#turnstile with card reader

[tripodturnstile]

tripod turnstile gate from RS Security Co., Ltd(www.szrssecurity.com) Suitable for all types of public places that need organized passage of pedestrians, such as scenic areas, exhibit halls, movie theaters, docks, train stations, bus stations and other places that need ticket confirmation; places that require authorized entry such as factory attendance, canteen consumption, golf courses, regular monthly card leisure centers, and so on; anti-static control locations of electronic factories, systems that require stringent security measures such as face recognition and finger print recognition. RS Security Co., Ltd generally produces, develops and sells gain access to control items, such as three arms turnstiles barrier, metro flap gates barrier, dc brushless swing turnstile barrier, translation turnstile gate, one arm turnstile door, full high turnstile door, half height turnstile barrier, speed turnstiles gate and other channel turnstile door products, and parking barrier, facialface acknowledgment video camera, increasing bollards, road blockers tripod turnstile door Integrated electronic tickets, gain access to control and presence, club consumption/catering, anti-static, fingerprint, palm print, face recognition, iris acknowledgment Integrated application of other series of products; complete stainless-steel frame structure, Taibang motor, separately established and produced motion; one-way/two-way turnstile barrier/ swipe to release the lever button and the upper lever is optional, with Counting function can recognize RS485 direct interaction with the computer; three arms turnstile door triggers and direction and alarm triggers; automatic fall of the pole when power is off and manual fall The pole is optional, and it receives the switch signal to open turnstile gate; it can be geared up with a card reading control part, and several systems can be connected to the network; it can be geared up with magnetic card and distance card mix methods; it can be bought according to various practical requirements. Do. A totally rainproof box made of alloy aluminum or stainless-steel, compared to the train flap gates door dc brushless swing turnstile barrier and other pedestrian passage devices, three rollers gates gate are more cost-effective. It has a personalized installation user interface (such as card reader, indication light installation, etc) to make sure that the system integrator's control gates door equipment is easy and convenient to install. The motion of the three-stick turnstiles gate device has an automatically adjusted hydraulic shock absorber. When utilizing the three-stick turnstiles door operation, the sound is really little and quiet. Impact, turnstile barrier bar automatically decreases back to center. The surface of the movement is plated with yellow dichromate. Can be programmed with turnstile gate device control, a couple of direction control (set by user). The base is repaired with expansion bolts.

[szrssecurityswingturnstile]

servo motor speed turnstile gates likewise called pedestrian swing turnstile gate, which comes from the access control system, is among the essential parts of contemporary entrance and exit control. The door wings are driven by the control system and open and close immediately. The operating mode can be selected through programming settings: As quickly as it is verified that the person entering is licensed, the door wings open instantly. It closes after a delay, and the delay time is adjustable. Typical servo motor speed turnstile gates are divided into scissor doors (city flap barriers door) and swing doors. (1) Scissor doors are frequently used in rail transit, and typical scissor doors are mainly used in subways and other locations. The door wings extend from the within the box, which can effectively seal the passage and play the function of gain access to control. In addition, an infrared picking up gadget is installed inside the door body, which can recognize the function of "someone, one card" for individuals to travel through. (2) The swing door appeared behind the scissor door and comes from the second generation servo motor speed turnstile barrier. Such dc brushless slim The characteristic of gates is that the door wings run in the front and back direction. The operation procedure is within the body's view, which is much safer. In addition, because the door wings do not require to be pulled back into package, The styles of swing doors are more different. Due to the above attributes, swing doors are typically used in banks, business structures, high-end office buildings, etc. Anti-trailing function: There is a total infrared light band detection area in the channel. The switch state can be changed by software according to the customer's precision requirements. The application of the light band to adapt to different requirements prevents the shortcomings of point-type infrared detectors that are quickly contaminated and impacts the reliability of judgment, and can effectively judge the future. Tag reader who reads the card. When the system figures out that tailgating has taken place, the system will respond based upon the place of the valid cardholder returned by the infrared detector. After the door opening signal is sent out, there are still some unusual usages that will set off an alarm.

