#transparent dial watch

[sylviwatches]

Sylvi Black Silicone Strap Black Dial Watch for Men

Introducing the Sylvi Black Silicone Strap Black Dial Watch for Men, a stylish and functional timepiece designed to meet the needs of the modern man. This watch features a sleek black dial with contrasting white hour markers and hands for easy reading. The case is made of durable stainless steel with black ion plating, providing an elegant and sophisticated look. The strap is made of high-quality black silicone that is soft, comfortable, and hypoallergenic, making it perfect for everyday wear.

[finfinfan1997]

"Fin Fin now also explains to you when the hour has struck. The watch with precise Quartz-Movement and Hand-Display presents itself in a pop Fin Fin-Design. With the little winged Friend on the Dial, your child will certainly become the center of his group. Equipped with sturdy Plastic-Bracelet, suitable for children and young people, Batteries are already included. Delivery in an attractive, transparent Gift box. The ideal Gift for Christmas!" - fast gerschenkt! (1998)

The watch was also available to order on finfin.kompetenz-center.de

[sentient-tent]

I do a bit of painting and I quite enjoy learning about the different pigments and their properties, like what color, transparency, particle size, particle shape, or tinting strength.

when you mix paints together the properties of the pigments come into play in some complex ways sometimes.

So its helpful to know what pigments are in your paint.

Like if you mix cerulean blue and pyrole red you will get a mid tone muddy brownish purple. but Alizarin crimson and Ultramarine will give you a near black super vibrant purple.

Most of that has to do with how transparent the pigment is.

when you mix opaque colors the hue and brightness tend towards averaging out. And saturation goes down.

When you mix transparent pigments they mix to be darker than the sum of their parts and the saturation is usually maintained.

Or like most yellow pigments tend to be quite weak. so like to make a middlish green you might put 1 part phthalo blue to 20 parts hansa yellow. But for cadmium yellow might use like 5 parts instead.

Also there's interesting bits of history like when Egyptian mummies were used for paint and spices, in the case of Caput Mortuum or Mummy Brown.

Paris green is an arsenic based pigment that served double duty as rat poision. That is one of the most deadly things ever used for paint. Not sure if that's worse than the radioactive radium paint used in gun sights and watch dials in WW2.

Although much of the danger from the radioactive paint was process based, As the united states radium corporation had the radium girls lick the brushes to keep the points sharp. And had systematically dismissed health issues and gas lit workers with fake medical examinations.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: November 23, 2024

Reworked Character #4: Fio Germi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, alcoholism, and SA.

Real name: Fiolina Hortensia Germi

Alias: Teatime in the Battlefield

Occupation: Master Sergeant of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. and the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces

Retirement plans: Become a sports doctor and astrophysicist, open up a bakery, and start a family

Special skills: Chiropractic and massage therapy, knowledge in military medicine, housework, acupuncture, and astronomy

Hobbies: All types of sewing (hand sewing, machine sewing, embroidery, and quilting), ballroom dancing, giving her friends massages, cooking delicious meals and enjoying it on a picnic outside, and frequenting petting zoos, nature reserves, and art and outer space museums

Likes: Peppino, being in Tarma’s arms, the beauty of nature, baking cakes and other sweet treats, and reading books on stories centred around the stars and constellations

Dislikes: Scolding hot and freezing cold baths, people cheating at card games, the time she had to wear orthodontic braces, insects and creepy crawlies, and sneezing on the battlefield

Favourite food: Homemade sandwiches and gelato

Favourite drink: Ice tea (preferably Queen Mary)

Sexuality: Heteroromantic demisexual

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (in 2022), 21 (in 2028), 23 (in 2030), 25 (in 2032), 27 (in 2034), 34 (in 2041), 36 (in 2043), 37 (in 2044), and 40 (in 2047)

Blood type: O+

Weight: 145 lbs. (66 kg)

Design: She’s a 5’ 2” (157.48 cm) Italian mesomorph with sloping shoulders, upper arms that carry some of her weight, a bit of belly fat, voluptuous breasts and hips, and prominent thighs. She has olive skin, droopy blue-grey eyes, and brownish freckles scattered across her face and neck. Fio has straight, slightly messy orangish-brown hair that falls just above the middle of her upper back, framed by blunt bangs and chin-length, layered sides. However, she typically wears it tied up in a ponytail. Her fingernails are painted an English lavender hue, and she wears thick, winged dark brown eyeliner, a soft rosy red blush on her cheeks and nose, and cherry blossom pink lip gloss. As a result of battle injuries and her own clumsiness, she bears a bullet wound near the centre of her left calf and numerous cut marks, stab scars, and scrapes on her arms and legs.

Her military gear consists of polarised, silver-plated transition lens eyeglasses, a metal dog tag necklace with her name, and a cordovan Eisenhower jacket. She wears a pink lavender T-shirt with a dogwood rose stripe running along the front and a carmine bra underneath. She wears carmine gloves and a gold-buckled leather belt to secure her ebony army cargo shorts, which fall just above her knees. She also wears ebony paratrooper boots, dogwood rose knee and elbow pads, and over-the-calf bittersweet shimmer socks. She has a khaki waist pack attached to the back of her belt, which carries her nail polish, lip gloss, eyeliner, two makeup brushes (a large one and a small one), a makeup sponge, and a powder blush palette. She wears a leather sheath for her hatchet, a gun holster for her handgun, and a holder for her tonfa.

The pockets of Fio's Eisenhower jacket carry around Peppino, her beloved greyish-brown teddy bear with a pearlescent blue bowtie, and an embroidered cockade of Italy pin. It carries a wooden calico Japanese Bobtail maneki-neko figurine, which is a gift from Eri. The figurine wears a metallic green collar with a red stripe and a gilt-brass bell. Its right arm is raised, and its left paw holds a koban coin. It also carries a metallic green mystery watch with a transparent crystal dial that showcases black hands in the centre of a crimson inverted triangle, accented by a ruddy blue dot. Shimmering saffron-yellow Roman numerals, ranging from I to XII, are positioned around the dial, separated by three dots each. The pockets of her army cargo shorts carry a canister of pepper spray, a Ventolin inhaler, a bottle of azithromycin pills, and a bottle of specialised prescription supplements specifically designed to manage her cystic fibrosis.

Over her T-shirt, she dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries her walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. Her black ammunition bandolier is slung over her right shoulder, and the back of her Eisenhower jacket features an embroidered S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. logo. Fio carries an ebony load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, fire bombs, stones, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, and a picnic basket filled with prepared sandwiches. She also carries her latest sewing project and its accompanying supplies, a Hexagon Arms M-3685, a cat o' nine tails whip, medical supplies, and a scientific telescope.

She always wears a pair of teardrop-shaped pink opal earrings and a gold chain necklace featuring a red coral cornicello amulet, believed to ward off bad luck and bring good fortune. She wears a khaki army cap, once worn by her father during his military service, with the Regular Army insignia emblazoned on the front. Additionally, she wears a rosy pink armband on her left arm, featuring an European bee-eater perched on an olive branch at its centre.

Character summary: She's initially reserved and timid around strangers but warms up and opens up once she becomes familiar with new people. She's a compassionate, considerate, and overly cautious listener who's really good with children and lends everyone a generous helping hand. She's sensitive and unafraid to show her true emotions, often engaging in introspective thought. She possesses a steadfast commitment to justice, having no tolerance for individuals who seek to stir up strife, and is slow to forgive those who inflict harm on others for their own selfish purposes. Despite her quiet and calm demeanour, she's surprisingly prone to stress and anxiety, particularly when confronted with obnoxious noises, unwanted physical contact or situations where she can't escape. Even though she's a seasoned warrior, she harbours an intense fear of insects and creepy crawlies, often resorting to hiding behind Tarma, Marco or Eri and insisting they handle the situation. On occasion, she displays an almost childlike naivety and exuberance, typically after completing a mission or while off duty.

She's a very friendly and gentle clean freak who'll do anything to help out her family, friends, comrades, and those in need. She prepares all her meals with love and dedication, considering others' likes and dislikes, hoping they'll enjoy what she's made. When talking to others, she often uses lively hand gestures and animated facial expressions to emphasise certain ideas. She gets easily flustered by compliments and flirtatious advances, blushing deeply and becoming nearly speechless. She's a somewhat superstitious person, believing in things like placing one's hat on a bed being a sign of bad luck for homeowners and spilling salt being a harbinger of financial troubles. She's a nature-loving girl who's incredibly clever and always thinks optimistically. She's a great strategist who excels in keep-away tactics. However, she often pushes people away due to fear and isn't the most skilled fighter, but can fight when necessary.

Whenever she's faced with the death of a child, a comrade or friend being severely injured, being touched inappropriately or being rudely insulted, her face darkens. She becomes cold-hearted and deadly serious, and her tactical prowess shines through most. She's quite curious around strangers, nervously trailing them and asking a few questions to get to know them. Despite cherishing the importance of friendship, she sometimes feels isolated by her exceptional intelligence, privileged upbringing, and cystic fibrosis. She values maintaining a healthy work-life balance and prioritising her time with loved ones, holding both in higher regard than success. She believes that living in or exploring beautiful places helps her become a better person by gaining a deeper appreciation of the world around her.

She originally harboured romantic feelings for Marco, but they dissipated after he disclosed that he isn't interested in romantic and sexual relationships. Her affections eventually shifted to Tarma, whom she found charming due to his silliness, emotional intelligence, Hokkaido dialect, the soothing sound of his voice, pleasant smile, and knack for building professional motorcycles. She finds immense comfort in Tarma's presence and often offers him solace when he's having a rough day or struggling with self-doubt.

