#thread lift procedures

[medicalinjectables]

How isa thread lift jowls in Wollongong helpful?

People around the world have some kind of conception regarding their appearance. In Australia, men and women are no different who have some kind of conception regarding their appearance which may be positive or negative. Though beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, some people do look in the mirror to see if they can improve their appearance through medical means. Fortunately, most Australians are affluent enough to afford medical treatment for improving their appearance.

One of the ways to improve the appearance is using thread lift jowls in Wollongong. In this procedure a dissolvable thread is injected into the subcutaneous tissue of the patients which then dissolves inside the tissue and collagen is deposited around the thread tightening the skin on the exterior. 

Some facts related to thread lift jowls are:

The procedure takes about an hour

The effects of the procedure last for several years typically not more than 3 to 4 years

The maximum effect is visible within 3 weeks to 3 months

The procedure uses Australian Register of therapeutic goods administration approved medical injectables

The patients who undergo thread lift jowls are advised not to touch the area for at least 48 hours and drink a lot of water for the best results of the medical procedure performed. Unlike surgery, there is no risk of infection and downtime associated.

[bestskinspecialist1]

Everything One Needs To Know About Thread Lift

In pursuit of youthful and vibrant skin, many people are looking for innovative beauty procedures that produce impressive results with minimal downtime. One treatment that is gaining popularity is thread lift surgery. This minimally invasive procedure offers a revitalizing solution for sagging skin. Helps lift and tighten the face and neck area. In this blog post, one will get to know everything about thread lifts. From how the process works to its benefits to what you can expect during your recovery. Whether you are considering a thread lift or just curious about knowing this treatment, this blog will provide you with valuable insights and also about the skin clinic that provides the best treatment for Thread Lift in Noida. Let’s take a look at the factors of this transformation process!

What is a Thread Lift?

Thread lift is a non-surgical procedure which will lift sagging aging skin and stimulate collagen production to make your face or neck look more youthful. A dermatologist inserts medical-grade threads under the skin to pull the skin into place. These formulas stimulate the body’s natural healing response, increasing collagen production. Thread comes in many different materials and lengths. Unlike a facelift, a thread lift is a non-surgical procedure. This causes a slight change. It’s often called “lunchtime makeover” because it’s a quick process with minimal downtime.

What types of Thread Lift are there?

There are many types of thread lifts, such as:

Cat or fox eyelash lift: This involves lifting your eyebrows to the temples to make your eyes look more cat-like.

Eyebrow Thread lift: A dermatologist lifts sagging or obscure brows. and tighten your skin.

Nose Thread lift: A dermatologist injects threads to lift. Lengthen or make your nose smaller. In some cases, a nose thread lift may be combined with dermal fillers.

Neck Thread Lift: This procedure will lift sagging skin on your neck or make it smoother.

How long does a Thread Lift take?

The results of a thread lift are temporary and last for one to three years. As time passes, the threads will melt and will get absorbed into the body. If you like the results, another thread lift can execute the elevator process.

Who is the best choice for a Thread Lift?

In general, thread lifts are best suited for people who:

Feel the first signs of aging

It dates from the late 30’s to the early 50’s.

Don’t expect dramatic results.

Anyone who ever had facelift surgery or neck lift and wants to refresh results

And because thread lift is a low-risk procedure, it is a good option for those who do not have the money to pay for traditional thread lifts or are scared of undergoing a surgical procedure. In certain situations, for example, you can get a thread lift if you have high blood pressure, diabetes, or heart disease.

Is a Thread Lift worth it?

Thread lift is a relatively quick process. With little downtime and low risk, however, the results are subtle and fleeting.

Does Thread Lift hurt?

During the thread lift process, you will be given local anaesthesia. So one will not feel any pain. You may feel uneasiness, discomfort and slight symptoms of pain after the procedure. You can take pain relievers for a few days if needed.

Description of the process:

Before the Thread Lift procedure

Before undergoing thread lift, your dermatologist will address you in detail about what to anticipate during the thread lift procedure. The dermatologist will apply local anaesthesia. Hence, you will be conscious during surgery but not feel pain.

During the Thread Lift process

Temporary sutures are put into the skin during a thread lift treatment to tighten and raise sagging areas like the neck, jawline, and face. As they dissolve, these threads promote collagen production, enhancing skin texture and giving the appearance of natural lifting. Most patients only have slight swelling or bruising after the minimally invasive surgery, usually performed under local anaesthesia and needs little recovery time. The effects start to show immediately, and as collagen grows, they improve over time.

Recovery process after a Thread Lift

You can go home the same day as your thread lift procedure. You might get bruising and swelling over the treated area. Your dermatologist will give you tips on how to take care of your treatment site.

Some of the common tips include:

A cold compress or ice pack.

Not to wash the face for 24 hours.

Avoid applying makeup to the face for several days.

Cannot use any facial creams for many weeks.

Keep lying on supports.

Antibiotics are given to rule out infection.

What are the benefits of Thread Lift?

It is a low-risk procedure. Most adults can, therefore receive treatment.

Formula stimulates collagen production, increasing skin’s natural elasticity.

Recovery is quick. You can then return to your activities immediately.

Consult the Best Dermatologist in Noida for Thread Lift!

With all the benefits associated with thread lifts, why don’t you think about completing this step? The next step is to establish a reliable clinic. For the best and most effective thread lift, you can visit Skinlogics Clinic to consult the best dermatologist in Noida. Their knowledgeable and experienced dermatologists provide personalized treatment. The clinic also provides various other skin treatments such as laser tattoo removal, pigmentation treatments, age spots, dark spots, melasma, dermal fillers, and much more. Book an appointment with Skinlogics Clinic to reap the benefits.

Original Source:- https://skinlogicsclinic.wordpress.com/2024/12/27/everything-one-needs-to-know-about-thread-lift/

[kaneinstitute]

Thread Lifts: Redefining Non-Surgical Rejuvenation in Medical Aesthetics

The world of medical aesthetics has witnessed a transformative shift toward minimally invasive procedures, offering clients effective solutions with little to no downtime. Among the most revolutionary advancements in this field is the thread lift, a technique that combines science and artistry to lift and rejuvenate the skin without the need for surgery.

For medical professionals, acquiring thread lift training is an invaluable investment that enhances their practice, meets growing client demand, and positions them as leaders in aesthetic innovation. This article delves into the fundamentals of thread lifts, the benefits they offer, and why mastering this skill is essential for medical practitioners in today’s competitive market.

What Is a Thread Lift?

A thread lift is a minimally invasive cosmetic procedure designed to lift sagging skin and stimulate collagen production. During the procedure, dissolvable threads made of biocompatible materials such as PDO (polydioxanone), PLA (polylactic acid), or PCL (polycaprolactone) are inserted beneath the skin. These threads provide an immediate lifting effect and encourage long-term collagen growth, resulting in firmer, more youthful-looking skin.

Advantages for Clients:

Instant Results: Lifting effects are visible immediately after the procedure.

Natural Rejuvenation: The collagen-stimulating properties of threads improve skin texture and elasticity over time.

Minimally Invasive: No large incisions, general anesthesia, or extended recovery periods are required.

Customizable Treatment: Thread lifts can address various areas of concern, including the face, neck, and body.

Long-Lasting Outcomes: Results typically last between 12 to 18 months, depending on the thread type and individual skin characteristics.

Popular areas for thread lifts include:

Cheeks and midface

Jawline and jowls

Neck

Brows and forehead

Nasolabial folds

The Growing Demand for Thread Lifts

The demand for minimally invasive procedures like thread lifts continues to rise, driven by clients seeking natural results without the risks or downtime associated with surgery. This trend has created a significant opportunity for medical practitioners to expand their expertise and capitalize on this growing market.

Why Medical Professionals Should Learn Thread Lift Techniques

Adding thread lifts to your service offerings can elevate your practice in numerous ways:

1. Attract a Broader Client Base

As more clients opt for non-surgical solutions, mastering thread lifts allows you to cater to their preferences and grow your client base.

2. Enhance Your Expertise

Thread lifts complement other aesthetic treatments such as dermal fillers, Botox, and skin tightening therapies, enabling you to offer comprehensive anti-aging solutions.

3. Increase Practice Revenue

Thread lifts are considered premium procedures, allowing practitioners to charge competitive rates while delivering exceptional results.

4. Stand Out in the Industry

By mastering advanced techniques like thread lifts, you position yourself as a leader in the aesthetics field, setting your practice apart from competitors.

5. Deliver Outstanding Client Satisfaction

Thread lifts provide natural, long-lasting results that clients appreciate, fostering trust and loyalty.

What to Expect in Thread Lift Training

Thread lift courses are meticulously designed to equip practitioners with the theoretical knowledge and hands-on skills necessary to perform this advanced procedure safely and effectively.

Core Elements of a Comprehensive Training Program:

In-Depth Theoretical Knowledge

Anatomy of the face, neck, and body to ensure precise thread placement.

Properties and types of threads, including PDO, PLA, and PCL, and their respective uses.

Mechanisms of action, focusing on tissue lifting and collagen stimulation.

Hands-On Practice

Practical training on live models to build confidence and proficiency.

Techniques for inserting barbed, smooth, and cog threads.

Customizing treatments based on individual client anatomy and aesthetic goals.

Safety Protocols and Risk Management

Proper client screening to identify contraindications.

Techniques to minimize complications such as bruising, swelling, or thread migration.

Protocols for managing adverse events and ensuring client safety.