[szrssecurity]

Swing Gate is typically called a slap door in the rail transit market. Its barrier body (gate pendulum) is in the kind of a plane with a particular area, perpendicular to the ground, and swings through rotation Implement obstructing and release. The materials of the blocking body are typically stainless-steel, organic glass, and tempered glass. Some also use metal plates wrapped with special flexible products (to minimize the damage caused by striking pedestrians). Bridge Smart Swing Gate Turnstile The more popular name has been inherited from the initial bridge-shaped structure. It consists of a primary chassis and 2 movable swing bars. The swing bars can swing 180 ° or 90 ° to accomplish the purpose of discouraging or launching. Column Swing Gate Turnstile The appearance of the primary devices is in the form of a column, which can carry out the same functions as the bridge type Swing Turnstile. It is defined by lower expense and less space. RS Security Co., Ltd Main Products: door, flap gate, full height gate, swing turnstile, hydraulic bollard, road blocker, gain access to control, face acknowledgment, barrier gate and so on. Application of Swing Gate Gate It is mainly used for passage entryway and exit management. Typically, just people are enabled to pass through, or individuals dragging baggage, and disabled individuals. Considering that Swing Door Turnstile can achieve broader channel qualities than wing gates. A lot of Swing Door Turnstile passages can be blended with pedestrians, bikes, mopeds, disabled cars and other non-motorized lorries. part Swing Door Gate structural structure: Swing Turnstile includes chassis, motion, swing arm, control system, infrared sensing unit, It includes control devices and other parts. High-end brake Swing Gate includes: chassis, brake motion, control system, infrared sensing unit, control equipment and other parts (high-end brake Swing Barrier The advantage of Turnstile is that it can stop quickly and smoothly, there is no shaking, no mechanical stuck structure, and the swing arm immediately opens after power failure. It completely complies with fire protection requirements).

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Two

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, blood and injury, nurse!reader, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings of fear, anxiety. Panic attack. Implied past abuse. Implied stalking. Deep breath.

There is blood in Johnny's eyes.

He comes to with a start, Price’s voice barking out an order, pressure and flame and blood all washing over him, pain erupting across every receptor in his brain like he’s being shredded alive. 

“Bloody hell, hold him steady.” 

It’s still Price, roaring over the chop-chop-chop of the helicopter blades, bloodied hands trying to keep pressure on the hole in his stomach, his side. 

It burns. Everything burns, his body feels like it’s on fire, bones turning to ash inside his skin, chest being torn apart by some invisible force. He can’t get enough air. There is something shoved inside his ribs, something heavy that’s weighing his lungs down, keeping him underwater, cinderblocks tied to his feet.

He tries to move, but he can’t. 

Gaz is strapping him down to a stretcher, he thinks, and when he ratchets a strap across his legs, Johnny screams in agony. 

“’m sorry mate, I’m sorry.” 

Where is Simon? There are faces here, but none of them are the one he needs. His LT. “W-where is Si?” He slurs, and Price frowns, leaning back over his face, calling his name. 

“Johnny, Johnny. Hold still. You’re on a medevac. We’re lifting you to base.” 

“Si-“ 

“Simon isn’t here, remember? Johnny, oi. Keep your eyes open, Sergeant.” Remember? Does he remember? He tries. Tries to place his partner’s face amongst the rubble, the blast, the screaming. 

Where is Simon?

Your coffee maker sputters to life in the silence of your apartment, churning out the dark, thick, life-giving liquid, and you can’t beat back the glare that fixes your face upwards towards your neighbors, the ones who are running a marathon in their apartment at three in the afternoon.

Seriously. Is there a herd of elephants up there? 

You can’t be too disappointed in them, you know. It is normal working hours. Normal daytime hours. You don’t expect your neighbors to accommodate or understand your schedule. Still, it would be nice if they were just a bit more considerate. 

It’s not the end of the world, regardless. You're up now, already started your day, crawled out of bed and opened the blackout curtains to stand in the afternoon sunlight that streams through your studio apartment. You flick open your laptop as sip your morning coffee, logging into your banking app with quick efficiency, eyes roving over lists of numbers, figures adding and subtracting in your head. You’re so close to being able to move forward with the plan, the light at the end of the tunnel growing stronger and stronger, glowing bright with hope, something that once felt so impossible, so far away. You're going to make it. 

It’s a hike to the train.