After her romantic relationship with him fully blossoms, she forms an exceptionally close physical and emotional bond with him. However, her tendency to become overly attached manifests at times, especially when feelings of fear or loneliness arise. Despite being in a romantic relationship with Tarma, she maintains a non-possessive attitude, unconcerned if he flirts or sleeps with other women and men, considering it his personal freedom. However, she does prefer openness and honesty, ensuring that he communicates with her about his actions. She sometimes gets into debates with Tarma about what they should or shouldn't do, but she usually remains polite and calm, focusing on finding a solution that benefits both of them rather than worrying about negative consequences. After a debate, she often apologises to Tarma and follows up with a hug.

She eventually enters into a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Marco and Tarma, which she deeply cherishes and further satisfies her craving for emotional intimacy. She's displeased when Nadia takes advantage of her kindness to avoid responsibilities. However, she appreciates Nadia's help with dessert-making, although Fio often has to bribe her by offering something equally sweet or letting her have the largest share of a batch to persuade her to lend a hand. She's frustrated by Eri's overprotectiveness, especially when it comes to Tarma, as it reminds her of her father's behaviour and makes her feel like she's being treated like a child. She finds Red Eye to be an incredibly intimidating person, despite their relatively friendly relationship, which occasionally involves sharing a cup of tea together.

When she's reached her limit, feels threatened or needs to express her authentic feelings about something that gets under her skin, she's capable of standing up for herself and making her voice heard. She rarely swears, but when someone's pushed her too far, she'll unleash a stern reprimand, peppered with profanities in Italian. She's unconcerned by Marco's and others' opinions that carrying Peppino is childish because the teddy bear provides her with personal comfort and solace, particularly when she's anxious or sad. Ever since meeting Ralf, who encouraged her to try new things, she has mustered the courage to pursue thrilling experiences and enjoy them to the fullest, even if they carry some risk.

She's not fond of drinking alcohol due to its bitter taste and intoxicating effects, which make her feel nauseous and slightly nervous. However, on rare occasions, she’ll let loose and indulge in alcohol with her friends, especially after a challenging mission. When intoxicated, she starts to act playful, flirtatious and sexually teasing towards Tarma, obnoxiously loud, agitated, and bluntly honest.

She harbours private reservations about the Regular Army's methods, particularly when it comes to neutralising perceived threats, including journalists and enemy-affiliated personnel. She acknowledges that not everyone in these groups is malicious, but rather, many are innocent individuals caught in complex circumstances. Moreover, she struggles with the nagging feeling that those closest to her have been conditioned to uncritically accept the Regular Army's moral stance, never questioning its motivations or ethics. However, she's deeply afraid to express these thoughts aloud, fearing deadly repercussions and unwilling to risk stirring up trouble or jeopardising the relationships she values. She often pushes these thoughts aside by focusing on becoming a better fighter and drawing inspiration from high-ranking individuals like Marco and Clark, whom she greatly admires.

She has a tendency to fall asleep extremely quickly at bedtime or naptime, and her loud snoring can be disruptive to others who are trying to rest or focus on important tasks in the same room. She would be heartbroken if Peppino were lost, destroyed or stolen forever, as the teddy bear has been her constant companion since birth. However, she would be overjoyed to be reunited with the original Peppino or receive a new teddy bear that's an exact replica.

She believes that war serves no purpose other than destruction, resulting from conflicts that escalate beyond the control of free will. In her view, war profoundly alters the moral fabric of society, accelerating the advancement of weaponry and technology used in conflict. As a firm believer in virtue ethics, she thinks morality is about becoming the kind of person we truly want to be. To become a better person, people must cultivate values like honesty, bravery, justice, and generosity, leading to a morally righteous life and self-improvement. By practicing fundamental moral values, people develop the ability to make tough choices when faced with ethical dilemmas, learning to trust their instincts, listen to their conscience, and stand firm in their convictions. She holds that life is more powerful than death, continually finding innovative ways to adapt and flourish.

Backstory: Fiolina Hortensia Germi was born on October 2, 2007 in Genoa, Italy. The Germi family is renowned for their vast wealth, military service, and philanthropic endeavours. Originally merchants and nobles, they amassed their fortune in the Mediterranean region during the Age of Exploration and have since maintained their wealth, now managing various corporations and philanthropic organisations. True to their militaristic heritage, the Germis have participated in numerous conflicts, including the Napoleonic Wars of the 1800s, the Italian Unification Wars of the 19th century, and modern-day wars against terrorism worldwide. Sadly, many Germi warriors lost their lives, leading to an important family custom where the chosen heir of the Germi family must serve in the military.

Alessandro Germi, Fio's father, was a fearsome soldier in the Regular Army in his earlier years, serving alongside Fabriclus Roving. However, he was forced to leave military service after being severely injured during a shootout, which left him crippled and suffering from debilitating post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). His body bore the scars of countless battles, a testament to the wounds he had endured and the bloodshed he had witnessed on the front lines. After returning to civilian life and receiving proper support, Alessandro successfully restored his family's struggling business. He also started a family with his beloved wife, Giulietta, a talented seamstress and manager of a luxurious art museum.

Alessandro's wish was to have a healthy son as he feared that sending a daughter onto the battlefield would be a perilous ordeal. To his surprise and dismay, Giulietta gave birth to a daughter, and due to health complications, she couldn't bear any more children. Fio's mother would also experience postpartum depression after childbirth and passed down a disease that runs deep within her heritage: cystic fibrosis. Alessandro's deep-seated fears for Fio's safety often led him to become overly protective, causing tension with Giulietta, who found his helicopter parenting suffocating.

Despite her parents' mental health struggles, they went above and beyond to care for her, providing unwavering love and support. For half of her elementary school years, she was homeschooled and her parents taught her a diverse range of subjects, including mathematics. They encouraged Fio’s appreciation for friendships, the outdoors, and the finer things in life. They even fostered her love of astronomy, gifting her a scientific telescope on her 10th birthday, which she still has to this day.

Giulietta often took her on enriching outings to nature reserves and art museums, where she learned about biology and art history. Her mother also taught her the importance of domestic duties, showing her how to do her chores and clean the house. On special occasions, her mother would dress her up in pretty dresses and give her adorable animal plushies, which she still keeps.

She was bullied and exploited by the other children because of her wealthy status and overt politeness, but her father and teachers consistently intervened. As she grew, she discovered her own voice, learning to assert herself with courage and conviction. Standing up to her bullies with firm yet gentle confidence, she effectively silenced their taunts and earned respect. Like Marco, Fio excelled in all her classes, demonstrating exceptional academic prowess and a deep appreciation for effort and lifelong learning.

However, her life took a devastating turn near the end of her secondary school days. A sudden and tragic terrorist airstrike, attributed to the Ptolemaic Army, struck Genoa, Italy, claiming Giulietta among its many victims. Her father was the most affected by this loss, turning to a life of alcoholism and self-isolation. Although Alessandro still cared about Fio and tried his best to support her, his alcoholism and newfound self-isolating behaviour made it challenging for him to do so. As a result, the butler and maids who worked in the mansion frequently took care of her.

It took time for Fio and Alessandro to heal from this loss, but they remained resilient. To cope with the loss of her mother, she turned to sewing, baking, and reading books on ancient and modern medical practices. Eventually, Alessandro sought help and went to rehab and therapy to address his issues with Fio's support and encouragement. After graduation, Fio was awarded multiple awards and scholarships, which enabled her to attend university. There, she pursued an interdisciplinary course of study, exploring chiropractics, acupuncture, physics, and astronomy.

Fio would eventually express her interest in joining the military after coming across a persuasive flyer to serve in the Regular Army. This revelation horrified Alessandro, as he didn't want to send his only child off to the battlefield, risking her life. He wanted to disregard the Germi's military traditions, believing that war is repugnant and a never-ending cycle of hate and violence. Alessandro tried to deter Fio from joining, but she persisted, driven by her desire to join the fight against terrorism and protect the lives of innocent people. He reluctantly agreed and sent her off to the military at the age of 19, but attempted to minimise her risk by using his connections and friends from his own military days to secure her a desk job, hoping to keep her out of harm's way and away from the front lines.

However, everything changed when a paperwork mistake caused by militant bureaucracy resulted in Fio's transfer to the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., a special operations branch of the Regular Army's Intelligence Agency known for carrying out high-risk missions. Surprisingly, Fio was ecstatic to hear the news as she had been eager to be deployed on the battlefield and make a real difference. In contrast, her father was furious and stormed into military headquarters, threatening officers in an attempt to prevent his daughter from being shipped to the front lines.

He would often try to extract Fio from the battlefield via a private jet, but she consistently resisted. Eventually, she had enough of his overprotectiveness and bravely told him that this was what she wanted—to fight on the battlefield and provide medical aid. She assured him that she was capable of handling herself. Alessandro finally understood and let her pursue her life as a military woman. In return, she promised to keep in touch with him after each mission, providing him with reassurance and comfort.

Like Eri, she played a crucial role in the Great Morden War by providing Marco's team with useful intel on Rebel Army positions. She even went so far as to provide them with sustenance, mainly in the form of homemade sandwiches. She also dedicated herself to providing medical support for Marco's team, which led to her being recognized as the lead medical technician of the Regular Army’s special forces.

During the Extraterrestrial Alliance Clash in Hong Kong, she was seized by a ruthless group of fanatic land troops and bikers who intended to exploit her for their twisted desires. One of the deranged fanatic land troops subjected her to unwanted physical contact, leaving her severely traumatised and more prone to anxiety. This horrific experience intensified her resentment towards the Rebel Army and those who seek to spread chaos and harm. Fortunately, Tarma intervened just in time, eliminating the Rebel Infantrymen with the SV-001. Eri quickly freed her from the ropes that bound her arms and ankles.

Her countless battles against worldwide criminality, terrorism, and corruption enabled her to rapidly rise through the ranks, becoming the Master Sergeant of the S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. However, her time in the military has taught her a harsh reality: even the good guys can't always protect the innocent or save their friends and comrades. She has witnessed many deaths and severe injuries that left people crippled and traumatised in each battle. Nevertheless, with the emotional support of friends like Eri and Tarma, she has persevered and continues fighting to this day.