Consultation and Aftercare

Educating clients on the benefits, risks, and expected outcomes of thread lifts.

Setting realistic expectations to ensure client satisfaction.

Post-procedure care instructions to optimize results.

Advanced Techniques

Specialized training in non-surgical nose lifting.

Full-face rejuvenation and combination treatments.

Body contouring applications, such as lifting sagging skin on the arms or abdomen.

Who Can Enroll in Thread Lift Training?

Thread lift training is open to licensed medical professionals, including:

Physicians (MDs, DOs)

Dentists

Nurse practitioners (NPs)

Registered nurses (RNs)

Physician assistants (PAs)

Before enrolling, ensure you meet the legal requirements to perform thread lifts in your region.

Choosing the Right Training Program

To ensure a successful learning experience, select a thread lift training program that offers:

Accreditation: Courses accredited by reputable organizations in the medical aesthetics industry.

Experienced Trainers: Instructors with extensive expertise in thread lift procedures.

Live Model Practice: Hands-on training to build real-world confidence and skills.

Comprehensive Curriculum: Coverage of both foundational theory and advanced techniques.

Post-Training Support: Access to mentorship and advanced workshops for continuous growth.

Integrating Thread Lifts Into Your Practice

Once you’ve completed your training, incorporating thread lifts into your services involves strategic steps:

1. Educate Your Clients

Use consultations to explain the benefits and results of thread lifts.

Share before-and-after photos to build trust and set realistic expectations.

2. Combine Treatments

Pair thread lifts with Botox, dermal fillers, or PRP for enhanced anti-aging effects.

3. Market Effectively

Promote thread lifts through social media, email campaigns, and in-office materials. Highlight their minimally invasive nature and long-term benefits.

4. Invest in Quality Supplies

Use high-quality threads from trusted manufacturers to ensure optimal client satisfaction.

5. Stay Updated

Attend advanced courses and workshops to refine your skills and stay informed about industry advancements.

The Future of Thread Lifts

As technology continues to evolve, thread lifts are becoming even more effective and versatile. Innovations in thread materials and designs, as well as the integration of combination treatments, are expanding the possibilities for non-surgical rejuvenation.

For medical practitioners, staying ahead of these advancements is crucial to maintaining a competitive edge and delivering exceptional

Thread lifts represent the perfect intersection of science and artistry in medical aesthetics. For clients, they offer a safe, effective solution to combat the signs of aging. For practitioners, mastering this technique is a strategic investment that enhances expertise, boosts revenue, and solidifies their reputation in the industry.

By enrolling in a high-quality thread lift training program and continuously refining your skills, you can confidently offer this innovative procedure and elevate your aesthetic practice to new heights.

[profilemd]

🌟 Lift and Rejuvenate Your Look with the MINT Thread Lift! 🌟

Looking for a non-surgical way to achieve a more youthful, lifted appearance? The MINT Thread Lift is an innovative treatment designed to tighten and contour your skin using absorbable threads, offering results similar to a facelift—without the downtime!

💡 Learn how this cutting-edge treatment can give you a refreshed, youthful glow: MINT Thread Lift: A Revolutionary Skin Rejuvenation Treatment

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 3: A Toon's Aid

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

[contains: BLOOD / INJURY]

The small bathroom was quiet except for the occasional droplets of water from the leaky faucet. The Grim man sat on the closed toilet lid, tense, yet worn down from his nasty injuries.

Jack sat on a stool in front with a needle and thread in hand, his face taut with stress and concentration as beads of sweat slid down his forehead, trying his best to sew the wound as cleanly as he could.

He interrogates the Toon with a list of short, yet straightforward questions. They've been at it for a while now, the scarred man's cold eyes staying locked on Jack for any suspicious movements as he spoke.

“Who are you?”

"Jack Desmond, sir." He winces as the needle pierces through the edge of the wound. "I'm an office worker at-"

"Where am I?"

"C-Cel City. It's one of the- ow." Jack tugs on the strings and closes a part of the wound, cringing in sympathy at how painful it looked. "Sorry…" He habitually apologizes, feeling bad for any discomfort he might've caused the other, before continuing his sentence. "It's one of the biggest cities here, only second to Doodleheart Center."

As Jack continues to trail off giving the man some background information, the Grim man's stare slowly starts to gravitate towards the Toon’s hands. His eyes followed the way they would pause mid-air, trying to steady them from shaking, before going back to sewing carefully.

His brows furrow at this. It was unclear whether it was out of displeasure or something else, his expression as unreadable as ever, even during this painful procedure.

"What do you hope to gain from this?"

Jack blinked, looking up at the man's eyes with a startled look on his face. Then he furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly to the side. "Nothing..?" He answers, sounding just as questioning about his own decision as the other was. Then he sighs, pausing his task to think of a proper answer.

"To be honest, I… didn't want to bring you here at first." He angled his gaze downwards, feeling heavy with guilt at admitting to his true feelings and scared of how the other man might react. "I mean, you were scary and obviously not from around here," he fidgets with the needle in his fingers as he recounts his terrifying first encounter with the man, "so I meant to just call the authorities on you or something' n' leave…"

"But." Jack lifts his head up to look back at the other. Mixed within the nervousness in his eyes was genuine care. "You just looked like you needed help, so…"

The Grim man's gaze narrowed. Cold sweat continued to creep down the side of Jack's face as he swallowed his saliva, but he didn't look away, fearful that his true intentions may get deemed disingenuous by the other as he stared at him.

…

….

After a while, the Grim man heaves a deep sigh and looks away, seemingly done with his interrogation. Jack's tense frame relaxed the moment the man's eyes were off of him, inhaling in relief before quickly huffing the air back out in disgust as the smell of blood assaulted his nose. Right: the wound.

He went back into stitching, and the room was quiet after that.

Trying not to pay any mind to the silence, Jack's attention eventually began to zone in on the task at hand.

While working on the nasty wound, Jack internally thanked the stars for still being able to remember the important stuff that got taught to him years ago in school.

For a Genre with healing properties as ridiculous as theirs, all Toon citizens must have knowledge on basic medical care. Or at the very least, they must be able to aid wounded individuals in case of emergencies. It's mandatory to be taught in schools, some teaching them as early as Elementary.

Jack's memory on this is vague by this point since it's been such a long time ago. Apparently, a lot of the practices being tested and mastered back then were cultivated mostly to care for the people outside of their own Genre.

Aside from a few mixed-Genres here and there, Jack had grown up in a largely Toon-populated area with little to no contact to the other Genres outside his own. He briefly learned about non-Toon people being far more vulnerable to injuries than they were. Not having met one his entire life, he hadn’t quite grasped the severity of it all until he saw this man dying in that alleyway. It horrified him to see how much a person can be hurt to such an extreme degree.

He didn’t know what happened to the other man in order for him to end up in such a situation, and he didn’t have enough courage to ask him to be honest. But the thought that he may have gotten injured in a city of Toons of all places - and in an area near where he lived at that - made his heart brew with fear.

What happened?

There was an unending waterfall of concerned questions, and the uncertainty of it all made him feel a tad bit too afraid. He didn’t want to think about it. Not for now at least.

Honestly, if Jack had been any less reassured in his ability to at least be able to stop the heavy bleeding, he wouldn't have even thought of taking the wounded man into his apartment.

Jack did his best to finish it up as quickly as he could, though not hastily as his nerves might do more unneeded damage, imagining how much in pain the man was probably in right now.

Snip.

The thread gets cut off with a small scissor. And with that, they were done!

"Phew." Jack stretches, popping a few joints that had become tense from having to keep them steady in the air for so long. He gives the newly stitched wound a hard look, examining it.

…Still red and angry, but no more bleeding. He knows he's largely inexperienced, but he hopes this is good enough.

With that out of the way, he now had to deal with the man himself who had returned to staring at him again a while ago. The side of Jack's mouth curved up into a smile without his control, looking more like a grimace at being observed so intently by such a scary individual.

"So, uh…" His voice wobbled. He clears his throat and stands up, walking to the sink and turning on the faulty faucet to wash off the stain on his hands, struggling to appear more casual. "May I ask for your name, sir?" Jack tries to start a conversation to lessen the tension that's been building between them since the man woke up.

The other's expression doesn't shift. After a beat of silence that stretched on for a bit too long, he spoke.

“No.”

'Yep, I figured as much.' He thought to himself. "Right," Jack chuckles, drained of the usual humor he carried.

To be honest, he felt a bit tired after all of that. He'd been up all night caring for the Grim's wounds, he could really use a quick nap right now… Jack could only hope that this (probably a criminal) guy was at least nice enough to not murder him before he falls asleep.

Turning off the stream of water, he flicks the water off his hands and turns to leave. "Well,” he notes, “feel free to help yourself here. I'll go and get you something clean to wear." He then exits the bathroom, now done with the conversation he was attempting to have.

Pushing aside how he probably hadn't been following some medical rules and regulations taught to (and forgotten by) him years ago. With all the scars on that guy, he's assuming that it's probably fine to just leave him be for now, right? Surely a violence-prone-looking man like that would already know how to take care of himself when he's hurt, right? He sure hopes so. He doesn’t wanna come back to a dead body.

With that thought, Jack goes off to retrieve the clothes he had left for him by the nightstand.

"…"

Gavriel sat in silence in the bathroom, the soft hum of the distant city and the ambience of the Toon’s neighbors filtering through the walls. He was now left on his own, leaving him to reflect on the situation.