You’re fortunate that you only have to take one, no longer having to change once, or twice, in the middle of your commute like you used to, but now you’re walking at least twelve blocks to get there, each way.

It makes you feel very exposed.

You keep your headphones in, hood of your jacket over your head, and move within throngs of people during the trek, keeping your eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead, posture tilted just enough that you can watch the ground but still see in your peripheral. You don’t relax until you make it onto the platform, and even then, your head is on a swivel as you wait for the train to arrive, and you can melt into the mix of others. Seen, but not noticed. 

Old habits die hard. 

You swipe your card to proceed through the turnstile, cool metal sliding against your hands when you push forward onto the platform, settling against a pylon as you wait, flicking through the news with half interest.

The hair on the back of your neck rises.

Someone is watching you. 

Your skin goes cold, ice beneath your jacket, and your lungs stutter with short breaths. Logically, you know you’re wrong. The faces that wait alongside you are not focused on anything but themselves, too busy staring at their own devices, tablets, readers, phones. A woman fidgets with a stroller, a man wearing headphones spits some corporate nonsense out loud, obnoxiously. You’ve already looked them over, too many times. He’s not here.

You lean against the tile, rocking your back into the grimy wall, fingers clutching against the edge of your phone. He’s not here. You’re safe. The dark of the tunnel mocks you, laughs with his voice, its circular opening growing teeth like his, ready to devour you, drag you back to hell, swallow you whole and keep you there.

He's not here. You’re safe. He doesn’t know where you are. Deep breath. 

You breathe the words deep, counting the time of your inhales and exhales until the brakes of the train are squeaking and squealing to a stop, doors opening with a hiss. Everyone moves in tandem, an amoeba inching towards the same goal, get off, get on, and you go with it, pressing inside and shuffling towards the back, angling your body outwards, molded into a corner so tight your shoulders touch the walls of the train.

Deep breath. 

“Hey, you’re early!” The nurse you’re relieving smiles brightly at you, blonde hair pulled high in a scrunchie, stickers all over her badge and ID.

“Yeah, wanted to get caught up on some admin stuff but I’ve got it, if you want to…” you motion with your head, the universal signal of ‘if you want to leave’ without saying it out loud, lest you jinx it, and the place goes to chaos in the next five minutes. She nods eagerly, launching into a run-down of your beds, who’s stable, who’s sedated, who’s still on a vent. “-and two sixty-eight is about to come down from the PACU.” Your stomach clenches with anxiety, and you check your watch.

“They took him when I left this morning…”

“Yeah, I guess there was a complication. Had to re-open his chest, put in a new tube. Poor guy, he’s battered all to shit. Did you see the scans of his femur? It’s literally in pieces.” She sighs. “His partner is in the surgical waiting room, told him the next shift nurse would come find him when he could come back to the room.” Your anxiety heightens, and an alarm bell goes off in the back of your mind as you think about Simon, pacing back and forth upstairs, and Johnny, alone in the PACU, probably coming out sedation, terrified. What is wrong with you? 

“I hear those guys are like black ops or something.” Nia, the nurse who’s worked the last three rotations with you, comments over your shoulder as she drops her bag in the pit. You raise an eyebrow skeptically. Black ops? You shiver. “They air-lifted him from a military base that’s doesn’t even exist on a map. Cass and I checked.”

“Really?” The dayshifter perks up, interested, and you hold your hands out in caution.

“Okay, okay. Let’s not speculate.” You tap your number into the tablet, reading through charts and noting updates. A little green circle with an arrow through it blinks next to Johnny’s, signifying that he’s about to be moved. “Besides, he’s been through hell. Clearly. Let’s have a little, ya know. Respect?” They all cluck, rolling their eyes and groaning, but they shut up, and Nia gives you a little grin. You might not be the charge nurse, but you were the perma-night shifter on this floor, and the one with the most seniority in this moment. 

“Alright, well. You got this?” Dayshift asks, and you wave her off.

“Goodnight.”

“You’re the best. Bye ladies!”

Simon is easy to find. He’s wearing the exact same clothes from yesterday, black cloth mask still covering half his face, hoodie pulled up over his head. He looks less exhausted, but no less anxious, dark circles still present under his eyes, body language tense. He looks… scared.