[brightlotusmoon]

From the Facebook page 'Gen X':

-

I AM GEN X!

I don’t have a “walked up hill, both ways, barefoot, in the snow” story to tell. No one really believed those stories, but it hit me, no kid would believe mine either?

The Nintendo and the the VCR only worked on channel 3.

If you didn’t rewind the movie before returning it, that would probably cost you 25 cents.

Your brain is an egg, your brain on drugs is also an egg, but it’s fried now, ignore that it looks more delicious.

At 10 pm, every night, the TV asked your parents if they knew where you were.

Pizza Hut had table cloths on the tables, a waitress and it seriously was kind of a big deal.

Wendy’s had a salad bar, but not just a salad bar. You could make your own pasta or your own taco, or you could just make a plate of Pepperoni and ranch. That bar was Super!

There was a number you could dial and it would tell you the time, that’s it. That’s all it would do, but it would do that over and over and over.

Once call-waiting was invented you made a plan with your girlfriend or boyfriend at school that day and set a time that one of you would call that number at then the other would call that person at the specified time so they could “click over” where neither of your parents knew you were on the phone because it never rang.

Champion clothes were super cheap and sold at K-Mart. You got made fun of for wearing those clothes.

There was a channel that only played the audio of bad music and it showed, in text form, the weather forecast, it was super helpful in the mornings because it also showed the time.

Pepsi once tried to look cool by becoming transparent, not as a company being transparent. They made Pepsi clear and called it Crystal Pepsi. (Didn’t last long)

Coke thought it needed to be cool by tasting like Pepsi. They come up with a cool name too, New Coke! (Didn’t last long either)

Eggs were good for you, then they were bad for you, then I think they were good for you again, not sure where we landed on that. But there was a song in support of Eggs. It was incredible…edible.

Real news was at 10. Fake news was about cults, hookers, people who saw Bigfoot, ufos and such and they happened early afternoon. Those shows really weren’t considered news until a decade or so later.

Comic books were sold at pharmacies, baseball cards were sold at gas stations.

Professional athletes would be shown on TV using tobacco in damn near every sport. Dipping and/or smoking, literally during the game.

For some reason we all dug claymation Raisins wearing sunglasses while they were singing songs.

If you were ever sick and had to miss school you had to watch “Price is Right” with your grandmother and take a nap or at least go away when her “stories” come on.

Hardware stores and Auto Parts stores would sell rifles and shotguns. Even to a kid.

Most gas stations would sell fireworks, to anyone. Not just the sparklers either, the ones that could destroy a mailbox or a GI JOE, launch a trash can, or completely remove a thumb from a hand.

Also when your were sick, grandparents didn’t have the ear thermometers, they weren’t invented yet, grandmas also didn’t trust you not to bite and break the ones that went under your tongue, so you had lay on a couch with one of the glass ones sticking out of your butt for a few minutes. (I really wish I made that part up)

McDonald’s come out with a sandwich called the McRib, but it wasn’t going to be there long and it would never return. It had onions so we didn’t care if we ever saw it again.

We were also pretty much invisible everyday, until 10 pm.

At 10 pm that commercial came on and reminded our parents that they had kids.

-

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/Hc9NeNqxizx3cPA9/?mibextid=oFDknk

[moowithmidnight]

Cashmere and Glimmer

I know it’s a popular theory that Cashmere was Glimmer’s mentor in the 74th Games and purposefully trained her poorly to cause her death, saving her from being sex trafficked like Cashmere.

However, that rings very false for me, because the Careers weren’t like the other tributes, and weren’t going to be very susceptible to bad advice. They weren’t only trained by their current Games mentors, not necessarily. Glimmer was training for the Hunger Games likely long before she’d ever met Cashmere. And even if Cashmere had started training her earlier, she likely wouldn’t be the only person. Cashmere’s speciality is knives, I don’t think they’re going to pick her to teach Glimmer every type of weapon, not when District 1 has other Victors with other specialities.

But I honestly think that adds a layer of tragedy.

Because let’s say that Cashmere had tried to sabotage her. Glimmer is way more likely to assume Cashmere was some sort of idiot than doubt her own training. Glimmer was extremely confident in herself; even if she’d looked up to Cashmere, she was likely going to ignore any bad advice Cashmere could’ve tried to secretly feed her.

Another thing to remember is how important appealing to the Capitol is, especially for District 1, as they’re one of the more respected Districts. While the Capitol sees all Districts as below them regardless, we’re shown that they’re still a lot more likely to root for and support the Career tributes. Whatever angle Glimmer presented herself to the Capitol from was going to matter.

While it’s not in the movies, Glimmer’s outfit for her interview with Caesar is described as essentially transparent. She came right out the gate with blatant sex appeal as her angle, something that Cashmere could’ve had some control over, but not all. (I’d argue not even most- people tend to downplay how important fashion is in the books.)

Counterintuitively, this is amplified because Glimmer is a Career; again, she’s gotten much more advice from outside sources. Besides, Glimmer never would’ve acted meek or scared, she’s from District 1. And Cashmere could’ve told her to dial down her flirtatiousness, but the people of the Capitol were willing to sleep with a 14 year old Victor. I don’t think that would’ve made much of a difference, and certainly wouldn’t have had the impact that a different costume choice would’ve had.

All of that to say that whoever the District 1 stylist/prep team were had infinitely more power than Cashmere ever did on how the Capitol was going to see Glimmer. While they might not have saved her from Cashmere’s fate completely, they definitely could’ve taken measures to change how the Capitol sees her. And sure, Cashmere might have tried to give her input and convince the stylists to do XYZ differently, but she’d never would have gotten the final say.

Cashmere could never have done anything to save Glimmer from her own fate, not a single thing. Even if Cashmere hadn’t gone to Sponsors, people would have sponsored District 1 anyway. Glimmer was taught to survive at all costs anyway, she likely knew how to live without relying on Sponsors.

Being a mentor is already a terrible punishment. And this is something that the Snow knows because of his experience watching Sejanus break during the 10th Games. It serves as a reminder from Snow that while the mentors may be respected as Victors, they don’t have any real power, and they never will.

The very second Glimmer volunteered for the Games it was game over, even if she’d survived.

And Cashmere knows it.

I think that is so much more a tragedy than anything else.

[girlsdressingrooms]

Hublot X Takashi Murakami

There are only 50 MP-15 Takashi Murakami watches available and for a serious watch collector who likes pretty things, this is a must-have.

Not only does it have the iconic motif from the Japanese designer of a sapphire flower, but it is also the first watch that Hublot produced for an exclusive release that has a central flying tourbillon and it also does not have a traditional dial. Instead, you get a complication in the center and the hands are moved to the edge instead of the center, running under the tourbillon.

The aforementioned tourbillon is in the middle and surrounded by the sapphire flower with 12 petals. The entire design is luminous and so you get to experience the play of light when it is reflected on the translucent flange and bracelet as well as the sapphire case, caseback, and crown.

The flying centre tourbillon has a power reserve of 150 hours and a special pin to wind it up that can be charged through a USB port. All of the components for the watch are skeletonized, giving off a mixture of transparency and delicacy.

[dark-ambition]

((Ok, watched episode 5 and I have some thoughts on some broader theory stuff I’ve seen across the dash that I just have to voice my own opinion on. This is not me trying to debunk anyone’s theories, merely voicing my own two cents.

I’ve seen the fandom trying to vaguely theorize that Alastor has somehow made it in romantically with Lilith and that’s particularly why Alastor suddenly tries to make himself look like a father figure to Charlie while Lucifer is there, out of some spite toward a perceived ex, and also why he showed up to the Hotel, in an effort to keep an eye on Charlie, Lilith’s daughter. To be frank, I don’t think Alastor and Lilith are in a romantic relationship. I think the notion that he’s gotten in with Lilith and in some sort of romance with her while it’s heavily implied that Lilith is the one who has Alastor’s soul on a leash is….very unlikely, to say the least.

My main proof being this scene with Alastor and Husk.

Husk says the words “big talk coming from someone who’s also on a leash” and Alastor IMMEDIATELY stops dead in his tracks. His eyes turn into dials, which the only times we’ve ever seen him do is when he is LIVID, like “I’m close to tearing someone to pieces and I am giving you one more chance to BACK OFF” level of mad. He asks Husk to repeat himself, with it obviously not being an actual question and more of a warning to not actually repeat himself. It’s rhetorical, and it is dangerous.

Husk, recognizing this, despite all the times we’ve seen him talk back to Alastor and not even so much as receive a warning, DESPERATELY tries to take his words back as he is suddenly chained by the neck and YANKED to the floor, so hard that he starts to CHOKE. His ears are pinned back, he is stuttering, he is PANICKING, he is recognizing how much of a HORRIBLE mistake he just made, and rapidly realizing how much danger he is in.

Alastor approaches Husk slowly, literally winding the very chains binding Husk’s neck around the cane of his staff so each and every loop makes the chain tighten until he finally pulls it as taut as he can make. Holding it tight in his hands like he’s about to rip Husk’s soul right out of him at any second. The threat he is making to Husk could not be anymore crystal clear here. He is NOT fucking around.

It shows on Husk’s face, he is TERRIFIED, scared absolutely beyond words, to the point where he is cowering on the ground, not moving an inch as Alastor towers over him, green chains still wrapped tight like a vice around his cane, until they finally dissipate as he bends down to prop Husk’s chin up with his microphone. He is beyond furious, he is livid, and he is giving Husk the clearest most transparent warning a man like him can give: Say that again and I will fucking kill you.