Shifting slightly, he grimaced as pain flared through his side and throughout the rest of his body. The stitches pulled, a stark reminder that he wasn’t in any shape to defend himself if something went wrong. Not that it mattered. If the Toon wanted him dead, he’d already had the chance to let him bleed out.

So why hadn’t he?

That thought didn’t bring comfort to him, only deepening his unease. The Toon’s actions were naively kind, something which he understood yet hesitated to accept.

So far, the other hadn’t given him any suspicious answers. Every question Gavriel had asked were met with genuine - albeit bumbling - honesty. The nervous man stuttered more often than not, but he hadn’t hesitated, nor had he tried to deflect or go off topic. The only weird thing happening right now was the fact that the Toon was helping him.

This behavior didn’t seem to come from a place of deception and ulterior motives. Or perhaps it did, and Gavriel just couldn’t see it yet.

In the bathroom, Gavriel could hear the other’s voice phasing through the thin apartment walls. Though his words were muffled, he sounded mournful with phrases like, "I spent money on that…" and "Tsk, tsk. What a waste." followed by a heavy sigh.

Gavriel pressed his lips into a thin line. Despite himself, the lament struck a chord. Money and food. Those were two of the main things a person must never waste in life.

Before he could fall deeper on this thought, Gavriel hears the gentle pitter patter of the Toon’s feet. He appears a moment after, quietly stepping into the bathroom with the clothes in hand. He glanced at Gavriel, who was still seated on the toilet, and carefully placed the clothes on the dry part of the sink’s edge, not having much space to put them anywhere else. His movements were quick but not rushed, clearly trying to avoid intruding too much on the other man’s space.

"Here," the Toon said softly. "The clothes I left for you. I can get you something else if these aren’t… comfortable,” he offers, looking at how much smaller the size of his own t-shirt was compared to Gavriel’s body.

He glances at Gavriel briefly before looking down at the floor, the tension in the room thick, but Jack manages a kind, almost awkward smile.

"I’ll… leave you to it then." Without waiting for a response, the Toon does a polite little head bow before turning on his heel and leaving the bathroom. He even made sure to gently close the door behind him, leaving Gavriel to change in peace.

Gavriel turned his attention to the clothes Jack had left neatly folded on the edge of the sink. Standing up, he walks over to inspect the clothes given to him. They looked cheap and would probably be a bit too tight for him to wear but it was better than staying cold and bare.

He glanced back toward the door, his brows furrowing. The Toon hadn’t lingered, hadn’t said anything besides the brief statement that the clothes were for him, nor were there any lectures, insistence, or attempts to force a conversation. Just a quiet exit. Probably to clean up the mess Gavriel had left in the other room, he guessed.

Gavriel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to people like that Toon. People who gave generously without any strings attached or wanting something back, people who respected him, not like the wariness of his enemies or the reverence of his underlings, but simply out of basic human decency - albeit with reasonable fear. The Toon… Jack Desmond was painfully normal, perhaps a touch too kind for his own good.

His mind wandered to Desmond’s face earlier. The nervous and awkward glances, the apologetic grimaces when the needle went through his flesh, and the reluctance to meet his eyes, yet his determination to keep helping despite the tension. It had been… odd. Gavriel couldn’t pinpoint what irritated him more. Desmond’s clumsy kindness or the fact that it seemed genuine.

Gavriel sighed, his breath heavy with the weight of his thoughts. His fingers tightened around the clothes.

For now, staying here and recuperating wasn’t the worst plan.

[This chapter has been edited.] _

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Special thanks to @demonicrhythms for proofreading this chapter.

[yeyinde]

Would you consider writing a poly141 version of the babytrap universe? Completely understand if it’s not to your interest to write, but I would love to see that story play out in your delicious writing style :)

ohh, absolutely. i think the best way to do it would be to have poor reader, desperate for a family of her own, and making the stupid decision to hand her resignation into Price.

and then admitting, shyly, that there's no man in your life, just a donor waiting for you to sign the papers and make the deposit for the procedure. thanking him for everything he's done, of course; but you're excited for this new chapter in your life.

He accepts it. Sure. Smiles tightly, and says, "good luck." Calls a meeting after to discuss it with the rest of the team. Closed door. A little unusual, but nothing that immediately raises your hackles. You're too busy cleaning up your desk to really pay much attention to hushed whispers in Price's office. Happy to celebrate, too, when Johnny invited you out for drinks after. Tae say goodbye properly, he said, and looking back, you should have seen through the faux sadness draped over his brow. Picked up on the giddy excitement buzzing around him as he led you to the bar, as he offered to get you drinks. Handed you an open bottle. Tipping it back for you to drink more. 

Keep goin’, doe. Drink ‘er up. 

Another one. Another. Your head swims. Kyle is there, hands warm on your waist, breath rippling across the sweat gathering on the nape of your neck. 

“C’mon, birdie. Have a shot with me.” He coos, bringing the glass to your lips, chest glued to your spine. “Can't believe you want a baby. Fuck, birdie, that's—”

Johnny murmurs something under his breath. You blamed the three glasses of whiskey sour (Price wouldn't let you have anything else) and a shot of tequila for why it sounded like,

hope it's mine—

To the left of you, Ghost snorts under his breath. Shifts in the stool that creaks, whining under his weight. You blink through fog seeping into your head, this strange, syrupy torpor that bleeds into the corners of your vision, makes everything feel muted, far away, and turned to him with a pout. 

He'd been acting strange ever since Price told him your plans. Quieter, somehow. But—

There. 

Everywhere. 

Your fixed shadow. Looming in the corners. 

You make to ask him what the hell he's doing, why he's following you around, but the words slosh out in a tangle. Incompressible.

Ghost huffs. His gloved hand lifts, falls to your throat, holding you steady with his thumb digging shallowly into your pulse. 

“Careful,” he mocks, dragging the word out like he was speaking to a misbehaving child. It bristles through you, but your tongue is thick. Liquid in your mouth. “Got a big night ahead o’you yet, pet. Try not t’hurt yourself before I get to knock you up.”

Distantly, you think you hear Gaz say something—oi, mate, maybe—but there's a shrill ringing in your ear that drowns it all out. A cotton spooling in your head. You blink—foolishly—and lean into his palm, mouth dropping in surprise. Shock. 

Horror. 

“Wha—?”

But it's too late, of course. What you thought were the comforting threads of a warm blanket spooling over your shoulders was the silken strands of a spider's web the whole time. Caught in their trap. 

And then you come to with a warm weight pressed against your back, a thick, hairy arm slung around your shoulders. Trapping you tight against a warm, broad chest.

“Want a baby, mm?” your captain coos in your ear, humid breath tickling your skin. Dampening it slightly as he leans in close, lips pressed to the shell—a warm, wet heat that makes you tremble—and adds: “fine, love. Since you want one so bad—” 

An arm lashes out of the shadows dancing around the room; through the heavy haze, the fog in your head (the last thing you remember is being offered a drink by Johnny, another by Kyle—), you struggle to make sense of what's happening around you as rough, dry fingers curl over your knee, prying your thighs apart: 

“—then we'll give it to you.”

You watch, dazed, dizzy, as cherryred knuckles slip down the valley of your spread legs, the ink on their thick fingers flexing, dancing, in the slip of pale moonlight until they curl into the hem of your panties, tugging the fabric roughly to the side. 

The sudden swell of cold air on your exposed cunt makes you gasp. Your knees jerking, trying to fold together to hide yourself, preserve some modicum of modesty, but the hand on your flesh tightens. Prevents you from moving. It keeps you open for their gaze. Lets them all gawk at the wide knuckles pressed against the seam of your pussy. Flushed in the low light. Dripping—

In the murk, someone groans—

“Shoulda told us sooner you wanted a fuckin’ baby, sweet’art. Woulda given you one sooner before y’had to go an’ do somethin’ so foolish—”

Foolish. Like paying for another man to put a baby inside of you when that privilege belongs to them. And them alone.

And really—

You should have known better.

[mdbariaticcosmeticsurgery]

Why Get Butt Lift Non Surgical In Pottstown PA?

A non-surgical butt lift is a cosmetic procedure that enhances the appearance of the buttocks without surgery. It's a popular option for those who want to improve the appearance of their bodies and feel more confident about their appearance. In this blog, we will discuss in detail why someone might choose to get a non-surgical butt lift nonsurgical in Pottstown, PA. By understanding these factors, you can make an informed decision about whether a non-surgical butt lift is right for you and your body.

Essential Reasons To Get Butt Lift Non Surgical In Pottstown PA

A non-surgical butt lift, also known as a non-invasive butt lift, is a cosmetic procedure that uses various techniques to enhance the appearance of the buttocks without surgery. Here are some reasons why someone might choose to get a butt lift non-surgical in Pottstown, PA:

Minimal Downtime

Non-surgical butt lifts typically have minimal downtime and require little to no recovery time, making it a convenient option for those who cannot afford to take time off work or have other commitments.

Non-invasive

Butt lifts Non-surgical are non-invasive and do not require incisions, making it a safe and low-risk option for those who want to avoid surgery. Similarly, the thread face lift procedure is also non-invasive.

Improving Self-Confidence

By enhancing the appearance of the buttocks, a butt lift non surgical can help improve self-confidence and body image.

No Scarring

Since non-surgical butt lifts do not involve incisions, there is no risk of scarring, making it a good option for those concerned about the appearance of scars.