He spots you just as easily, shooting to his feet when he sees you coming, hands clenched together in anticipation, and you motion to the chair, placing yourself next to him, turning slightly to ensure you’re giving him your undivided attention.

He shifts in the seat, legs spreading out against the stiff frame, and his knee bumps yours, warmth radiating beneath denim bleeding into your scrubs. If he notices or cares about the contact, he doesn't say anything, only blinks at you in anticipation. His head tilts before you start speaking, and your skin heats when you realize he’s looking you over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before pinning you in place with a focused scrutiny.

“Has anyone come to speak with you?” You ask, silently hoping that the surgeon actually did the last part of his job, and didn’t neglect the family member in waiting room, the one who’s holding their breath as every second ticks by.

Simon nods. “They said there was a complication with his lungs?”

“They had to plate his ribs. It will give the bleed in his chest a better chance at healing, help keep him stable. They also replaced his chest tube.” His brow furrows, and you pause. Maybe visualization will help. “Do you want to see?” You tap on the tablet, bringing up Johnny’s last imaging, scrolling through the pictures to show Simon what it looks like, pointing out the before and after CT of his chest, explaining the white vs grey spaces on the image. Simon studies it, taking the tablet in his hand, fingers tracing over the screen reverently, carefully, like he's touching Johnny himself. An ocean’s worth of emotions reflects in his gaze, despair, sadness, grief- all sitting just on the edge, nearly ready to spill over. Your heart skips a beat.

“Can I see him?”

“He’s coming down from the post-surgery unit now. I’ll have to get him resettled in his room, but I promise as soon as I can, I’ll come get you.” He twitches in the chair, rubbing the back of his neck before he huffs out something that sounds like ‘okay’, and you give him one more small smile with your ‘see you soon’.

Johnny is conscious when he comes up from the PACU, barely. His vitals look good, temperature, blood pressure, heart rate all in target ranges, and he’s due for another round of pain medication.

"Hey, Johnny." You smile down at him, sliding the lock on his bed in place and reattaching his leads carefully, gentle enough so you don't jostle him too much. 

"Hi, pretty girl." He slurs, and you chuckle, instinctively rolling your eyes before patting his good hand. 

“Came out of sedation fine, but he’s been a bit emotional.” The PACU nurse warns you, eyes soft with sympathy when she glances at him in the bed. “He’s asking for his partner, I think. Simon?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” You scan the post op notes, hitting all the important things, logging his last vitals check so you can administer his meds. The incision in his chest has been reopened, and then closed, and his lower body is completely immobilized in the bed, his hip pinned, femur delicately pieced back together with a plethora of plates and screws, so many you think it’s probably more metal than bone now. “How are you feeling?" You ask, heart tugging a bit at the hopelessness in his eyes. “Ready to get some more sleep?” He groans a response, words jumbled together and cracking into a sob that has tears trickling down his cheeks.

“Si..”

“He’s not back yet.” You try to explain gently, grabbing an extra blanket to put over the scaffolding around his leg. “Once I get you settled, we’ll bring him up, okay?”

“H-hurts.��� He cries, vibrant blue eyes finding yours, scared, and desperate. “It h-hurts.” He’s openly crying now, shoulders starting to shake, and the monitor chimes at you, registering an increase in heart rate and blood pressure.

“I know. I know it does.” You clean his port, tracking the uptick in numbers on the screen. “Hey, hey. Shhh, it’s okay.” You try to calm him as you flush the line, pushing the saline from the side of the bed. “You’re alright. We’re almost,” You administer the medication easily, counting in your head, replacing it with another saline before reattaching his fluids line, all of the motions so second nature that it allows you keep your focus on him. “there.”

You expect him to calm down. Most patients do, but his heart rate continues to tick upwards, and his respirations don’t decrease, lungs heaving against the fresh sutures in his chest. His hand, the good one, skates across your elbow and down your forearm to grab a hold of you, fingers gripped onto yours tightly, like he’s afraid you might let go.

“It’s alright, Johnny. You’re okay.” His eyes don’t leave your face, his own jaw slack, pain meds coursing through his system. He's frightened, big blue eyes wide and anxious, and you squeeze his hand, stroking your thumb across his knuckles. “Deep breath.” You see patients upset, in pain, all the time. It’s an everyday part of your job. Even the hand holding is a necessary, frequent part of your profession.