And it’s only when Husk makes it clear that he understands does Alastor finally relax, his posture relaxing, the tension leaving his body, the icy cold glare leaving his eyes, replaced with an almost smug grin. He knows Husk gets the picture now. He knows Husk won’t ever jab at him with those words again, or else he’ll face the consequences.

Then what does he do? He snaps right back into classy jazz and happy smiles like nothing fucking happened while Husk is left shaking and trembling on the ground.

Clearly, someone also happens to have Alastor on his own leash. Clearly, someone, somehow, has claimed ownership over Alastor’s soul, much in the same way Husk’s soul is owned by Alastor. And clearly, if the mere MENTION of it is able to set Alastor off SO much that he threatens to KILL Husk and subject his soul to unending torment and misery at the drop of a hat when EVERY OTHER TIME Husk has mouthed off to him being something that Alastor just shrugs off like it’s nothing?

It is something that Alastor is FAR FROM HAPPY about.

It is clearly something he HATES. He DESPISES the fact that someone is owning him, controlling him, it makes him so beyond angry that he drops EVERYTHING he is doing to threaten Husk who dared to use it as a means of getting back at him for his behavior. And if Lilith is the one to own his soul like so many people are speculating, if Lilith is the one that is pulling the strings on him from behind the scenes to have him stick around the Hotel and watch over her daughter, clearly this scene highlights that he loathes the fact that she has any modicum of control over him, has any way of being able to order him around.

And I for the life of me cannot see any situation where that somehow turns into a romance. Let alone one where Alastor is infatuated with Lilith and despises Lucifer purely on the basis of him being Lilith’s old husband. I just can’t.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

In The Style, Blue!

SH presented two watches of the same brand at Nobleman's photo shoot, one of which matched the colour well. The watch chosen to match her blue jacket is a MONOBALANCIER HURACAN STERRATO inspired by a Lamborghini from the Italian luxury sports car manufacturer. The colourful piece was launched simultaneously with the new supercar of the same name.

Although SH's trousers have no hems, his stylist did not pay attention to the unfinished edge of the trousers.

Styling @mrmontyjackson

Roger Dubuis has led the charge in daring and innovative watchmaking, earning its reputation as the master of “hyper-horology”. The brand’s creations boast a bold and avant-garde design philosophy, resulting in futuristic and distinctive timepieces incorporating cutting-edge materials and complex mechanical movements.

The Excalibur Spider Monobalancier Huracán Sterrato is a brilliant extension of the brand’s Excalibur line, taking inspiration from the off-road Lamborghini Huracán Sterrato released last year, only this time dressed in an alluring blue attire.

Sporting a blue outfit, the new Huracán Sterrato watch features lines that cut across the dial, echoing the shape of the car’s roof rack. The timepiece boasts a quick-release system for rapid strap changes, allowing seamless adaptation to any occasion. The bright camo-patterned strap is a nod to the gritty abilities of the Huracán Sterrato, a remarkable feat achieved by vulcanising numerous coloured rubber plates.

The New Roger Dubuis Excalibur Spider Monobalancier Huracán Sterrato. Experience the latest offering from the hyper-horology brand created in partnership with the Lamborghini Squadra Corse.

The watch is powered by the automatic RD630 calibre movement, explicitly developed for the partnership with Lamborghini Squadra Corse, and it mirrors the hexagonal air intakes of the Huracán. The balance wheel takes centre stage at noon, tilted at a 12° angle to evoke Sterrato’s rev counter. This ingenious design decision adds depth to the dial and potentially enhances precision by averaging out positional errors.

The date display at 6 o’clock maintains the balance of the dial, while its rotation in front of a coloured decoder makes for a fascinating visual effect. With a transparent case back, you’ll marvel at the semi-skeletonised movement and its full rotor, cleverly resembling a Huracán wheel rim in motion. The dynamic illusion of pure speed is captivating. The watch offers 60 hours of power reserve with twin barrels, ensuring reliability and performance.

When it comes to telling time, the hour and minute hands might blend into the dial, but there are other focuses. The watch’s essence lies in its experience, just like driving a Lamborghini is more about the thrilling journey than the destination. The Roger Dubuis Excalibur Spider Monobalancier Huracán Sterrato delivers a powerful and exhilarating experience, and it can be yours for £ 59.500 (USD 70,000, taxes not included) Note only 28 will be made.

Lamborghini Huracán Sterrato. Asphalt and dirt can travel together.

The Excalibur Spider Monobalancier Huracán Sterrato is a timepiece to celebrate the Lamborghini Huracán Sterrato supercar built to conquer off-road terrain. The car is a marvel like no other, with its 5.2-litre V10 engine delivering a breathtaking 610 CV (449 kW) at 8,000 rpm and rocketing from 0 to 100 km/h in a mere 3.4 seconds.

[feralghxuls]

been working on amnesia fic today so here's another snip that comes shortly after the mountaindew snip i posted earlier

“Let me up, I’ll show you,” he says, shifting again, starting to sit up as far as he can make it in the circle of Mountain’s arms and the bass in front of him, then stops and turns to give Mountain a pointed look. Reluctantly, Mountain moves the bass out of the way to let Dew up. He settles again on Mountain’s right side, folding his legs between them and scooting a little closer so his knees press against Mountain’s thigh. His fingers are warm on Mountain’s as he adjusts them on the fretboard, moving each one into place and giving the first knuckle a tap each time he’s done placing it. 

Mountain watches Dew move his fingers around for a moment, then shifts to watch his face. His brow is creased in concentration, mouth tense and appearing smaller than usual, jaw tight, the muscle at the hinge jumping as his teeth grind ever so slightly. Finally Dew sits back to look up at him.

“That song you were playing. It’s [song], isn’t it?”

Mountain blinks at him, hope blooming in his chest. He nods, fingers tightening on the neck of the bass. “[song],” he echoes. 

Dew grins at him, his tail flicking up beside him. “It’s playing in my head right now. My part, anyway. I can teach it to you.” He pauses, glancing down, his brow furrowing again, but this time it’s not to concentrate. “If I can remember how. I don’t even know if I put your fingers in the right place.”

Mountain stares at him for a moment, aching to know he can’t fix Dew’s frustration, aching to reach out and touch him. His hand drops without his permission from the fretboard to rest on Dew’s thigh, seeking his hand where it’s busy picking at the claws of his other. Mountain nudges at his palm and Dew lets him take it, but doesn’t look at him, instead staring resolutely at the sheets on the other side of Mountain, his hair falling forward to hide most of his face.

“Here. You try,” Mountain says after a moment. With his free hand, he holds Dew’s bass out to him. When he picks his head up, his hair still obscures half his face, but he reaches to take it. 

His grasp remains hesitant until he has the bass settled across his lap, and then it’s like something clicks into place, his hands settling on the bass like it’s another part of him. Something swells in Mountain’s chest as he watches Dew’s fingers dance on the fretboard, not playing yet, just going through the motions of fingering through a song, thumb tapping the top of the body in what would be his strum patterns. 

Even through the semi-transparent curtain of his hair, Mountain can see the corners of his mouth lift, and the way his scent starts to sweeten the air is achingly familiar. Finally Dew reaches down and begins to strum and pluck at the strings, and Mountain already has the amp in his hand, a question in his eyes.

“Yeah, turn it up,” Dew says, corner of his mouth quirking up. Mountain’s chest goes warm at the sight of it, keeps staring at Dew, turning the dial up slowly while he strums until Dew nods. His gaze lingers before he turns his attention back to his bass. Mountain watches, enraptured, hearing the music as much as he’s feeling it in the vibrations in his chest, under his hand where it still rests on the amp. He picks it up, cradling it in both hands as he watches Dew play, fingers tapping against it with the rhythm of his own part. 

[sylviwatches]

Sylvi Silver Dial Black Silicone Strap Watch for Men

Introducing the Sylvi Silver Dial Black Silicone Strap Watch for Men, a sleek and modern timepiece that combines style, functionality, and durability.

Crafted with a polished stainless steel case and a striking silver dial, this watch exudes a sophisticated and elegant look that's perfect for any occasion. The black silicone strap offers a comfortable fit, making it ideal for daily wear or more formal events.

[clarepreed]

The Night We Met

Story Content and Summary - 6,017 words. A "coma hallucination" taking Larissa and Mitchell to the fateful night when they met. What would happen if Mitchell sent her home, offered to walk her to her car? Cardiac tamponade, pericardiocentesis, blood and vomit, male resus, on-site resuscitation. ♂️

--

Simultaneous to the events of “Drowning.”

Samuel

“…and when you feel better, I’m going to quiz you about these books. See if you were paying attention.” Samuel dragged his thumb across his phone screen, switching to the next page. As he did so, a work email notification dropped in across the top. He dismissed it with another flick of his thumb. “Where were we…”

Samuel glanced up at Larissa. He could hear the quiet whisper of the ventilator, the timing in line with the gentle rise and fall of her chest. 

“You really need to start breathing on your own,” Samuel gently chided. “Mitchell is losing hope.”

He watched her breathe for another minute before he spoke again. “I’m full of shit a lot of the time, you know. Crass, braggadocious. Like that word? I can’t remember the last time I heard it. Anyway, Larissa. I know you can’t help what’s happening to you right now. But I wish you could. Because I know you’d do the right thing and fucking come back for my brother.”

His throat felt tight and he cleared it, blinking back a burning sensation in his eyes. “The rest of us would like to have you back, too.”

He wanted to say more, but he didn’t want to cry at her bedside. So, he woke his phone back up, blinking bleary-eyed at the novel on his screen.

Before he could start reading, a loud alarm began to sound from Larissa’s cardiac monitor. Samuel shoved himself to his feet, slipping his phone into his pocket. He could see from the monitor that she had a heartbeat, but he didn’t know enough to identify the type of arrhythmia detected. As he stared, helpless, multiple people entered the room.

“Page rapid response!” someone barked.

