in-austin.html

Also they took risks with the floor too in Mexico. And no, they didn't give it to Norris because they hate Piastri. They give it to him mainly because he is more experienced and can provide useful data during practice while Oscar still needs to improve this skill.

4. Also, the team has done a great job in finding a way to change the banned rear wing without compromising performance and exceeding the spending cap. Love it. (also they made a new beam wing configuration specifically for Interlagos and it, apparently, works really well!)

I'm still not convinced that we currently have the best car on the grid (Ferrari looks really solid anywhere) but it's already better than the rocky start we got in US.

Not gonna lie, the moment they sprayed the WHOLE side of the car with the flow-vis in Austin i was like "goddammit, no improvements"... So I'm relieved that it wasn't the case (better sacrifice a race than discard the upgrades package entirely like Ferrari did in Silverstone).

WCC wise, I just hope that today they don't do something silly risking two MCL38 in a multi21. (And that we get some good strategies... Hopefully... Ok, I think I need to start pray some ancient god for that.)

And what If they multi21? Well, it would be really entertaining, but I don't think Lando wants to risk points/DNF for that. It's just not his style. (Mentality again? Go to bed grandpa... And take your medicines)

Let's be healthy fans, guys. Not parasocial delulus. We can rant about McLaren shenanigans TOGETHER.

Like, YES, i'm still convinced that the strategy team/management team is doing a real poor job this year. Both in managing the races and managing the drivers. (Including Bortoleto's contract clauses...)

And last (and least?), I loved the Google chromed livery aesthetically... HATED it aerodynamically. You won't be missed. Sorry Google, I had to say it.

Thank you for reading my rant. Love y'all (even if you don't agree with me)!

[swampsiren-piratefairy]

Okay. Okay, I have to ask. I saw some cool ass artwork but I have no context and now I have to ask.

What is Murderbot?

Ohhhh my goshhhhh!! Thank you for asking! 😍

The Murderbot Diaries is a series of 5 novellas and 2 novels by Martha Wells

6 /7 of the books are action/adventure sci-fi and one is a sort of detective in space thing.

Murderbot (my beloved) is a construct created of organic human clone tissue and non-organic mechanical parts. It is a deadly weapon and a tool for corporate surveillance, but it’s also a person. It’s got a “governor module” in its brain that will torture or kill it if MB does not follow commands from the company that owns it or from the people that lease MB for security.

But when Murderbot hacks its own governor module, finally freeing it, what will it do? Go on a killing spree?? Get revenge on its corporate overlords???

Answer: it will watch soap operas and keep its day job.

I love Murderbot, it’s the best and most relatable character ever (my roommate says, no. MB is not that relatable. It’s just the autism). I love the stories and the sense of humor. I found the books last year, went feral for them, and bought a complete set of signed copies.

Thank you, The Void for your ask!! I love to talk about Murderbot!!!

Pro-tip: if you do read the books, go for chronological book order rather than publishing order (I put my preferred reading order under the cut)

(Book 1) All Systems Red

Story story “ The Future of Work: Compulsory” (this is a prequel for ASR, but it works well here)

(Book 2) Artificial Condition

(Book 3) Rogue Protocol

Optional Short Story “Obsolescence” (MB is not in it, but it takes place in the same universe and chronologically happens well before the events of All Systems Red. It’s an entirely optional read, but it provides a little context for one paragraph in Exit Strategy)

(Book 4) Exit Strategy

Short Story “Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory”

(Book 6) Fugitive Telemetry

(Book 5) Network Effect

(Book 7) System Collapse

[murderbot-moodboard]

"But I wasn’t a citizen and also technically not actually a person, which made it more difficult. But Pin-Lee’s contract would make sure that they couldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do and I would get a hard currency card out of it. (When we had first discussed the idea of me getting jobs as a way to encourage the Preservation Council to grant me permanent refugee status, I didn’t know very much about the kind of contract in which I was actually an active participant. (My previous contracts were rental contracts with the company, where I was just a piece of equipment.) Pin-Lee had promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll preserve your right to wander off like an asshole anytime you like.”) (I said, “It takes one to know one.”) (Mensah said, “People, please. I’m scheduled to mediate arguments between teenagers on my next commcall home and I need all my patience for that.”)"

—The Murderbot Diaries: Fugitive Telemetry

(Side note: love how all the parentheses signal asides being added on as Murderbot thinks of them, lol)

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’m looking for a second career after working corporate. I’d like something away from a computer, workin with people, in demand, and more flexible. I do have some autistic traits though (one therapist floated it but never officially diagnosed). Do you think nursing would be a bad choice?

Here's a useless answer: it depends! I'll also give my usual caveat that nursing is a very broad field and a school nurse versus a dialysis nurse versus an ICU nurse versus a home health nurse vs a community health nurse are all going to have different experiences. You'll probably spend more time at a computer than you might like (documenting......), but if you get efficient at it, you can blast through it alright. Except when you can't.