Natural-Looking Results

Non-surgical butt lifts use radiofrequency or ultrasound energy techniques to lift and contour the buttocks, producing natural-looking results that do not look artificial or surgically enhanced.

Go For The Surgery Today!

In conclusion, a non-surgical butt lift can be a suitable choice for those who want to enhance the appearance of their buttocks without surgery. However, it's essential to consult with a licensed healthcare professional to determine if a non-surgical butt lift is right for you. You can connect with Sean Yuan, MD, if you are searching for them. They offer needle thread face lift, butt lift, and many other services.

[necronatural]

The Reigen Arataka Deranged NormalMan Review

Do you ever think about how Reigen has like. A really strange belief in The System and How Things Should Be. Like REALLY strange. Whatever he's got going on is so much weirder than "scammer with a heart of gold".

I think it all comes together if you read the 10th Season 3 omake like, seriously interrogate this:

This is normal, if comedically thoughtful and realistic for a shounen character. This guy talks like a mandatory reporter. What's strange is what immediately follows:

"AS A SPIRITUAL SPECIALIST" DOING A LOT OF HEAVY LIFTING HERE REIGEN

Not only did he hunt down the families of the children bullying his client (insane. where did he get that info), he also contacted the school as if he were representing his own son in order to get justice, and then hunted down a source of complaints when the school fell through.

This is like a genuinely bizarre level of commitment to the bit, and the bit is "the system works, and if it doesn't work, we will find a system that does work, and if we cannot, hell or high water it is my PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY to make the system stop slouching so it works again".

Long thread on the manga with this reading⬇️

Before I start. Reigen adopting Teru is more IC than you think but I don't think it is IC in the way people think it is. I think about this a lot and I think people who do it because they like Reigen aren't understanding how into his bit he is. Guy who talks to social services

So remember the arc that won people over to Reigen despite the fact he's an asshole who takes advantage of Mob and derides him constantly in order to keep him complacent?

He has Mob's phone on his GPS. This makes sense; he's been taking him out and about since he was 11. Very responsible!

Reigen dismisses the "Boss" mistake thinking well, it's a misunderstanding, but it got me in. Yet as soon as he heard they're committing crimes, he VISIBLY puts on his Boss Pants to chastise them. Again, normal so far. I think any scammer with a heart of gold would do this. (And foreshadowing for why he retried reprimanding the Claw Cadres a second time after getting power.)

Again. He's a scumbag. So he leaves Mob to beat their asses using his previous rhetoric. But then!

Reigen's shady morality is more like "people who can take care of things should take care of things". To him, Mob is the Authority on Espers, and can handle conflict like this. Immediately upon becoming aware he can't, Reigen thinks "oh, okay, so the only person who can take care of things is someone who can deescalate". (Pictured: Deescalation)

Okay. Besides the fact this is insufferable as a general concept - YOU just told him to handle it YOU are the source of his stress - his first step in deescalation is to force Mob to back down. Rather than asking him not to fight, he reestablishes "rules" in order to convince Mob he must back down - the same way he tried using what he said to worm his way out of dealing with this shit - and then sets himself up as the authority figure to which the others must obviously defer in matters of His Boy, like a parent accepting criticism at a PTA meeting. This isn't Reigen claiming Mob so much as "in order for them to not attack Mob, they must view me as a representative for Mob".

And like a good authority figure:

Continuing with his phrasing:

If you think about it, this is like...an objectively very strange and incredibly bold approach to this situation. They're homicidal. Reigen is a DERANGED level of Normal Man. He has this image in his head of normalcy, of the world at standard operating procedures, and reinforces it right through an entire conflict. Carceral beliefs don't even factor into this, simply expressing his principles and expecting them to fold.

And they do lol. I keep wondering how Shou must have felt listening to him talk like that

We see a little more of his good side in work; when he was getting so little work it was affecting his grocery bills, this moneygrubbing scammer still asked for like $200 to clear an entire city of hauntings. (His regular exorcisms are around $30). Fair prices are part of his principles of how the business should be. He operates basically at-cost. He mentions he wanted to come out here because he's bored. He's killing time as a career.

Aside:

Just realized he called Mob in last minute so Mob didn't know he accepted crops instead of money. Shigeo didn't like that

So consider that he never got caught here and there was a call on the news to hunt him down at the end of this bit: for the average viewer of the anime, it's just funny, but this is part of the Mogami pre-arc so we've gotten a hold of him by now; he probably holds an inherent belief that the police will intercept him and not Mob. Why wouldn't they? Why would an adult man want to dress up in a highschool girl's uniform? The System will understand.

Not relevant to my point but I like how he realizes what's wrong with Mob way before the final arc, just not why it's happening. Also he doesn't say anything.

With the way his principles are, you really get the feeling that Reigen does his best to avoid culpability specifically because if something happened that was his fault, he'd have to step up to the plate to compensate for that, which is troublesome to him who is a career time-killer. It does not occur to him that an actual bad person and scammer would not step up to the plate as a matter of course. This is his way

What I find really interesting is that this Militant Insane NormalMan does have a sense of wanting something "special", but rather than whip Mob up the way Dimple did Ritsu, he ended up projecting his own values onto Mob, as if he could recreate a special "self" within him. He's always deriding him and baiting him and lying to him in hopes of creating a superb person that a special individual like Mob finds admirable, as if Mob is the authority on his quality of character. Sad! lol

Anyway, it adds a lot more kick to this famous line. Reigen genuinely believes in Authority

Authority works!

And if Mob (the authority on espers) doesn't work, who's the person who MUST step up to the plate [common sense]? You guessed it.

There are other aspects of Reigen's character that everyone and their dog has already picked up on (his self-loathing is the entire reason the way he talked to Mob in Confession arc hit so hard), but this one's my favourite. He's insane

[pulisicsgirl]

caring for you - mason mount

summary: following Mason's surgery, Y/N does everything in her power to take care of him and keep him comfortable, and his parents take note

pairing: Mason Mount x reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: brief mentions of surgery and medicine, PDA in front of parents, fluff

requested: yes!! here

notes: I'm back (for now)!! I'm about to start finals week, so hopefully I'll have more time to write once I've made it back home! I received this request a while ago, and I was thinking about writing something about taking care of Mason after his procedure last week, so I figured I'd combine the two! Hope you like it!

Also I feel like this started out really strong and the end is absolute garbage, so I'm very sorry about that

Since the moment the two of you had arrived at home from the hospital, you hadn’t let Mason leave his spot in the corner of the ‘L-shaped’ couch. As soon as you walked through the door, you had (gently) pushed him down onto the soft cushion, tucking a soft blanket over his legs. It was only a few minutes before you had a bottle of water and a couple of snacks by his side in case he needed them.

The surgery had been relatively minor, all things considered. It was an outpatient procedure, scheduled for the early hours of the day. So by the time it reached the late afternoon, the doctor had discharged Mason, instructing him to take it easy for the next couple of weeks to avoid agitating the incisions before easing back into his regular training regimen. The doctor had informed you that everything had gone very well and there should be nothing to be concerned about.

So of course, you were very concerned, just a ball of anxiety, making sure that Mason didn’t lift a finger for the rest of the day.

Mason had been pretty tired once the two of you had arrived home, so you left him to nap on the couch while you tidied up the rest of the house. Mason’s parents were making the drive up from Portsmouth to spend the evening in London. Mason hadn’t been able to see them in a while and took advantage of the free days he would have following his operation to invite them to spend some time with him (and you).

Part of you had been worried that Mason would be too exhausted after the early morning he’d had and the surgery to visit with them. But you also knew that, like you, Debbie would be worried about Mason following the procedure, and just being able to see him would do wonders to calm her nerves.

So as Mason took a well-deserved nap, you moved about the house, sweeping the floors, wiping down the counters, and making sure that everything had been put in its proper place. You washed the dishes that had accumulated in the sink over the last couple of days and put them away. You were sure to pass through the living room every few minutes to make sure Mason was still sleeping peacefully. You felt a warmth spread through your chest each time you checked on him, the blanket tucked up under his chin and a slight pout on his lips as his face was smushed into the pillow.

It came time for Mason to take the next dose of one of the medications the doctor had sent home with him, and he had just begun to stir from his nap as you sat down on the couch by his head. You reach out, threading your fingers through his hair as he began to blink his eyes open, humming at your gentle touch.

“How you feeling?” you spoke softly to him.

“ ‘m good,” he mumbled, a grin on his face as he looked up at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes.

You returned his smile. “Good. Well, it’s time for you to take your medicine.”

He sat up slowly, grunting with the effort, which instantly put you on edge, worried that he was in pain. He must have noticed the look on your face when he looked over at you.

“I’m fine. I promise,” he moved himself up on the couch so that he was sitting next to you. He placed his hand on the back of your neck, gingerly leaning over to kiss you on the forehead. “Stop worrying yourself so much.”

You smiled sheepishly at him, feeling a little silly for how worked up you had been the whole day, but you couldn’t really help it. You would truly do anything for Mason, and the thought of him in pain was something you never wanted to even consider.

“Your parents should be here any minute,” you informed him once he had swallowed the pills. “Dinner is almost ready, so we should be ready to eat as soon as they arrive. Are you feeling hungry?”

“Of course. Especially if it’s your cooking.”

“Oh, shut up, you.” He laughed at your deflection, knowing that you had no clue how to accept a complement. Even so, he delighted in giving them to you often, watching your cheeks flush red and your eyes dart to the ground.