“Sir, we’re going to have you move to the family waiting area for a bit.” A nurse efficiently shepherded him out of the ICU, his tone kind but brooking no arguments.

“You’ll tell me what’s going on when you can?” Samuel’s tone sounded desperate.

The nurse, already headed back inside, turned and nodded. “We will. I promise. She’s in good hands.”

Samuel hesitated in the hallway, but since he couldn’t see or hear anything he turned, walking reluctantly to the waiting room. He dialed Mark, dropping heavily into a chair.

Larissa

Larissa floated, unmoored from space and time.

Anxiety reached her before anything else. Then a fluttering sensation in her chest, followed by a forceful impact.

Then she landed on her feet, exhausted, in the conference room at work.

Larissa glanced at the clock. Two AM. She should have gone home hours ago. At this rate, she would have to wear her emergency suit to her morning presentation and hope there was ice in the kitchen to calm her swollen eyelids. Sighing, Larissa dragged her long, honey blonde hair into a messy bun, rubbed her hands over her eyes, and made herself take a deep breath before she surveyed the room.

As she looked around, the motion lights from the leadership hallway flicked on, visible through the transparent walls of the conference room. Larissa rubbed her eyes again, surprised to see someone walking down the hall toward the conference room. A tall and trim someone, with light-colored hair.

Ah, hell, she thought, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment at being caught exhausted and barefoot. It’s Mitchell.

Mitchell Anders, the Owner and CEO of the company she worked for, where she was angling for a promotion despite having been hired just over six months prior. Mitchell walked into the conference room, smartly dressed despite his own lack of shoes. He gave her a charmingly uncertain smile, glancing around the otherwise empty room. “Um, hi…Larissa, right? You’re here late. Everything looks ready, though. Good job!”

Larissa smiled back, relaxing a bit. She nodded. “Yes, Larissa. Thank you. I wanted to make sure everything was perfect.”

He hung back, not getting too close to her. They both heard the rumble of thunder as it rattled the exterior windows. Mitchell winced. “You should go home. Do you live far?”

Larissa shook her head. “Not far at all. Sometimes I walk. I didn’t today because I knew it would storm tonight.”

“You planned better than I did. I should have gone home earlier.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Would you be upset if I pulled rank and told you to go home?”

“No, sir. Mr. Anders. That’s probably a good idea anyway.” Her stomach growled, right on cue.

“Mitchell, please. Everyone calls me Mitchell.” He smiled again. “You sound hungry. Go home, eat dinner, and I’ll see you in the morning for your presentation.”

He is really attractive, she found herself thinking. Especially when he smiles. 

“Thank you, Mitchell. I’ll just grab my things from my office and head out.”

“Are you parked close? I know the deck downstairs fills up.” He lingered in the room, his expression interested.

Larissa moved toward the door closest to her office. “No, I don’t have a pass and it was already full when I got in this morning. I’m in the deck on Smythe.”

Mitchell frowned, mulling that over. Then he winced. “Would you be insulted if I offered to walk you to your car? A woman was attacked in that lot just a few nights ago, and I would feel more comfortable if I saw you safe. I understand if that feels like an overstep or intrusion.”

“Oh.” Larissa had heard about the woman. A mugging. She’d been injured enough to require hospitalization. “That would be nice, actually. Thank you.”

Mitchell relaxed, nodded. “I’ll just go get my shoes. I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

A few minutes later, they were riding downstairs together. Larissa realized Mitchell had been drinking; she smelled it on him in the enclosed space. He seemed quiet, though, evidently not the sort to get loud and brash while under the influence.

“I’m looking forward to your presentation,” he said, breaking her reverie. “Mark has given you a glowing review.”

Larissa’s face grew warm, but she straightened her shoulders and smiled. “Thank you. Mark’s an excellent boss. He’s easy to work for. He has high standards, of course, but I like working here.”

“That’s good to hear. I would have to give him a hard time if I heard he was being a tyrant. Might make family gatherings awkward.” He grinned, then explained. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

The elevator stopped, dinging as the doors opened. Larissa stepped out and to the side, looking up at Mitchell in surprise as he exited. “I had no idea!”

“He helped me start the company.” Mitchell trailed off and frowned, stopping by the empty security desk. “There’s supposed to be enough security staff that this is always manned.”

Larissa didn’t respond, watching him drum his fingers on the desk and then shake his head. He looked over at her and smiled.

“I’ll take care of this during normal work hours,” he said. “Now, where exactly are you parked?”

They stopped just before exiting the building, Mitchell eyeing the pouring rain. 

“You can share my umbrella,” Larissa said. “I’ll even let you borrow it to get back. Will you be okay walking back? Men get mugged, too!”

“We have insurance if something happens to me.” He laughed. “That’s not a very good joke, but I swear it was supposed to be one. I’ll be okay. “

They walked together in easy silence, cringing away from the wall of rain bordering the edge of the umbrella. Larissa let Mitchell hold it since he was taller, though she suspected he was giving her more than her share of shelter. They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

“It’s possible all of the muggers are at home out of the rain tonight,” Mitchell said wryly.

“I would be, if I were a mugger,” Larissa said.

Mitchell laughed, and then the illuminated orange changed to the bright white walking man.

In the end, she had no idea the car was coming. She huddled under the umbrella, arms wrapped around her bag, pulled into a false sense of security next to Mitchell. He was doing a better job of being observant.

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and then the squall of tires. Mitchell yelped, dropped the umbrella and shoved her, hard.

Larissa hit the pavement, skinning her palms and knees. Behind her, she heard a sickening series of thuds. As she rolled onto her back and sat up, tail lights disappeared into the rain.

“Mitchell?!” she shouted, though she’d already spotted him. The CEO lay sprawled in the crosswalk, his body frighteningly still. A single shoe lay on the pavement close to his feet. Larissa scrambled up, limping as she hurried over. “Mitchell!”

To her surprise and relief, he opened his eyes when she kneeled beside him. 

“Mitchell, I’m going to call 9-1-1.” She glanced to the side, looking for her purse. The contents were scattered in the crosswalk, but her phone was close by, scuffed up but operational. Mitchell looked disoriented, his gaze tracking listless across her face.

Larissa pressed the phone to her ear and then reached out with her other hand. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

He was bleeding from the head, and she saw blood soaking through his shirt.

“Call… Mark…” he wheezed. He was breathing hard and fast, his voice almost choked off.

“I will, as soon as I get off the phone with 9-1-1!”

Mitchell closed his eyes.

“Mitchell! Hey, wake up! Oh my—”

“9-1-1. Please state your name and address.”

“Larissa Colton!” She grabbed Mitchell’s shoulder and shook him, then looked for the nearest street sign. “I’m at the corner of Smythe and Apple! Close to the parking deck! Mitchell, open your eyes!”

“What is the nature of your emergency?” the operator asked.

Rain ran freely down both of their faces as she reached out to pat his cheek. “A hit-and-run! My boss just got struck by a car! Come on, Mitchell, open your eyes!”

“Is the patient conscious and breathing?”

“He’s unconscious now,” Larissa said. She leaned over him, her ear close to his mouth. She caught the scent of alcohol against her cheek and laid her hand on his chest. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “He’s breathing, but really fast and shallow!”

“I need you to continue to monitor his breathing, let me know if anything changes. An ambulance is on the way. Are you and the patient in a safe location?”

“We’re in the crosswalk! Where he got hit!” Larissa wiped water out of her eyes and then looked around for the umbrella. Climbing to her feet, she picked it up and laid it down so that it shielded Mitchell’s face from the rain. As she kneeled painfully back down beside Mitchell’s prone form, a car approached. “There’s a car coming…”

“Ma’am, if it is unsafe to stay in the road—”

“It’s stopping!” She squinted into the headlights. The car stopped. A long moment passed, then it reversed. “HEY!”

Larissa watched in surprise as the car completed an awkward turn in the middle of the intersection and headed down Smythe Avenue. “What?! These people saw us and just kept driving! I’m not leaving him alone in the road, by the way. I’m not doing that!”

“Alright, ma’am. Try to remain aware of the situation in case more vehicles approach. Is he still breathing?”

Larissa looked down at Mitchell, then put her hand back on his chest. She leaned close to his lips, her ear brushing against them. He panted out a handful of faint breaths, then stopped. 

Larissa waited.

And waited. She didn’t feel even the slight puff of air from before.

“No…” Her voice came out choked. “Oh God, he stopped breathing!”

“Ma’am? I want you to put this call on speaker and lay the phone down. Are you willing and able to perform compression-only CPR?”

“Y-yes,” Larissa stammered, quickly complying with the operator’s instructions. “The phone’s on the pavement! I took CPR a few months ago, but—”

“I’ll talk you through it. You want to kneel at the patient’s side and find the lower third of his sternum. The best way to do this is to use your fingers to trace his ribs toward the center of his chest. When you reach his breastbone, you’re going to push his chest just above the bottom of his breastbone.”

Larissa touched his chest through his wet shirt, her fingers searching for the curve of his ribs. Finding it, she ran her fingers up to his sternum. “I found it!” she blurted, stacking her hands and interlocking her fingers.

“Link your hands on top of each other and press the heel of your hand against the spot you just identified. Your shoulders should be over your hands.”

“Okay! That’s done!” Larissa shoved her hands down into Mitchell’s chest before the operator gave her further instructions. “One, two, three, four…”

“That’s a good pace. You want to push his sternum down two inches and come all the way back up each time. Keep counting out loud so I can hear you.”

“…three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five…” Larissa watched her own hands pumping Mitchell’s chest, trying to judge if she was compressing his sternum deep enough. She could see and feel the structure of his ribcage flexing beneath her hands. The wet fabric of his shirt plastered against his torso, highlighting the way his stomach popped up with each compression. “…two, three, four, five, six…”

“Don’t slow down, Larissa! I have an ambulance and a patrol car on the way to your location. You’re doing a good job; this is helping him!”