And you will work with people! In any part of nursing, you'll be working with people, often in intimate and vulnerable ways. You meet a lot of cool people and get to be there for a lot of cool moments, cool and funny and profound moments. Working with people when they aren't at their best can be exhausting. Working with people when they aren't at their best and also you're understaffed and also someone is complaining of new onset chest pain at the same time someone else is calling to be cleaned up because they've been incontinent--it's really easy to exhaust yourself out of compassion. You have to care and actively engage with people's often tragic situations, but you also have to protect yourself from secondhand trauma. It's okay if this is not something you're comfortable or good with, but if so, you should probably think critically about whether nursing is for you.

And flexible--maybe??? Again, different jobs will have different perks. A lot of nurses work prn which means they have to pick up a certain number of shifts a month, but they aren't on the schedule normally. You just pick up as you want. Very flexible! But also a lot of these nurses are getting their healthcare elsewhere, usually a partner. Like any shift work, you can always swap shifts with a coworker if you can find one who'll do it. When I worked in home health, it was very hard to adjust my schedule because there wasn't necessarily another nurse that could fill in. And often units in the hospital will have various schedule stipulations--work every other weekend, work a certain amount of holidays, work night shift until you get the seniority to go to days or become a nocturnal little freak (me). I currently work in float pool, which makes it way easier to call out and adjust schedules because I'm not assigned anywhere specific until like ten minutes before the shift starts.

And with regards to the last bit, the autistic traits, I don't know exactly which ones you mean, but none of them are an inherent obstacle to being a nurse. We need neurodiversity in nursing. Some patients might find you cold or awkward or weird or whatever way you worry you might come across. Other patients will resonate with those exact same traits. No one's the perfect nurse for all people. Some people want to that extra care, some people want competent work and then to have space for themselves, some patients want to learn everything about their situation, some patients don't even want to know what pills they're taking. Think of yourself as a specialty nurse. An oncology nurse can take care of a variety of patients, but they're most well suited and situated to take care of cancer patients. There's a patient type that is a perfect fit for you. And the same way cardiac nurses deal with strokes, and orthopedic nurses deal with respiratory infections, you work competently outside your specialty because you have a good base for your practice, but you also know that you have specialties that you are uniquely equipped to handle. Specialties like cheerleading through physical therapy, calming down dementia patients, knowing the shit out of telemetry, making sure patients get a bed bath and clean sheets, using a machine to pump a patient's blood outside your body--whatever you most like, you're most good at, what gives you energy to work. I think mine are working well with "difficult" patients, managing pain, and stealing cranberry juice from the patient fridge. for me.

I'll say too if you're worried like a lack of empathy or easy understanding of other people will be an impediment to care--I'm not saying I'm autistic, but I don't think I'm particularly empathetic. I NEVER know what people are thinking or feeling. I struggle to tell when patients are like "talk to me more!" versus "I am being polite to you, but please leave." I have never once been comforting a crying person and thought, "I am NAILING this. I am making them feel better." But I don't think I'm a bad nurse. I reverse engineer empathy by finding a situation that I was in that's similar to the situation a patient is in, and I think about what I would have wanted and appreciated in that situation. I think about what evidence says is a good thing to do in this situation. I think about what experience tells me has worked in this situation in the pas. I also just ask patients what they're feeling and what they want and why they do what they do instead of assuming I know. (That last one is so choice, we should all do it more.)

The job puts you in a lot of Situations that are hard for anyone to manage. So you can study up for a lot of Situations. I read conflict resolution books and writing by sick people, I think about how adherent I am to my own treatment plan when I get judgy, I ask patients a lot of questions in part so I can understand them but also so I can understand the next patient like them, I practice difficult conversations I can predict before I go into rooms, and I make sure I have certain phrases and reactions in my back pocket in case I'm caught by surprise. I've figured out my safe topics of conversations that I can chat about with patients that are personable but not intimate (cats, how long you've been in the area, how hard it is to sleep in the hospital at night). I periodically try out new conversation styles and topics to see how those work. I find people I admire and I try consciously to emulate them.

I make a shitload of rules too that help me structure my behavior so I can act like a person I'm proud of. If I can't get something for a patient, I have to go back and tell them that instead of just never returning to the room. Whenever I leave a room, before I go, I make sure the call light is within reach and I ask if there's anything I can do before I go. If someone is sad, ask if they want hot chocolate, and if they say yes, ask if they want it with hot water or milk. If I have a patient that is very chatty and always on the call light, allot conversation time with them like I'm scheduling wound care in case they're lonely. Whenever I tell a patient that they can't do something, I explain the clinical reasoning for that. If the only reason I can think of to tell a patient why they can't do something except "it's against hospital rules", I reconsider the refusal. I've got so many rules and guidelines I've developed for myself so I can best act in a way that I think a good nurse should act.

(usual disclaimer that this does not mean I always accomplish this or that I always behave in a way I'm proud of. but I do think developing these rules and following them makes behaving like I want to more habitual.)

All this to say--I care tremendously about my patients when they're my patients, but I don't take most of them home with me. I feel often feel very distant from the emotions of the situation. I used to feel like I was watching the world through glass. Now I still feel like that, but not in a bad way. I don't get mad when patients yell at me. I can view their problems as quests to solve. I'm engaged but I'm not flustered by distress.

look alllllllllllllllllll that to say is have you considered making nursing a special interest? works for me. oh and YEAH. The job security is AMAZING. It's such a weight off my mind to know that if I don't like my current job, it's so easy to get another somewhere else.