It was only a few minutes before you heard the knock on the front door, knowing it could only be Debbie and Tony. You gave Mason a quick kiss, instructing him not to move from the couch as you walk to the door. You opened it, greeting his parents as they both pulled you into warm hugs. You had met Mason’s family several times before, but your relationship with them was still new enough that you felt nervous any time they came around. You felt as though you needed to somehow prove to them that you were worthy of their son’s love, despite Mason’s constant reassurance that it was unnecessary, insisting that they already loved you. You still tried your best, though, making sure that everything was perfect at the house before they came over.

You led them to the living room so that they could greet their son and told them you’d be in the kitchen, putting the final touches on the food you had prepared. You caught Mason’s eye before you turned away, and he flashed a quick grin at you.

You were dishing the food into bowls when Debbie entered the kitchen, a kind smile on her face as she offered your help. You informed her that you were nearly done, but she could help with carrying the dishes to the boys.

“He seems like he’s doing well,” she said.

You nodded in agreement. “I think so. He hasn’t told me he’s had any pain since we got home, and I just gave him another dose of the pain medicine that the doctor sent home with us before you got here. Though you and I both know that he probably wouldn’t say anything even if he was in pain.”

The two of you shared a laugh over the stubborn boy that was dear to both of your hearts.

“How are you doing?” she asked suddenly.

“M-me?” Her question caught you off-guard as you dished food into the fourth and final bowl, and you looked up at her. Her lips were drawn together in a tight line as she examined your face.

“Yes, you. I know you well enough to know you’ve been running yourself ragged all day to keep him comfortable.”

“Oh,” you breathed, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at her motherly concern. It meant more to you than she realized that she would express that kind of affection for you. “Y-yeah, I’m alright. He’s a pretty good patient, so he makes my job easy.” You pressed a smile to your face despite the emotions you felt welling up inside you.

You handed Debbie the bowls containing food for Tony and herself and let her know you’d be in the living room in a moment. She walked out of the kitchen, and you lingered behind for just a moment, dabbing the tears from the corners of your eyes in an attempt to keep your mascara from running.

Just that simple question from Mason’s mother was so important to you. Knowing that she approved of your relationship with her son and saw how much you wanted to take care of him—it did wonders to calm your nerves surrounding your relationship with her and Tony.

Once you had collected yourself, you picked up the two remaining bowls and met Mason, Tony, and Debbie in the living room. You had decided that it would be best for the four of you to eat on the couch so that Mason could remain comfortable, and you could all continue to visit together.

Plus, you knew Mason and his father really wanted to continue watching the football match that had started a mere 20 minutes ago.

As you approached Mason, he gently swung his legs off of the couch cushion, patting the space where his legs had just been to signal for you to sit down. You did so carefully, still holding both bowls of food and he placed his legs across your lap, draping the blanket back over both of your legs. You were a little taken back by the display of affection in front of his parents but brushed it off as you handed the bowl to him.

He gave you a curious look, brows slightly furrowed, as he noticed the misty look in your eyes. You just replied with a slight shake of your head, a signal that the two of you would talk later.

You eagerly watched Mason and your two guests as they took the first bite of their food. It was one of Debbie’s recipes and you hoped desperately that you hadn’t let them down with the dish. As soon as you knew Mason had a surgery coming up, you had texted Debbie asking for the recipe for his favorite meal of hers, wanting to spoil him after the procedure.

Debbie and Tony both smiled, humming in appreciation as they got their first taste, and Tony remarked how good it was. Mason, ever the dramatic one, let out a groan, dropping his head onto the back of the couch, using words like “incredible” and “scrumptious” as he voiced his gratitude for the meal. He merely grinned at the way you rolled your eyes at him while your cheeks flushed red.

By the time the halftime show was wrapping up, you were collecting everyone’s dishes and carrying them into the kitchen to tidy up. Debbie appeared moments later, pushing you back into the living room and insisting that it was “the least I could do” to clean up your kitchen. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in.

You walked around behind the couch, threading your fingers through Mason’s hair to get his attention, He dropped his head back, eyes gazing up at you lovingly.

“Do you need anything?” you asked as you scratch his scalp lightly with your nails.

“Hmm,” he pretended to think for a moment before tapping his lips with his index finger. “Just a kiss.”

You laughed at him, leaning down as you held your hair out of the way so it wouldn’t get in Mason’s face. You pressed your lips to his gently, expecting to give him a quick peck. But Mason seemed to have other ideas, holding your face to his for a few seconds with a hand that had reached to the back of your head.

He let you pull back after a moment, and you gazed down at his upside-down face, adorning a lovestruck grin. You weren’t sure what had gotten into him today, but something had gotten him in a touchy and lovey mood.

“Anything else?” you whispered, caught slightly off-guard by his actions. Mason just shook his head, gesturing for you to come back to sit on the couch with him, and you resumed your position under his legs.

As you watched the football game, you did your best to keep up with Mason and Tony as they talked over the strategies of the teams and the technique of the players on the screen. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to you, and you felt your eyes slip closed, your head falling forward just slightly before you jolted awake.

Noticing this, Mason pulled you into his side and intertwined his legs with yours. Your head rested on his shoulder as he leaned back on the cushions, shuffling down slightly so that your neck wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Too tired to protest the PDA in front of his dad, you draped your arm over his stomach and quickly fell back asleep in the comfort of Mason’s arms. He ran the tips of his fingers over the skin of your arm, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head every couple of minutes as he listened to your steady breathing.

A knowing smile took over Debbie’s face as she re-entered the living room after finishing up in the kitchen.

“She’s a keeper, that one,” she pointed to your sleeping form. Your cheek was pressed firmly to Mason’s chest, causing a slight pout to form on your lips.

He looked down at your face, a smile spread across his lips. “She’s just amazing,” he replied earnestly. “She’s so selfless and hardworking, always taking care of me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her today.” He looked back up at his parents, holding you a little tighter. “I’m… really happy with her.”

Debbie and Tony smiled back at him, happy to see their son in a healthy and successful relationship.

“People like her are hard to come by,” Tony remarked. “You better do everything you can to keep her around.”

“Oh definitely,” Mason grinned, looking back to the football match on the TV screen. “At this point, if she leaves me, I’m going with her.”

tag list: @masonspulisic @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream

[heylittleriotact]

Further to my post last night, here's Suture, a quickly thrown together, sweet oneshot with lots of yearning feelings where Emmrich patches up Rook and she's extremely awkward about the entire thing.

Full under the cut, ao3 here

“Hmmm… yeah that’s going to need to be stitched up.” Amina clamped her gloved hand back over her thigh and squeezed as hard as she could. She’d hastily bound it with one of the many lengths of linen scrap she carried with her, but now that they were back at the Lighthouse, it needed to be tended to properly, and soon, judging by the blood that was pooling on the floor under her right foot.

She slipped her arm free of her shield and it clattered to the stone floor as she began limping in the direction of her room, crimson ruin in her wake. Pain ripped through her leg the instant she placed the faintest bit of weight on it, but despite its desire to wobble and give out, she didn’t flinch - didn’t make any indication to her companions that it felt like someone had just dragged jagged steel over her bones. She couldn’t afford to show that kind of weakness… she didn’t know these people. Not really. 

“Where are you going?!”

Evidently someone wasn’t fooled. 

“My room: stitches,” she reiterated calmly, coming to a halt and twisting to look over her shoulder at Emmrich. Her leg protested under her with a violent shudder. “It should come as no surprise to you of all people that I know my way around a needle and thread.” She smiled at him - effortless and genuine even in the midst of blossoming agony.

It was perfectly true - never mind suturing shut the abdominal cavities of the deceased post-organ removal: she had been on the receiving end of more than enough injuries during her twenty year tenure as a Reaper of the Mourn Watch that she knew the name of every healer among the Necropolis’ infirmary staff - and the names of their spouses and children to boot. They’d pieced her back together more times than she could count, but there were occasions where she’d been injured somewhere within the catacombs that was too far and too deep for her to waste valuable blood and energy trying to get back before she bled out. 

In those cases, the only solution was to find a safe place to sit down, assess the damage, and deal with it herself using the small field kit she kept on her belt. 

Sewing her own dangling pinky finger back onto her hand in a dimly lit tomb while a corpse occupied by a rather persistent rage demon shambled around nearby looking for her had been a bracing experience, but she either needed to try and save the appendage or leave it behind, and she wasn’t keen on losing a finger. The nerves didn’t heal quite right, and it ached when it rained, but at least she still had it.

The gash in her leg was nothing she couldn’t handle. No one else needed to burden themselves with her - not when they had themselves to look after.

“Preposterous!” Emmrich proclaimed. “Look at the state of you! Clammy skin, rapid breathing… pale as the moon–” 

“That’s just how I look!”

Unwilling to relent, Emmrich lifted his chin in that scholarly way of his. “You are going into shock, dear, and endorsing you to perform any kind of medical procedure in your current condition - on yourself or anyone else - would be a grievous ethical oversight on my part.”

“He’s not wrong,” Lucanis said calmly, looking up from painstakingly cleaning the blood from one of his daggers. “You’ve lost too much blood already. I’d take him up on the offer if I were you. I would volunteer to do it myself, but I suspect you’d prefer not to sit on a sack of flour while I tend to you.” There was something of a shrug, a suggestion of a grin - he was too obscured by the shadows to see clearly. 