“…eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight…” Mitchell’s head rocked and she thrust her hands into his chest, bumping against the umbrella. Underneath the sound of the rain, she heard a huff of air escape his lips. It didn’t happen every time, and she began to worry.

I’m not doing a good enough job. Get it together!

“Shit!” Larissa stopped compressions and tugged at her skirt, pulling the tight, wet fabric up her thighs. Then she kicked off her shoes and straddled him, her left knee planted by his body. She planted her right foot on the pavement, her long leg fully exposed. She found her landmark on his chest again and began rocking her body weight hard into his chest. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…”

Mitchell’s head lolled to the side. Even in the dim light of the nearest street light, she could see that his lips were blue. 

Don’t die! You can’t push me out of the way like that and then die! Please!

Her hair slipped free of the messy bun, hanging wet and rope-like over her shoulder. Larissa didn’t stop. “…four, five, six, seven…”

Breathing hard, water dripping from her nose, Larissa continued to pump as hard as she could. “How… long? Three, four, five, six…”

Before the operator could answer, Larissa heard sirens. 

“I hear them! Two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six…”

Larissa looked up as headlights raked across them. The intersection filled with flashing blue lights, and a patrol car stopped a few meters away.

“…three, four, five, six, seven…”

Squinting, Larissa looked back down at Mitchell. She heard a door open and close, and then a woman said: “Ma’am, I can help. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Hit-and-run! He’s not breathing! One, two, three, four, five…”

The cop kneeled beside Mitchell. “Let me take over. We can switch back and forth until EMS gets here. Don’t leave the scene; I’ll have questions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Larissa crawled off of Mitchell, stiff and cold despite her exertion. 

The cop, dressed in a reflective yellow raincoat and blue nitrile gloves, leaned over Mitchell and started chest compressions. Mitchell’s chest looked unnaturally flexible, the compressions forcing his sternum down over and over again. His arms and legs rocked gently with the force. “…ten! One, two, three, four, five..,”

“A police officer has arrived and is doing CPR,” Larissa said, reaching around for her phone.

“Thank you. I’ll stay on the line until the ambulance arrives. ETA is three minutes.”

“…two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four…”

Thunder grumbled in the distance. Larissa hunched her shoulders at the sound. She reached for Mitchell’s face, fingers grazing the torn flesh at his temple. Then she leaned over, her eyes and fingers moving to the bloody stain on his side.

“He’s bleeding,” she said. “Not a ton of blood. It’s not gushing or spraying. But he’s visibly injured. He has a head wound and a wound in his side.”

“Thank you, I’ll communicate that to the paramedics. How old is the patient?” the operator asked.

“...six, seven, eight…”

“I don’t know. Forties? Oh my God, he just keeps looking worse and worse!”

“Remain calm, Larissa. Help is on the way!”

“…ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two…”

She heard a squelching sound as the cop pumped Mitchell’s chest, her hands pushing water out of his shirt. He took the compressions senselessly, by all appearances dead. His face was gray, lips dark. She laid the phone down and reached out to take his hand, thinking sadly about the kind, polite man who’d offered to escort her to her car. His skin felt cold.

“…six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! Take over when I get to ten! One, two, three…”

Larissa released Mitchell’s hand and readied herself.

“…nine, ten!”

The cop lifted her hands and Larissa quickly pressed her own to his sternum, rocking her semi-rested shoulders over her hands. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six…”

“I hear sirens,” the cop said. Larissa heard them then, at a distance but growing closer.

“…ten! One, two, three, four, five…”

He felt even colder underneath her hands. She hoped that was from the rain. Her hands and knees stung, and she realized she was leaving smudges of blood on his wet shirt.

Suck it up!

“One, two, three, four…”

“Here comes the ambulance!” the cop said. “They’ll be able to help him, ma’am. Don’t stop!”

“…eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six…”

The ambulance made a U-turn and backed in beside the patrol car, blocking the one-way road completely. 

“…four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One…” Larissa was breathing hard again. Mitchell continued to rock beneath her, his body limp.

The rain began to slack off, which surprised her. She thought the cop was surprised, too. 

“Must be a break in the storm,” the other woman said, before leaning toward Larissa’s phone. “EMS has arrived.”

“Thank you, disconnecting now.”

“Hello,” a man called out. “I’m Tim and this is Shawn. Thank you, ma’am. You can stop now; we will take over.”

Larissa stopped compressions, leaning back to look at the paramedics. They, too, had on rain coats and nitrile gloves. She reached for her phone and climbed stiffly to her feet. One of the medics steadied her with a hand on her elbow.

“Are you injured? What happened?”

“I’m okay. A car ran the light. He—Mitchell—he pushed me out of the way! He was conscious at first, but then he stopped breathing…” One of the medics moved the umbrella to the side, pressing his fingers into Mitchell’s neck. Larissa scooped up the umbrella and held it high over Mitchell’s torso. “Does this help?”

“Yes, ma’am. It does. No pulse, start compressions.” Tim said, reaching for one of the bags they’d brought with them. “His veins are bulging.”

Shawn the medic leaned over Mitchell and pressed the heel of his clasped hands into the center of his chest. She could tell immediately the rhythm of his compressions was more consistent than hers, though she thought the cop had done a good job in comparison. As she watched, Tim carefully applied a c-collar.

“I’ve called in another unit,” the cop said. “I’m going to direct traffic until they get here, and then I’ll come back and help.”

Larissa unlocked her phone and tried to get the wet screen to respond to her touches. After a moment, she shoved the phone inside her blouse and rubbed the screen on the underside of her bra, where the fabric was still relatively dry. Then she dialed Mark, making sure to keep the umbrella steady.

The phone rang and rang, then went to voicemail. Below her, Tim slipped an airway into Mitchell’s mouth and turned it one hundred and eighty degrees. The flange rested on Mitchell’s teeth as Tim assembled a bag-valve mask and attached it to an oxygen canister. Shawn called out “Thirty!” and Tim pressed the mask to Mitchell’s face. He squeezed the bag twice, and Shawn resumed chest compressions. 

Larissa dialed Mark again. Tim was cutting off Mitchell’s wet shirt, Shawn lifting his hands long enough for the shears to cut down the center. Then Tim started from Mitchell’s right wrist, cutting up the sleeve.

“…hullo?” Mark muttered in her ear. “…’Rissa?”

“Mark.” She spoke his name and then froze, the words stopping in her throat. Tim cut up Mitchell’s other sleeve, then sat the shears down and started drying his chest with a towel from one of the bags. 

Mark cleared his throat. “Is something wrong? Where are you? It’s almost three in the morning!”

She heard another man mumbling in the background. “What’s going on?”

“Mark, um…” Larissa realized she was going to cry and she cleared her own throat. Tim gave Mitchell another two breaths with the mask.

“We’re gonna have to go anterior-posterior, he has a bleeding wound at the lateral position.” Tim waited for Shawn to lift his hands before quickly shaving a large patch of hair on his chest. Shawn applied the anterior pad and they quickly rolled Mitchell onto his side to apply the posterior pad. Then they placed him on his back again and Shawn resumed compressions.

Larissa stared, horror and anxiety making her short of breath. Mitchell’s bottom ribs bobbed up and down, and the force rippled down into his stomach. She could see a smattering of golden hair that disappeared into his waistline. The bruising on his side looked bad, even to her novice eyes.

“Larissa! Larissa!” Mark, sounding confused and alarmed. “Why are you calling?”

The police officer from before approached again. “My other unit has arrived. Let me know if you need me to do anything.”

“It’s Mitchell,” she forced out. “He got hit by a car.”

Silence through the phone. She heard Velcro and the sound of a pump, realized Tim was taking Mitchell’s blood pressure.

“I worked late. He wanted to walk me to my car, and someone ran a red light. Mark, I’m so sorry!” Fat tears spilled, rolling down her cheeks. “He was just trying to be nice…”

“Hypotensive. I can barely feel a pulse with compressions,” Tim said. “Pause compressions. Start an IV while I analyze.”

An alarm filled the damp air. Shawn tied a tourniquet on Mitchell’s arm, then cracked something small, which he then used to clean the inside of Mitchell’s arm.

“What did she say? Babe, what’s wrong?” asked the other male voice.

That must be Mark’s husband, Samuel. 

“Larissa.” Mark sounded hoarse. “I’m putting you on speaker. I’m with my husband Samuel, Mitchell’s brother. Can you say that again?”

“Mitchell wanted to walk me to my car. Someone ran a red light and he pushed me out of the way, but… the car hit him, and kept going.” Larissa tried to blink away her tears.

“PEA arrest. Narrow-QRS-complex tachycardia with P-wave activity. Suspected cardiac tamponade. We need to perform a pericardiocentesis. Officer, I need you to do chest compressions while we get this started.” Tim dragged one of the bags closer, quickly pulling items out. The officer stepped over Mitchell’s legs and kneeled beside Shawn, her hands landing hard on Mitchell’s sternum. 

“One, two, three, four, five…”

Shawn pressed his thumb into Mitchell’s arm and inserted the needle just above it. Larissa closed her eyes, feeling lightheaded.

“Is Mitchell alive?” the unfamiliar voice belonging to Mitchell’s brother asked.

“…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

“I don’t know.” Larissa’s voice shook. “They’re working on him now. I don’t understand everything they are saying—”

“Thirty!” She heard two “whoosh” sounds that she associated with the mask.

“Ma’am, it’s likely that internal bleeding or fluid is keeping Mitchell’s heart from being able to beat. I’m going to withdraw the fluid now.” Larissa opened her eyes again in time to watch Tim palpate the area below Mitchell’s sternum, then clean it with what looked like a white wand with a pad on the end.

“Did you hear that?” Larissa asked Mark.

“They’re going to draw fluid off his heart,” Mark said. “Larissa, where are you?”