But with Johnny, something feels different.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, just try to relax. Take some long breaths- good. That’s good.” You soothe him, rubbing soft touches into his skin. His head is turned to where you’re standing next to the bed, chest still heaving, and he winces with each exhale. “It’s just the last of the sedation, it can make you a little out of sorts. The pain meds are going to kick in real soon.” You reach over, and press the call button, twice. You can feel the pressure, the burn of his attention, his unwillingness to look away from you, and you hum out the softest words you can find, encouraging him to take calm, deep breaths. 

When Nia appears, she frowns. “Everything alright?”

“Hey, yes. Could you do us a favor and go up to the surgical waiting room? Johnny’s partner Simon, is waiting to be told he can come down.” She looks from you to him, reading the situation just as you would if the roles were reversed.

“Got it.” She makes her exit, fast, and Johnny gulps, still staring up at you with bright, wet, blue eyes.

“See? She’s going to get him. Everything’s alright.” He nods, barely, starting to succumb to the medication, and you exhale, letting out some of the tension from the last few minutes.

Simon comes through the door in a whirlwind, and you immediately raise your free hand, palm out, to slow his hurried panic.

“He’s okay.” You point to where Johnny is still clutching onto you. “He was still in a fair amount of pain when he came down, and coming out of sedation can be disorientating. I think he panicked a little when he realized you weren’t here.” He nods silently, taking his place bedside, towering over both you and Johnny, leaning past you to brush his lips against Johnny's forehead in a sweet, smooth kiss. 

"I'm here, sweet boy." He murmurs, voice so low you barely catch it. You step back, pulling your grasp from Johnny's, but he tightens his fingers, grip stronger than you anticipated, and you stop mid step, glancing to his partner. “I got him.” Simon reaches for where the two of you are connected, sliding his own hand overtop yours, replacing the contact before holding Johnny's hand whole. He’s so careful, lowering himself into the chair, carefully holding onto Johnny until he’s seated, bringing his palm to his mask covered lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Si.”

“I’m here Johnny. Rest.”

“Ye weren’t there.” He croaks, and Simon’s eyes shutter with a long inhale.

“I know.”

“Ah needed-“ He loses the words, dazed in a swirl of semi-consciousness. “was scared.” Simon strokes some of the hair that’s in disarray away from his forehead, smoothing his thumb back and forth above his eyebrow.

“Shhh, everything’s alright now. I’m here.”

The chair in supply closet 2b knows you well. It’s an old thing, something pulled from a patient room once it was deemed too squeaky, and too uncomfortable, shoved in here to be discarded at some point in the future.

That was months ago.

Now, it sits in a dark little corner, plastic packages of disposable PPE and gowns littered on top of it in a heap, excess supply with no place to live. Everyone takes turns in it, shifting whatever it happens to be holding that day onto the ground and settling in for what some could call a break, brief moments that could last seconds or minutes, quick opportunities to get off your feet and most importantly, not have to speak or be spoken to, for an indeterminate amount of time.

This is usually where you hide when you need a second. When there’s a lull, and the pit is full of nurses, techs, students or whoever else may have downtime, talking and laughing together, building relationships, getting to know one another. Making friends. It's a small luxury at work, to have that time, those friendships. 

Luxuries someone who wants to be seen, but not noticed, not known, does not have.

You close your eyes, head tipped back against the chair.

It’s okay to be alone. You can do this. Deep breath. 

Your mind floats to two sixty-eight, to Simon and Johnny. What is it like, to be loved like that? To be so fiercely cared for? Johnny’s teary, blue eyes and Simon’s soft, loving regard for him makes your stomach flip. You didn’t even know love like that was real. The only taste of love you’ve ever had left ash in your mouth, poison in your veins, and deep, deep scars across your body and soul that you’ll never be free of.

Deep breath. 

Your work phone and the tablet both start to beep, a shrill noise that makes you wince, muscle memory of what it indicates making you leap from the chair.

The screen shows a red flashing symbol next to room two sixty-eight.

Johnny.