She still hadn’t gotten around to asking why Lucanis chose to sleep in the pantry, and now wasn’t the time to find out: he’d been just as forthcoming with the offer to help as Emmrich. 

“Really it’s not necessary. I’ve dealt with worse and I don’t want to trouble either of you… thank you though,” she turned back and took another step towards her room. Her right leg convulsed aggressively then gave out, sending her to one knee. Dammit. 

She realized she felt rather lightheaded then, and she was hoisted back to her feet by a set of arms on either side of her.

“Now that you’ve demonstrated to all of us what a tenacious and valiant Watcher you are, will you please consider letting us help you?” Emmrich was on her right, arm around her waist. He was a lot taller than her, but she could make out the wry smile on his face. She felt the hairs on the backs of her arms raise and a chill ran through her, and it wasn’t from the blood loss… it was because of him - being this close to him made her feel–

“Alright then,” she nodded, turning to Lucanis on her left, who was gripping her upper arm in case she dropped again. “Thank you Lucanis… I think I can manage with… with Emmrich’s assistance.” She felt her cheeks heat at her own words. Stop it, stop it, stop it… She pressed down harder on the wound, partly to continue staunching the bloodflow, partly to distract herself with the fresh wave of pain that rippled through her at the sensation. 

“Off we go then,” Emmrich said lightly, starting them off in the direction of the stairs, “Nice and easy… take your time, that’s it.” 

If she had it her way Amina would have preferred to sprint - the fact that Lucanis and Harding were still in the entryway watching this unfold was utterly mortifying. 

Emmrich paused when they got to the top of the stairs. His lips quirked to the side thoughtfully as he peered down. “Perhaps we should have had Lucanis along: I would offer to carry you in this circumstance but…” 

“No, this is fine!” Amina said quickly, grateful then for the eighty-some pounds of plate armour she was currently wearing. She chanced a step down and inhaled sharply through her teeth - descending the stairs was going to be a challenge, but she would get through it.

She felt Emmrich’s eyes on her, never straying from her side as she took each step, but she ignored the urge to look at him. Instead she stared forward, her left hand gripping the railing to keep herself steady while she concentrated - went to that familiar safe, bright place in her mind where the pain couldn’t reach her. 

By the time they got to the bottom, her brow was damp with sweat from the effort it had taken her. The warm scent of the fire in the hearth meshed with the aromas of various disinfectants and parchment. It immediately brought her comfort for reasons she couldn’t quite define. 

“Amina?”

She blinked and found Emmrich’s face, concern apparent upon it - he must have asked her a question that she hadn’t heard.

“Hm?”

“I said we will need to remove your armour… for the shock, you see - to help you breathe,” Was that a hint of colour on his own cheeks? “If that’s alright with you, of course,” He added. 

Exhausted, Amina could only nod, and Emmrich guided her to the carved granite slab opposite the stairs and she hauled herself up onto it so she was perched on the edge. 

“I follow extremely rigorous sanitation procedures,” He assured her as if assuming she cared at the moment that she was sitting on a working autopsy table. 

“Good. You can keep pressure on my leg while I start dealing with this armour,” she didn’t wait for him to inevitably declare that he needed to wash his hands before even dreaming of laying a hand on an open wound. She seized his wrist with bloody fingers and jammed the palm of his hand down on her thigh, holding it in place when she felt him start to pull back. “Please don’t let go — it’ll be faster if I do this.” She set to work loosening the straps of leather that held her armour together, starting with her shoulders and working her way down her arms, the sound of jingling buckles and the slip of leather through metal cutting through the silence. She worked quickly with well practiced fingers, carelessly tossing each formed piece of silverite to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Manfred shuffling towards the slab, curiousity piqued. 

“Manfred, would you kindly fetch a stack of clean rags?” Emmrich asked over his shoulder. Manfred’s shoulders tilted and he emitted an arrangement of concerned hisses. “Oh no, Ms. Ingellvar will be just fine - her femoral artery remains quite intact, but I do need to close the wound rather urgently before she loses any more blood, so pip pip.”

Manfred clicked his teeth together and set off for the rags, and Emmrich turned his attention back to Amina in time to see her struggling to reach the straps of her breastplate - they were too high up her side to reach with one hand. 

“Here, allow me,” he offered kindly, leaning forward, putting more weight on her leg as he reached under her arm and began working loose the straps with his free hand. 

“Thank you, those ones are the hardest to get at no matter how many times you do it. I’ve put this armour on and taken it off thousands of times and–” her words cut off abruptly: she had happened to glance down at Emmrich as he worked and apparently forgotten how to talk. 

His gaze lifted at her sudden silence, and the sight of his deep hazel eyes and the tip of his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth - the lingering remnant of his broken concentration - made Amina’s stomach leap in weightless abandon as if she’d just trodden on a collapsed grave. 

His positioning with his hand on her thigh and the angle he was at to reach the straps he so gallantly offered to help with put the pair of them in a somewhat compromising position, she realized: she had parted her legs to help him reach, and he was so close she could feel the heat of him; could smell whatever product he used to slick back his hair. It smelled good… like ripe cherries – burgundy and sweet - the kind that stained your lips red and filled your mouth with juice when you bit into them…

Very unprofessional… she chided herself. “ And it never gets any easier!” She completed the thought, though her voice sounded too high to her ears, as did the laugh that followed it. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed for only a moment before she felt the weight of the breastplate lift, “There we are!” He exclaimed, all courteous decorum and effortless good cheer. He pulled the heavy chestpiece away from Amina and set it on the floor gently, leaning against the slab. “Oh dear,” he frowned when he straightened and caught sight of Amina’s face again. “Your complexion was ashen only a moment ago, but now you appear flushed… how unusual. You had better lay down.” 

“But–” 

He held up his bloodied hand, bangles singing. “Please, Amina - I am afraid I must insist.” 

Sheepish, Amina did as she was told, the armour that still covered her from the waist down scraping against the stone beneath her. He was just being nice - just doing what he would do for any of them, and here she was smelling his hair like some garden variety pervert…

From her place on the slab she could hear Manfred approaching with the rags. She craned her neck to see him, but couldn’t. When she turned her face back to the ceiling she saw Emmrich above her, a grin spreading across his face as he took one of the rags from Manfred and pressed it against her wound.

“Thank you, Manfred - and I see you’ve brought my kit as well: excellent thinking - and you came up with that all on your own! Well done!” She felt him lift his hand to examine the rag before the pressure resumed. With his other hand he set his kit beside her and flipped it open. “Feeling somewhat better with most of that heavy armour off?” 

“Yes.” She still felt lightheaded, but it was indeed easier to breathe now. 

“Splendid.” He offered her a reassuring smile - the kind that everyone who worked with the dead was capable of, herself included - but there was a subtle, relieved quality in the way the corners of his mouth turned up that surprised her. It wasn’t possible that he had been genuinely worried about her, was it? The question was left to linger in her mind when Emmrich set about loosening the straps of the remaining parts of her armour to better access the wound. 

His long fingers were dexterous, and though his movements were quick and concise, his touch was never harsh or callous. 

It was a strange position to be in, having him deliberately and methodically husk her armour from her body, piece by piece. It called to mind other circumstances in which one might expose another, one article at a time…

Stop it. Fade take me… dead animals… wet food stuck to plates and bowls… having the shits…

He removed the rag and peeled aside the damaged cuisse gingerly, humming to himself softly as he surveyed the wound without touching it. “Manfred, could you please bring a fresh rag and continue holding it over Ms. Ingellvar’s wound with as much pressure as you can muster? The bleeding has slowed enough that I can close it now, but I need to wash my hands first.” 

Amina felt Manfred sidle up alongside her on the slab, the hair-raising sensation that anyone would feel when in close proximity to a being of the Fade alerting her to his presence. He chattered at her soothingly, clearly attempting to mimic Emmrich’s tone and cadence with his soft hisses and squeaks. 

“Why am I ‘Ms. Ingellvar’ all of a sudden?” She called out in the direction of Emmrich’s retreating footsteps. She heard the soft woosh of him shedding his coat and his footfalls as he paced over to the wash basin. 

“Old habits, I’m afraid,” he chuckled in answer. “But I will refrain from the formality going forward.” 

She found she rather liked his formality, but she said, “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

There was only silence, sloshing water, and the sound of soap being lathered into skin for such a long time that she nearly sat up to see if everything was alright, but he returned to her side, freshly cleaned hands held aloft - he’d rolled up his cuffs and removed his many rings. 

“It’s no trouble at all,” he said warmly, his voice verging on a whisper, and Amina’s stomach did that strange leap again. He relieved Manfred and reached over her to his kit. “You’ve lost a good deal of blood, and there’s little we can do about that but replenish your fluids and let your body rest for a time.” Amina caught the glint of steel in Emmrich’s hand as he straightened. “I do hope these pants hold no priceless sentimental value to you - I’m going to have to cut the right leg away, I’m afraid.” He looked genuinely apologetic at this.

Hang the pants - Amina was more caught up in the realization that if he cut away the leg of her pants, her entire leg would be bared to him. She’d had far more intimate places bared to infirmary staff over the years, so she wasn’t sure why that mattered now, but it did.

“Can… couldn’t you just widen the tear in the material around the wound?” She ventured hopefully. 

Clearly sensing her apprehension, Emmrich’s already soft eyes softened further. “I will need to dress and bind your leg once I’ve placed the sutures,” he explained gently, “You have my word that I shall conduct myself with nothing but the utmost propriety - I am aware of the vulnerable position this puts you in and will do everything in my power to make this as comfortable for you as I can.” 