“By the Smythe Avenue parking deck.”

“We’re going to head for the hospital,” Mark said. “I need you to call us back when they are ready to move him.”

“I could stay on the line.” The scene before her blurred and spun lazily.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked. “You don’t sound good.”

“Pause compressions,” Tim said. The cop stopped pumping, raising her hands a few inches off Mitchell’s chest. Shawn held a saline IV bag aloft while Tim carefully attached a syringe to a large bore needle and then inserted it at an angle into Mitchell’s chest. He moved in short, quick jabs instead of one smooth motion, pulling back on the plunger. A dilute, reddish liquid flooded into the syringe.

“Good job!” Shawn murmured.

“I need another syringe, hold this for me!” 

Shawn leaned in, propping up the needle while Tim swapped syringes.

“Larissa?” Mark asked. 

“What’s going on?” Samuel.

The second syringe filled halfway before the flow stopped. Tim quickly removed the needle. “Resume compressions, Shawn. If you don’t mind holding that bag for us, officer.”

“They got the fluid out and they’ve restarted CPR.” Larissa drew a careful breath through her mouth, trying not to look at the blood-filled syringes.

“…four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…”

Tim looked down at the syringes and then made notes in a small notebook. He reached over Mitchell. “Administering one milligram epinephrine.”

“We’re getting in the car, Larissa. What’s going on?”

“They’re giving him a medication. Um, epinephrine. In his IV.” Larissa shivered. The rain picked up again, and she could feel water trickling down her spine. 

“…twenty-nine, thirty!”

Tim gave Mitchell oxygen with two squeezes of the mask.

“How’s his saturation?” Shawn asked before resuming chest compressions. “One, two, three, four, five…”

“I’m going to have to intubate,” Tim responded. “I’m getting his blood pressure first, though.”

Mitchell, she thought, looked terrible. He laid limp on the asphalt, feet swaying as Shawn performed forceful chest compressions. Water pooled in the palm of one of his hands. His skin had gone grey, lips still bluish. Dark bruises mottled his body and blood oozed from multiple wounds. The c-collar kept his head from rocking side to side, while the airway kept his mouth open, the plastic jutting from between his teeth.

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three…”

Tim unzipped a flat black kit, laying it out next to Mitchell’s head. As she watched, he assembled what she recognized as a scope, though she did not recognize the metallic blade he fastened to the end.

“…thirty!”

Tim gave Mitchell two more breaths with the mask before setting it aside. As compressions resumed, he removed the oral airway and then opened a sterile package.

“They’re going to intubate him,” she said into the phone.

Tim slipped the scope’s blade into Mitchell’s mouth and down his throat. He adjusted the angle, then reached for a section of tubing nestled in the opened package. She watched him slide the tube down the blade, then adjust his hands so that he could push down on a syringe attached to the tube. Removing the scope, he sat everything to the side and connected the bag and oxygen canister to the tube. “Pause compressions.”

Shawn lifted his hands and brought them straight to his stethoscope, plugging the ear pieces into his ears. Then he placed the bell on Mitchell’s naked chest while Tim squeezed the bag, making Mitchell’s chest rise. 

“You’re in,” Shawn said, removing his stethoscope and draping it over his neck. He resumed chest compressions, his hands pressing into the bruise in the center of Mitchell’s chest. “One, two, three, four, five, six…”

Tim disconnected the bag and canister and secured the tube with tape before reconnecting them both. “Alright, two more cycles and then we analyze.”

“…fifteen, sixteen, seventeen…”

“Larissa?” she heard from the phone.

She cleared her throat and murmured: “They’re going to ‘analyze’ again soon? I think that means they’re going to check his heart rhythm.”

“…thirty.” Two more breaths from the bag, and then thirty chest compressions. 

Tim gave Mitchell two more breaths and then pressed his fingers into Mitchell’s neck. “Hold compressions… checking pulse and rhythm.”

Shawn unbuckled Mitchell’s pants and slipped his hand inside, pressing his fingers into Mitchell’s groin.

“No pulse?”

“No pulse.”

“Pulseless v-tach. Charging.” Tim pressed a button and then took over chest compressions, pumping out a short series before he leaned back. 

“They’re going to shock him!” Larissa said, cautiously excited. “I think that’s a good sign, Mark.”

Her own heart seemed to be beating faster and faster, and she felt like the top of her head was going to come off. She blinked slowly, then shook her head.

“Everyone pull back, no one touch him.” Tim gave Mitchell’s body a quick scan. “Clear! Administering shock.”

He pressed an illuminated button. Mitchell’s torso gave a small twitch.

Larissa’s hands and feet went numb. Her phone and umbrella slipped from her grasp. Before she could apologize, even before the umbrella landed on Mitchell’s lifeless body, her vision went white.

Larissa dropped like a stone, returning to the empty space from which she’d come.

Mitchell, a day after the events of “Drowning.”

Awareness hit him hard.

Mitchell’s head throbbed. His chest ached. His throat burned. His back even spasmed, protesting his prone position.

Mitchell grunted and forced his eyes open. He regretted it all immediately, the light blinding him as he spun lazily through time and space. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it was too late and he gagged, his stomach clenching.

“Woah, buddy! Hey!” Strong hands on his shoulder and the back of his head heaved him partially on his side. “He’s barfing! Help!”

Mitchell opened his eyes again as a kidney pan appeared under his mouth, just in time to catch the thin stream of vomit that hurtled out of him. He retched miserably for a long few moments, breaking out in a cold sweat. Then he sagged against the supportive hands, gasping.

“Mr. Anders?” an unfamiliar man asked. “Mitchell?”

“Mitchell, can you hear us?”

“Samuel…” His throat was so dry his voice came out as a whisper.

“That’s right, buddy. I’m here. There’s a nurse here, too. Mark is with Larissa. I’ve got good news…”

Good news?

“Mitchell, do you know where you are?”

“Hospital…” Mitchell tried to wet his lips, but his mouth was parched. “Thirsty…”

“I’ll get you some ice chips soon.” The nurse reached down and grabbed both of Mitchell’s hands. “Can you squeeze my hands?”

Mitchell squeezed the man’s hands, though his mind was elsewhere. “Where is she?”

Samuel helped him move onto his back. “What do you remember?”

What do I remember?

He was at home with Larissa. Nigiri. News about Ben Miller. Larissa, choking until she lost consciousness—

Mitchell gasped, but his mind kept clicking through images. Larissa, mostly naked while a team of paramedics worked on her. Her body after she’d been declared dead. Then her quiet face as she lay in a coma and on a ventilator. Probably not far from where he lay right now.

“Larissa…” He tried to sit up, but two pairs of hands pushed against his shoulders.

“Don’t try to get up, sir.”

“She’s off the ventilator!” Samuel said, his voice loud. “Still unconscious, but she’s breathing on her own. Do you understand, Mitchell? She’s breathing on her own, she’s improved.”

Mitchell nodded, weak from relief, vomiting, and his injuries. He knew he couldn’t get out of bed yet.

Samuel’s face flushed with excitement, his eyes wet with tears. “You might both be okay, buddy. There’s a chance. You’re both alive, and she’s improving.”

Mitchell closed his eyes, the pain in his head and his burgeoning tears blurring his vision. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, to no one in particular. “Thank you.”

Mitchell, four days later.

Mitchell sat in the chair by Larissa’s hospital bed. The wound in his temple was still patched together with steri-strips, though the bruising along the edges had started to turn green. Getting officially discharged so he could come sit with her had been a fight. He thought that his favorite nurse, Loretta, might be covering for him. She was, at the least, unofficially watching over him. 

He still felt bone-deep exhaustion, though he hoped Mark and Samuel didn’t notice. He kept dozing off in the chair, waking up whenever one of the nurses came in to check Larissa’s vitals and update her chart.

This time was no different. Mitchell sat with her, held her hand. Then he nodded off.

Before long, he dreamed.

This dream moved fast, intense like a 35mm film played at the wrong speed. 

The first clip: Larissa, eyes brimming with tears after hearing that Ben Miller was released from prison early. She raised her chopsticks to her lips, ready to take a fatal bite. Mitchell lunged, catching her wrist and gently restraining her.

The image morphed and dumped him on the floor. Larissa’s frightened face loomed over him, smoke swirling around her head. “Go get Samuel,” he managed to say. She dissipated with the smoke.

Mitchell’s subconscious continued to drag him through his memories, amending the traumatic events of their relationship. Larissa didn’t die in their hotel room, didn’t wake him up with her agonal breathing. Instead, when she collapsed in the hotel lobby, he took her straight to the ER for monitoring.

Then the two of them were on the road, headed to dinner. An SUV came up close to their rear bumper before whipping over to the side, nearly running off the road. Mitchell called his security team and then stomped on the brakes, slowing down just in time for the aggressor’s vehicle to miss them entirely. The driver lost control and hit the trees head-on. 

Time skipped, wrenching him back to their engagement hike. This time, he proposed at the top of the falls. They still went swimming after, but he was close by when she went into the seizure. He held her close as she thrashed, her head above the water so she wouldn’t drown.

Then he was holding her in the owner’s quarters at the work retreat. Instead of walking her back downstairs, they spent the night there, where Ben Miller couldn’t find her.

A final jump in time. Mitchell walked from his office to the conference room and found Larissa working late into the night. He suggested she go home, offered to escort her to her car. She assented, and he rode in the elevator with her, noticing that she smelled intoxicating, like spices and herbs.

Outside, they hunched together under her umbrella. As they crossed the street, he spotted a pair of headlights flying inexorably toward them. Mitchell pushed her out of the way, then braced for impact.

Mitchell woke with a start, the memory of Larissa’s scent strong in his nostrils. He sat up straight, worried and disoriented in the quiet, unsure what woke him. No alarms sounded, no rapid response team spilled into the room. He looked at the monitors, but he didn’t know what he would be looking for, not when there wasn’t anything obvious.