“He’s tachycardic.” You tell the tech who’s fumbling with the phone, firing off a rapid text message to the on-call for this floor. You hold Johnny’s forehead still with the heel of your hand, using a finger to flick open his eyelids one by one, flashing the pen light across his pupils. “Pupils are dilated, BP is elevated- no call him- call him right now. Do what I said, I don’t care what he told you.” You bark, glancing up at where Simon is frozen across the bed from you, grip so tight against the rail that you think it might break.

“Simon-“ He cuts you off, but you’re half paying attention to him, too busy checking the site of Johnny’s chest tube, and then moving onto the dressing on his lower abdomen, ensuring it doesn’t feel scalding to the touch.

“He was fine. He was just… sleepin' and then-“ You move around the bed, pulling the oxygen tube longer, replacing the cannula with a mask.  

“Simon, I need you to step out.” You press two buttons on the machine, ensuring it’s on high flow, door sliding open with Nia’s arrival.

“No.” His refusal is steadfast.

“Simon, hey.” He lurches closer to Johnny, and on instinct, you reach out and grab his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes are wild, bleak with anguish, and his chest heaves heavily, panic radiating from his massive form. “Listen to me, listen. I’m here. I’ve got him, alright? But there are about to be five other people in this room, and we can’t work if you’re in the way.” You speak firmly, clearly, trying to get your point across as the door opens again, and the on-call attending is standing on the other side. Simon glances from him, back to you, and you nod reassuringly, swallowing the lump in your throat that forms when he latches onto your own arm, squeezing it tight. “He’s in good hands.” You tell him, nodding to the tech that’s waiting to usher him towards the hallway. 

He keeps his eyes trained on Johnny, before they flick over to where you’re lowering the bed completely flat, free hand on his bicep, thumb rubbing a small semi-circle into his skin, just like you watched Simon do last night, and earlier today. He swallows, endless depths of desperation welling in his eyes, and you take a deep breath, imbuing your voice with all the strength you have.

“I’ve got him. I promise.”

[moncharrow]

the red line (+ ai audios)

a/n: this one is inspired by the song cherry by rina sawayama. that drives me wack every time i hear it. rina u are a genius. requests still open :) i hope this is reminiscent of a first love/first girl crush. i sure projected here LMAO

-content/warnings: 4k words, kinda loser! ellie x loser! reader (pining pining pining), fem reader, lots of awkward flirting, reader has slight anxiety/overthinks, reader's first gay relationship, fleeting mentions of drug use/creepy dudes/homophobia

Moving from your small Midwestern town to the East Coast was a whirlwind of culture shock and nerves. The people in your town were tooth-achingly sweet, while East Coast people were straightforward enough to induce whiplash. The air seemed smog-clogged compared to the untouched crispness of a rural day, occasionally choking when you open your window in the morning and making the mistake of inhaling too deeply. But while the honeyed grass fields and clear cerulean skies of Wisconsin would always hold a fond place in your heart, its fresh air couldn’t compare to the refreshing feeling of a big city. Sure, people in your hometown were nice, but there was always an underlying threat of conformity- the asphyxiation of green grass lawns, American flags, and fishing trips was finally released when you entered Boston, your new home. 

You’d only been here a few days, moving into your apartment and getting to know the neighborhood, so there’d been no time to explore the broader city. At least, that was the excuse you’d use. A couple friends had called and urged you to take photos for them, saying that they were trapped at home and you were the only one who’d escaped the town. You’d type a short lol come with, but you needed to settle at your own pace. This was why, on the fifth day, you’d decided to traverse across the entire city to find a music store called “The Boston Beat” that caught your eye on Yelp. 4.3 stars, a fair selection of mainstream records and indie music, and a pride flag in the window, which was a welcome change of pace. You had a day plan.

You’d marched up to the light rail station, bought a card, and charged it with a day pass, unready to commit to the investment of a monthly pass. While not experienced with subway prices, 90 bucks seemed insane. You’d see if it was a worthy investment depending on the experience you’d have today. 

It was a hot August day- waves of heat warped your vision when radiating off the dark cement, metal fixtures stinging your hands when touched. The inside of the station was no better, muggy and dank. You found a strange comfort in it, the city becoming more human by the minute. You were surprised at how intuitive the subway had been so far, and you were gaining confidence with every step. Maybe you are cut out for this city shit. You step up to the entrance. Moment of truth. You swipe and arrogantly attempt to walk through, only to run into the locked turnstile. You had never been so immediately humbled. Well, fuck.