She nodded once, understanding that she had little other choice. “Do what you have to do.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgement and started near her ankle, shearing a line up the leg of her pants with his scissors. Amina already felt cold, but as the air hit her leg, she couldn’t help but shiver. 

“There are some blankets folded on the shelf above the cosmetics and restorative waxes; Manfred, would you please take one down and place it on the chair near the fire to warm?” 

Somewhere nearby bones clicked and rattled with devoted efficiency to carry out their task.

As he set about cleaning the wound, Emmrich spared another lingering glance at Amina. 

“What is it?” She asked.

“Hmmm?” A clean rag appeared in his hand and he soaked it with a pale pink fluid in a frosted bottle that smelled floral - Amina recognized this as a common disinfectant used in the wounds of the living, and in the dead to slow decay. He pressed the saturated rag to her flesh and held it for a moment before using it to wipe away the last of the blood. It stung, but Amina knew that meant it was working.

“You keep looking at me.”

He laughed again - a light, amused sound. “My dear, are you aware of any particular patient treatment strategies wherein looking at said patient during the application of the treatment isn’t advantageous?”

Well when he put it like that…

“No, I just…” she trailed off, watching him draw another clean rag from the pile with a flourish and douse it with a pale green concoction this time - a fungal tincture that would stave off infection. “You didn’t have to do this… thank you.” 

He gently swept the rag over her skin and made sure the tincture penetrated the wound. “The work that we do can be lonely. We are often misunderstood by those unfamiliar with the role we fill, and even amongst our own there are politics and petty talkers that divide us from within in the hope that isolating perceived threats will further their own aspirations.” He set the rag aside and reached over her into his kit again. “We will always be better… think better, learn better, when we are of a unified mind, rather than a fractured one.”

“I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

Emmrich dropped a curved needle into a small cup disinfectant and swirled it around. “Or a foolish dreamer perhaps… either way: I may not have to do this, but do not doubt for a moment that I want to.” 

Amina didn’t know what to say to that. His sentiments made her wish that she had known Emmrich before she’d been exiled from the Watch. Perhaps things would have turned out differently for her had he been a presence in her life then…

“This is going to be somewhat uncomfortable for you, but I’ve been told I have a soft hand, and I’ll work as quickly as I’m able to.” The introspective, somewhat somber demeanour had vanished and Professor Volkarin had returned. He held up the curved needle and thread he must have prepared without her noticing. Green light danced up his side and illuminated half of his face, casting sharply defined shadows over his brow and well defined cheekbones. 

Amina didn’t bother asking if it was the living or the dead who had praised his so-claimed soft hand, but as the needle punctured her skin and the first loop was drawn, she felt herself relax against the cold stone table.

He worked with utter precision, his left hand carefully holding her thigh, trickling gentle healing magic into her as he guided the needle cleanly through one side of the wound and out the other, his pace almost rhythmic. Amina lost herself in the steady sound of his focused breathing and the whisper of his knuckles brushing ever so softly over her skin until at last he tied off the final suture and cut it free from the needle. 

“That’s the worst of it done. I daresay I’ve worked on corpses who put up more of a fuss than you.” He set aside the needle and helped guide Amina into a sitting position with a hand on her back. 

“If you’re that gentle with the dead, I don’t think they have anything to complain about.” She looked down at her leg and the textbook perfect row of stitches on her leg that spanned about four inches in length over the top of her thigh: it would almost certainly scar, but it would be just another one of many - she’d long ago stopped feeling self conscious about them. “You know what you’re doing, I’ll give you that.”

Emmrich placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head, “From one professional to another, I am humbled by your praise.” 

Professionals, right… they were professionals. This was entirely professional.

“Now if you’ll please bend your leg somewhat… yes, like that - right there is good - I’ll dress and bind this and you’ll be well on the road to recovery.” 

Professionals. 

The word kept bouncing around her head as she silently observed Emmrich apply a poultice to the wound, and with each pass of the linen roll around her thigh it got louder and louder: she’d been a ‘professional’ her entire life up until this point… what if that title didn’t fit the person she was anymore?

“There. All done.”

Amina slowly shifted in place and dangled her legs over the edge of the table: the dressing was tight but not too tight.

“Ah!” Emmrich’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead and he rushed to tuck in the end of the linen dressing that had popped loose when Amina moved. “My apologies - can’t have that coming loose, now can we?” A stray strand of his hair that had worked itself free as he stitched her up brushed against Amina’s forehead as he fussed with the dressing and she went rigid at the contact as if it had sent a current through her.

Emmrich froze in place as well, and slowly lifted his eyes, apparently only now becoming aware of how close his face was to hers: she could feel his breath on her skin, warm and alive… could count the rust-coloured flecks that were scattered around his dilated pupils. He was between her legs again, hips pressed up against the slab. How had that happened?

She felt him run his thumb ever so softly across the linen on her thigh, and her breath hitched in answer to the unexpected but not entirely unwelcome sensation. 

He cleared his throat, eyes darting from hers. “That should hold now.” 

Though his hand did not linger unnecessarily, she could swear she felt the ghost of his caress one more time as he drew away. 

“Thank you,” Amina managed. “I’m uh… I’m quite thirsty - could I trouble you for some water?” She slid onto the floor, gingerly testing her weight on her injured leg - it still throbbed, but she was accustomed to being in pain. Her knees felt rubbery, but that had nothing to do with the blood loss at this point. 

“Of course!” Emmrich answered just a little too quickly. “The blanket that Manfred set by the fire should be warm by now - I expect you’d like to retire to your own room to recuperate, but it would be no inconvenience to Manfred and I if you wanted to warm yourself by the fire and stay for some tea? You need to consume plenty of fluids to make up for the blood you lost, you see. As I’m sure you know, the average person circulates approximately five liters of blood through their body, and you surely lost at least–”

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hear him talk - she actually quite enjoyed his academic rabbit trails - but she definitely did want to sit by the fire, and… she didn’t want to leave. Not after all the fuss it took to get her down here in the first place. Staying awhile longer was the least she could do to demonstrate her gratitude, right?

“Yes!” She all but blurted out over Emmrich’s developing lecture on hematology. 

He was practically beaming as he helped her limp over to the plush winged armchair in front of the fire, and as she sat she realized this must be his preferred place to unwind after a long day: there was a small table next to the chair that held a selection of dog-eared books, a pair of rectangular, gold framed spectacles, and a pipe. She stared at the objects, intrigued by the intimate peek into Emmrich’s life. 

She glanced to the right where a matching chair should logically be, but there was nothing there - only empty space that made her sad for some reason. 

She snapped out of her daze  when Emmrich placed the blanket over her, but left her to arrange it to her preference. “Comfortable?” He asked. 

“Very.” Amina couldn’t help but smile: he may be doing this out of the goodness of his own heart, but there was no denying that it made her feel special to be fussed over by another person like this. Sure there was that strange occurrence with the dressing, but it was probably nothing - just a misunderstanding on her part. Emmrich was just an uncommonly generous person, that was all there was to it. 

He pulled over a stool and kept her company by the fire as she sipped her tea, feeling warmed inside and out by the crackling flames and relaxing chamomile brew. She dozed off eventually, drifting off to Emmrich expanding on his thoughts regarding the use of ectoplasmic reagents in binding rituals… it was genuinely fascinating… but her eyes were so heavy, and her head too. She tried to keep listening once her eyes were shut, but she was so comforted by the scent of fire, parchment, and disinfectant… a scent that she realized reminded her of home just before sleep took her at last.

Home…

[ariseur]

childhood friends and reward kisses with cloud strife ❤️

cloud didn’t mind the silence so much, especially considering his chest was not filled with words but with a quietude that only the sound of a quickened heartbeat thumping between his ribs could interrupt. he almost savored it at times, knowing he couldn’t be annoyed with something that didn’t exist.

this wasn’t one of those moments. you patching him up from his recent scuffle with an abundance of shinra’s lackeys and advanced machines. cloud could have easily done this himself, you know that, yet you insisted to do it for him anyways. he didn’t say much in return besides a small, ‘thanks’ as he limped over to your sofa.

it only wasn’t a moment because cloud didn’t mind you, whether you talked or not. although, even if he wouldn’t outright say it, he did find it a little sweet that you still remember small bits of your childhood together that you still recall to this day.

and yet your soft laugh breaks him out of his reverie, a chuckle escaping you and into the air — which almost makes him forget about the dull stinging echoing on the epidermis his jaw while you pressed alcohol soaked cotton balls against it.

you start up again as you brain whirs in search for more memories. “do you remember. . .” you trail off, lips twisting as you try to think of a funny moment. cloud watched for a second or two before your eyebrows raise with newfound idea. you smile again, “when we found that cat in the alleyway? the one that tifa gave some bread to?”

“oh, yeah,” he says in response. he remembers trailing after the two of you, hearing the distant cooing of your voices as you had crouched down to see a small kitten hiding away in the dark alley.

cloud couldn’t help but let a small amused huff of air puff through his nostrils at your antics. he had to give it to you, you were pretty good at taking his mind off of the pain.

“ginger,” he said blankly.

you looked up at him — slender, mako eyes already glued on you. quirking a brow, you waited for him to give you more context. “ginger?”