His eyes moved to her face. At first, she looked like she had for a while now. Pale, eyes closed, a nasal cannula feeding her supplemental oxygen. Then her mouth twitched.

“Hnnh.” Larissa’s throat worked. It wasn’t the first time she’d made noise, but each time he witnessed it his heart started hammering. Mitchell squeezed her hand. Larissa swallowed visibly and made another huffing sound.

“Larissa?” he asked, his voice cautious and hoarse. Her head moved, tipping toward him. She grimaced, then relaxed. “Larissa? Can you hear me?”

He squeezed her hand again, and when he relaxed his grip on her fingers, they twitched in his grasp. “Baby?” Mitchell’s voice cracked.

“What do we have here?” Loretta spoke from behind him, then moved to the other side of the bed.

“She seems more responsive.” Hope ran through him like a live wire, dangerous.

“Larissa?” Loretta asked, her voice loud. “If you can hear me, open your eyes.”

“Larissa, baby, it’s Mitchell…”

Loretta leaned over and grasped Larissa’s shoulder near the base of her neck, her fingers pinching the muscle and twisting it. Larissa let out a low moan and pulled slightly away, her fingers tensing in his hand. Her eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open.

Mitchell pulled her hand to his lips, kissed her fingers. 

“Let me borrow her hand for a moment,” Loretta said, reaching for both of Larissa’s hands. She took them and said: “Larissa. Larissa, squeeze my hands.”

Then, to Mitchell’s surprise, the nurse said: “Good girl!”

She released Larissa’s hands and Mitchell reclaimed the one closest to him. “Larissa, it’s Mitchell. I’m here, baby. You’re doing such a good job.”

“I’m going to update the doctor. She may want to come down and do her own evaluation.” Loretta made a few notes, nodding. “Much more responsive.”

He ran his thumb back and forth across Larissa’s knuckles. He felt a little lightheaded from anxiety and hope. “I love you, baby.” Despite his dizziness, he pushed himself to his feet and leaned close, pressing a kiss first to her cheek, then her lips.

When he pulled back, she startled him by opening her eyes. Mitchell froze, watched as Larissa frowned and blinked. She tensed up, eyes drifting about the room before settling on his face. He watched her stare at him, her frown deepening.

“Larissa, are you with us?” Loretta asked, coming up beside Mitchell. 

Larissa stared hard at the wound on his forehead for several seconds before she relaxed into her pillow. Her eyes moved to his, then skated past him, becoming unfocused. He watched what looked like a small smile pass across her lips before she closed her eyes again.

“Larissa?” he asked, his voice tight.

“She’s alright,” Loretta said. “I’m watching her heart rate. She might do that off and on for a while. Go in and out like that. She’s had a terrible shock to her system, her brain. This is normal.”

“Normal,” he murmured. He dropped down into his seat, gripping Larissa’s hand with both of his. 

Loretta laid a hand on his shoulder. “Normal, hun. I’m going to see if the doctor’s available.”

She slipped out of the room and Mitchell sagged forward in the chair, bringing Larissa’s hand to his lips. Then he cried, quietly, the tears streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.

--

[gioielleriarossetti]

A pink dial for colorful celebrations. -- Riviera 10675 33 mm, Sun satin-finished lacquered pink and transparent waves decor, 5 ATM, 38 hours power reserve, Fast strap interchangeable system. -- #BaumeetMercier #Riviera #Since73 #WatchCollector #Horology #Watches #Watch #SwissMade #WatchOfTheDay #WatchesOfInstagram #WatchLover #WatchAddict #WristWatch #WomanWatch #WomanWatches #Diamonds #Style #GioielleriaRossetti #SanBenedettodelTronto https://www.instagram.com/p/CmkMvOsLTcR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ki-flor]

I think No/ah was as transparent as he could be. It is a tricky spot to be in. As much as some would a definite confirmation if they weren't endgame to save hurt later, that doesn't happen even with other shows. Of course he doesn't want us to be disappointed, I wouldn't want that either if I was in his position. The current state of Will's feelings and his relationship with Mike is a delicate thing to discuss and I'd imagine he'd have to tread more carefully now. Honestly I'd rather him dial back the enthusiasm now whether or not he knows things specifically about by/er. For the folks feeling low, We just won't know anything for sure until we watch so might as well have fun and try to stay positive. 🤝 We may be in the trenches, but we are here together. 🫂🫂

I just think it's real I didn't think nothing of it and it certainly shouldn't be the thing people take the most out of his panel.

[blogparanormalexpresso2stuff]

Nurse Doreen Kendall witnessed a hovering UFO with occupants near Cowichan District Hospital, 1970

"From an audio cassette of pioneer physical trace UFOlogist Henry McKay talking about a report of a UFO hovering outside of a hospital in Duncan, British Columbia in 1970. This audio cassette was recorded at either one of Henry's lectures or his course." https://coldspot.org/henrymckay/

January 1, 1970. It was New Year's Day, 1970, but it was supposed to be a routine morning shift at Cowichan District Hospital. Nurse Doreen Kendall had started her shift at midnight and was due to get off work at 8 a.m. Not much of a way to greet the New Year, but it was her job.

Doreen, a practical nurse, worked on the second floor of the hospital at Duncan, on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada. Doreen lived in Nanaimo and commuted the twenty-six miles to Duncan.

At 5 a.m. Doreen and nurse Frieda Wilson began their usual morning rounds in a four-bed ward. While Frieda attended to the patient nearest the door, Doreen checked on the patient in the next bed, nearest the window. As she did every morning, she went to open the drapes in order to let in a little of the early morning sunshine.

When she opened the drapes, she was amazed to see something totally unexpected. Outside, about sixty feet away, a flying object was hovering at a height of about sixty feet, even with the third floor of the hospital. The object was saucer-shaped, with a transparent bubble-like dome in the center, and was tilted slightly towards her.

Because the object was tilted toward her, Doreen could see inside the transparent dome, where she saw two humanoid figures standing in front of a chrome, dial-covered instrument panel.

She estimated the figures to be about six feet tall, wearing dark clothing, and some sort of headgear. There were seats in front of the instrument panel, but the figures were standing rather than seated.

Doreen was stunned. The Cowichan area had a reputation as a UFO "hotspot", but she had never expected to see one herself.

As she watched, one of the men noticed her and touched the other, apparently to alert him of the fact that they were being watched. The other man looked up, and then manipulated a control, causing the object to begin to move.

At this point Doreen called to Frieda Wilson, who came to the window in time to see the object outside. The two then ran to the nurses station and told three other nurses, who reached the window in time to see the object, although it was some distance away by then.

The object circled several times and then vanished to the northeast at high speed. The sighting was never explained. https://www.ufocasebook.com/cowichan....

https://caballodetroy.medium.com/a-uf...

https://www.thinkaboutitdocs.com/1970...

[pinnithin]

long kind of sad gay poast ahead

saw something about loving the unlovable and it got me thinking about how its a central theme in most of my writing. paired with like, isolation, being separate/other, the doomed concept of human connection, being the only person who can love and understand you the way you need, etc - i watched evangelion way too young if you couldnt guess.

anyway and this is due to the fact that a core part of my identity and personality revolves around the fact that i considered myself unlovable for the majority of my life, first unconsciously through childhood neglect, then by choice as some "you cant fire me i quit" teen angst sort of thing, then by a doomed sense of resignation all through college. its a significant part of how i see myself even now after years of working to unlearn it - ive managed to dial it back to "im difficult to love" which still isnt great but yknow. better than it was

which is why i have attachment issues and preferred one night stands for a long time. my romantic relationships (many of them short lived) have been with well meaning partners who assured me constantly that like, even though youre difficult to love its worth it. and that was all nice and good but it made me feel so fraudulent and disgusted with myself because it put me in the position of thinking either 1) this person doesnt actually know me that well at all or 2) i have somehow tricked this person into thinking under all the baggage theres someone worth loving. which is something i find difficult to reconcile with because the baggage is me too. i cant get rid of it. inevitably those people got wise and it ended up not working out.

by now have all these arguments and strategies geared up to explain to people who make the mistake of caring about me that its really not worth the effort, we're better off as friends or acquaintances, etc. im very transparent about the issues i deal with so its all just laid out there from the beginning and im not like, tricking people into being in a relationship with me or whatever by hiding it. ive talked in circles with exes over and over along the general lines of "im difficult to love" > "no youre not" > "i have xyz wrong with me and i push people away, trust me you dont want to deal with this" > "okay well we can work on that, and youll get better and itll be worth it" > "what if i never get better" > "you will, ill help you" > [me relenting bc im unable to dash their hopes and dreams that even if i Get Better im still Me at the core and the things that make me difficult to love are a permanent part of me]

the relationship im in now doesnt even let me get into that. shan is just like, youre not. youre not difficult to love, youre actually very easy to love and it has always been easy to love you, even before we were dating. and i dont have a comeback for that.

even with my usual strategy of "heres an itemized list of all the reasons dating me is a risk" theyre just like well sure, thats difficult for you to deal with, and im sorry its so hard for you, but that doesnt make you difficult to love. the loving is easy. that part has always been easy.

she doesnt treat me like a problem that needs to be solved she doesnt try to be my savior from myself she doesnt give any indication that shes just waiting it out until i reach a certain threshold of acceptable or unacceptable. she just loves me and trusts me to take care of myself, and it places a lot of personal responsibility on me to be better - not for us but for me, because im the only person who can do that and they know it.

its the healthiest relationship ive ever been in and ive never felt so safe and free to be myself. i dont need to live up to any expectations to eventually make myself lovable. im easy to love. hard thing for me to believe in self practice but going back to the inherent disconnect between all humans, who am i to know or control what they consider easy or difficult? i dont judge her when something she finds difficult is easy for me, so why wouldn't the opposite be true?