Swipe again. The card reader’s red light doesn’t falter. Swipe again. Still nothing. Swipe, swipe, swipe. The hell? You wiggle the turnstile, face heating as people start to group behind you. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- 

“Fucking… go… swipe through, shitass card.” You mutter, already emotionally drained from the eyes on you. Someone side-eyes you as they enter the stall next to you with ease, and you give them an apologetic, wide-eyed smile. I’m never leaving the house again, you think. You move to shove at the turnstile again, assuming that if you did nothing differently, the result would change. And you were… right?

“Fuck yeah! I’m so good.” You congratulate yourself for figuring it out, and you hear a low chuckle behind you. A tattooed arm holds a scraped and folded, worn-to-hell Charlie card. The slim fingers holding it are calloused but well-manicured, nimbly swiping the card again to let themselves through. You look up to see who pitied you enough to grant you entrance, and you’re surprised to see a pretty girl with auburn hair pulled up in a half-up-half-down do. Little pieces stick out of the sides, ends curling up and down wildly, short choppy hair framing her slender neck. Her face is wholly amused, lips curving into a small smirk and freckles shifting across her nose she smiles at you. She’s already incredibly attractive, but her eyes- God. Green and intense, reminding you of the duckweed coating the ponds at home. Like a Pollock of greens, browns, and flecks of yellow, her eyes meet yours as she holds up her card in two fingers, waving it in front of her face. She has a well-loved hair tie on her wrist. 

“Go through before it locks.” She chides. Your cheeks heat and you nervously laugh before pushing through. Beads of sweat stick to your face and neck, but you’re not sure if it’s from the summer heat or the embarrassment. The girl meets you on the other side and you fidget with the front edge of your tank top.

“Uhm, thanks for that. Was beginning to think I’d entered purgatory with all those people behind me.” You awkwardly joke, rifling through your bag. “I have cash, I can pay you for that-”

“Y’ don’t need to, it’s like two bucks. I’m a starving college student but I’m not that strapped for cash.” She glances at your jittering body, looking you directly into your eyes for the second time. Does she want to give you a heart attack? “You new or something? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

You groan in response. “It’s that obvious?” The pretty stranger laughs.

“Not really. Maybe I’m more observant than most. Don’t sweat it, newbie, these stations are fucked up. It probably wasn’t your fault.”

“You sure?”

“Ah, you’re right- on second thought, maybe the MTA just hates you specifically.” She jokes, and you laugh. You’re straggling near the entrance, swaying around as you make small talk with her. 

“I wouldn’t put it past them, I’m shit with directions. They probably want to keep me off the trains at all costs.” You joke right back at her, and she chuckles again. Her laugh is pretty. Her smile is pretty. It’s a little cocky, but somehow in a chill way. Anyway, you figure it suits her. 

“Well, if you’re that bad, tell me where you’re going. Maybe I can help.” She offers. You tell her about The Boston Beat on the other side of the city, and her eyes twinkle. “Yo, no kidding. I work there. I’m off today, but I totally know where that is. It’s along the red line, here.” She leads you over to a scratched mess of a sign and points to where you can faintly make out a red path. “We’re here, you wanna get-” she stretches her arm out, “here.” She tells you which stop to get off at.

You thank her profusely and say goodbye. You head left towards the rail she told you to take, and to your mortification, she goes the same direction. Saying bye when she’s going the same way, stupid. You walk a little faster when you notice this, attempting to awkwardly force more space between the two of you. It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m just being silly- she doesn’t care! She’s not thinking about it! I’m just overthinking it.

Ellie, strolling behind you, actually is thinking about it. She watches as you speed-walk away, juxtaposing the way she casually strolls to lean against a support beam. Something about how you fidget and stutter was weirdly charming. Huh. She keeps staring.

You can tell someone’s watching you, but you assume that, as usual, it’s a gross old man. Your eyes come up, scanning the platform suspiciously for whichever creep you’ll have to tell off, but you make eye contact, again, with the pretty girl from earlier. Why was there so much eye contact? It was so nerve-wracking, but also… so exhilarating. The moment your eyes meet hers, she smiles, eyes crinkling. You immediately avert your gaze, breath catching.