“ginger. that’s what you had named the cat,” he added. your mouth form a small ‘o’ shape with the realization. you softly laughs. “right, it had a bright orange mark on its forehead.”

he hums in agreement. at times like this there would be some memories he couldn’t remember, even when you blatantly described them with such detail. it was nothing if on the horizon, only blurry shapes and sounds that came with these memories. he was glad you still recall them, though, a greater comfort than you’d think.

“this might hurt a bit,” you say. his eyes flit down to where your hands roam over his arm, the thick laceration evident in the flesh of his arm as you hover a needle and thread over it. “do you want some—“

“you didn’t want to let go of the cat when we had to go home, even when your parents wouldn’t let you keep it,” he keeps going. you notice how his eyes clench shut with a furrowed brow as he cuts you off.

you cock your head.

and it’s almost like he senses it, because when he opens his eyes, he squints at you. “keep going,” he mutters, before closing his eyes again. you realize what he’s doing; keeping the conversation to take his mind off the sting of the sanitizer and the prick of the sterilized needle.

cloud hears you chuckle again. “yeah, said the cat carried diseases.”

he huffs, “it just wanted a home.”

the rest of the time is spent with mindless chatter, you both lose track of how long the procedure goes on. talking about tales of what he remembers back in nibelheim, talking about how different things are now — and before he knows it, you squeeze his hand reassuringly and gently tap his knee.

“we’re all done,” you say. “do they feel alright?”

he lifts his leg and moves it around, craning his neck and checking the rest of his injuries to ensure that there’s minimal pain left behind other than achy bones. “yeah, it’s fine.”

“look at me, don’t even know how to stitch someone up yet i got it perfect the first try,” you grin.

“you didn’t know how to—“

“don’t you think i deserve a kiss for how amazing i did?” you beam, half hoping that he’d forget about the fact that you know little about stitches and medical assistance besides fundamental healing magic.

he pauses, making a small, choked sound of surprise at your proposal of a reward. you tilt your head with a smile before puckering your lips out dramatically — making cloud scoff. hesitantly, his head leans forward as his eyes flutter closed. he can hear his heartbeat thump in his ears as a gloved hand comes to grasp the underside of your jaw, a soft gasp escaping you when he leans in and pressed a quick peck to your lips.

it was only for a second, but when he pulls away, there’s stars in your eyes and he can’t help but huff amusedly at the sight.

his eyes fixate on your figure even when you get up, skipping away to put the medical supplies back in their proper cabinets in the bathroom — leaving him to sit in silence as he waits for you to come back.

cloud enjoys his own company more now that he can include another, the quiet no longer so comforting unless you’re in it. he is on the cusp of insensibility and it only fills him with confusion. maybe you use magic or maybe you’re somehow manipulating him. he doesn’t know. cloud doesn’t know anything anymore except that he cannot sit on your sofa the same way he did before without feeling the phantom warmth of your hands lingering on his.

𐙚 dottie’s 500 event — 🍡 ( action ) prompts !!

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @alieeelinn

𐙚 non-500 requests are closed — august eleventh, 2024 ( 4:24 pm )

[profilemd]

How To Choose Between Facelift vs MINT Thread Lift

If you’re looking to rejuvenate the appearance of your face and neck, you’ve likely heard of facelifts and MINT thread lifts. While they both have similar goals, the procedures themselves vary quite a bit.

So, what’s the right answer between a facelift and a thread lift? Read our guide to find out How To Choose Between Facelift vs MINT Thread Lift ✨

Schedule a Free Consultation with Profile MD Today

At Profile MD, we are happy to be able to support patients who are considering a thread lift. We know it’s a big decision, so we encourage you to reach out for a complimentary consultation.

[wangxianficrecs]

two phrases you'll say by hauntedotamatone

two phrases you'll say

by hauntedotamatone (@hauntotamatone)

M, 19k, Wangxian

Part of the MDZS Two Cakes Event 2021

Summary: “Don’t pull that out!” Wen Qing yells, and she is right to do so. Wei Wuxian already has one hand on the shaft sticking out of his abdomen. His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is slack with shock, but he obeys anyway, lifting both of his hands and letting them drop to his sides. All he does is blink a few times. “Ah…, I’ve been stuck before. It’s not even that deep.” “Wei Wuxian!” He takes one step and half of another before his legs simply stop working and fold beneath him. An unexpected attack on the fringes of the Burial Mounds reminds Wen Qing how thin the thread holding their lives together truly is and just how easily it could be snipped. Pushed to the very fringes of the world she once knew and made to rely on someone else, her healer's hands no longer feel so clean. Kay's comments: This story is marked as a canon divergence, but I would even categorize it as a canon compliant story, since it's more slice of life than anything else. Absolutely devastating slice of life, that's for sure, but ultimately not changing how canon plays out. Set during the Burial Mounds Settlement days, Wei Wuxian gets attacked and poisoned and we take a good look at Wen Qing and her relationship with him. There's also some implied Wangxian, but since it's a story from Wen Qing's POV, it's pretty subtle. hauntedotamatone is a favourite author of mine and I love the way he writes the Yiling siblings and the Burial Mounds Settlement Days in particular. It's just really beautiful and hard-hitting writing. Excerpt: Like this. it’s easy to forget that he is little more than a boy, just a year or so older than A-Ning. They call him Laozu, but his face is bare and the only signs of age on him are a few prematurely silver hairs and dark rings beneath his eyes. It is easy to forget that she is not much older. The rest of the afternoon is spent clearing away the rocks and dry brush. Wen Qing uses a knife to cut away the dead vines and old, twisted roots. She isn’t one for treating her tools roughly and it’s not that it doesn’t bother her, but it’s safe to say she won’t be performing so many procedures that she’ll need this particular one. She has others and what’s needed most now is farm work, not surgery. Her little brother heaves rocks out of the way and Wei Wuxian goes between the two of them, lifting things he should probably not be lifting and tilling the soil in small batches to examine it. No further music is needed, but she notices that whenever she picks her head up to keep an eye on the nearby wards, his eyes are already on them, hands still in the dirt. There have been no attempts by any living or hostile beings to cross the barrier, but that does not mean it won’t happen.

pov wen qing, canon compliant, burial mounds settlement days, assassination attempts, hurt/comfort, poisoning, sickfic, major character injury, hurt wei wuxian, surgery, golden core transfer, blood and injury, mild gore, demonic cultivation, minor lan wangji/wei wuxian, pining wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[genderstormwrites]

Scenario for the thing: visiting your doll-obsessed friend and soon finding out all the dolls she keeps were actual people. You make a deal that you’ll become her doll only after she turns everyone back

Surprisingly, she complies. Now she’s on top of you, straddling your waist as she brings the makeup brush closer and closer; the first step into becoming a doll. Will you be porcelain? Cloth? All you know is that despite your earlier worries, this will be worth it

"And you're absolutely sure about this? You know what's going to happen to you?"

A quick glance to the shelves of lifeless dolls in your best friend's apartment and you nod.

"Very well then." The woman gets up, crossing the room to get her sewing kit and sets it down next to you. Her movements are fast and precise as she retrieves several tools and makes her way over to the shelf. She grabs a doll carefully, one with red hair and green button eyes. An empty smile stitched onto fabric skin. Your friend whispers something into the doll's ear, and it must have been a powerful something, because the room itself seems to reverberate with powerful magic. The dollmaker uses her tiny implements to pull at a thread along the doll's neck, allowing it to unravel until soon, the doll is no more. In its place, on the ground, a woman sits, blinking and disoriented. She barely takes a moment to take in her surroundings before getting to her feet, fixing her red hair behind her head, and walking out of the apartment without a word.

You look to your friend for an explanation, and she simply replies. "They will return to their lives, as if it never happened."

She picks another doll off the shelf, performing the same procedure as another beautiful woman stands up and leaves without acknowledging your presence. One by one, every doll is changed back, until the shelves sit empty and the room is quiet.

"Their transformations were reversible, via the thread binding enchantments. They agreed to this, just as you agreed to your fate, but yours will not be reversible. In order to honor our bargain, you will be my one and only doll forever." She could read the hesitation on your face. The finality of it. There was something somber, yet exciting. "I wouldn't do this for just anyone. But your beauty, it is unlike anyone else. I will be honored to have you on my shelf forever, dear. I've always fancied you more than a little, and I know you've felt the same. So please, be beautiful for me forever."

With a deep exhale, you relax into the sofa. Your friend climbs onto you, straddling your lap and leaning over you as she guides her hands along your skin. She produces a needle, already pulling a silken thread. And she begins to stitch you away. The sewing begins slow, but picks up pace as she gets to working. The needle feels as though it should hurt as it pierces your skin, but it is instead a soft, tender feeling, relaxing the skin into soft, unfeeling fabric as it passes through. Soon, the feeling of her hands against you is dulled, your sensation lessened. You'd already relaxed beyond movement, and now as you try to tilt your head or move your arms, no motion is conjured.

You've shrunk down enough to be held in her hands now. She brings you to a desk and works on the intricate details. She preserves every inch of your beauty as she preserves you in eternal dollhood. You'll be so pretty on the shelf, she coos. You never were one for words. Your presence was always enough to make her happy. Your smile enough to make her laugh. So she'll keep you that way, forever. Always nearby. Always smiling. Always radiating beauty and warmth. A perfect friend. A perfect doll. It's all you ever really wanted to be, you think as the final stitches fall into place. You smile. You smile. You smile. And you're gently lifted to the shelf. The lone doll. The happiest, prettiest girl in the world.