A beat passes. You take your phone out and scroll the home screen for a minute. Open the compass app. Open the stocks app. Wow, how interesting. She’s probably not looking now, right? You sneak a glance, and she’s still looking. You don’t know if she stares out of disdain or curiosity. Thankfully, the speakers tell you to step away from the edge of the platform, alerting you of the oncoming vehicle. My saving grace, you think. You bounce on your heels as the subway train pulls up, and you take one last look at the girl. She’s looking away. Strands of brown hair move in the train’s wind, falling out of her bun, her side profile looking perfect in a somehow rugged way. Her oversized army green jacket folds and bends as she tucks her hair back and pulls her headphones on to block out the world. You find yourself wondering what she’s listening to. Maybe dad rock or riotgrrl.

You step into the car in front of you, feeling a strange ache deep within you that you can’t quite explain. Oh well. 

By the end of the day, the pretty girl from the subway station is out of your mind. You’ll never see her again, so there’s no point in mulling over it. You enjoyed your day of exploration, and Boston has left a very favorable impression so far. Today felt like self-care. Maybe you’ll do this next week, too.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You’re working 2 part-time jobs to make ends meet. The first is a morning shift at a millennial coffee shop with eggshell walls, exposed brick, wood accents, and Hobby Lobby cursive signs saying “Don’t talk to me til’ I’ve had my espresso”. It pays decently, mostly because it’s busy as hell, but you’re getting tired of making a “grande”. You don’t have grandes, you’re not Starbucks. The second job is at a tour service. You’re always bored and you hate being surrounded by American history merch, but at least you’re in A/C. The coffee shop is just a block from your apartment, so it’s not much of a walk. The tour is 4 stops away on the subway.

Months go by. It’s October. Every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you take the red line to your second job. And every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you see her. The handsome girl with the generous subway card. 

Sometimes, you’re in the same car. You’ll glance up from your phone every so often, eyes raking over her. Everything about her tells a story. She always has a Jansport backpack and dirty black Converse. She dresses pretty masculine. Every Thursday, she carries a guitar with deep red paint and lacquer peeling off in chips, crumbling onto the floor. You wonder if she plays well. She argues on the phone with someone named Joel, but their conversations end in stubbornly grumbled “love you”s every time. Often, she wears that dark green jacket you met her in. You’ve been able to examine it a little more: it has some grease stains and says “Joel” on the front. Whoever he is to her, he’s probably some kind of mechanic. She’s always a little more tired than the day before. Sometimes you lay in bed and wonder if you’re some kind of creepy stalker. If you’re obsessed. No, you reason, she just looks cool. 

Across the train tracks, Ellie lies in bed, looking at the flags and banners on her ceiling, and she wonders the same thing. Is it weird that I’m disappointed when I don’t see her? Is it strange that I recognize her wardrobe? Your clothes tell a lot about you. You weren’t very confident when you talked to her, but by the manner in which you dressed, you had a good understanding of who you were, and even if you were slightly unconventional in some ways, you had no problem with showing your authentic self. That was something Ellie admired. You always had this… look in your eyes. Somehow hopeful and content, even though you were just riding on a dirty, shaky train to a dead-end job. It reminded Ellie of when she was a kid and had that same expression in Joel’s old pictures. You always had the same bracelet on. She wonders what it means to you, if it was a gift from someone you love.

There’s a silent understanding between the two of you. If you happen to make eye contact, it’s not unwelcome. You give her a smile and a small wave, and she offers a tight-lipped grin. One time, she awkwardly pretended to tip an invisible hat and immediately cringed at herself. She scrunched up her face and muttered “Why would I do that?”, swearing at herself. It was cute. You laughed a little, and she smiled, flustered. Apart from the few interactions you’d daydream about as you went through your monotone days, you hadn’t talked to the girl again. 

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

In an effort to stop being such a hopeless, pining loser, you downloaded Tinder to go on some casual dates. You’d gone on two, both girls being alright, but having no particular connection. But this last girl seemed relatively cool. Her name was Cat, and you’d opened with some line asking how many people made pussy jokes about her name. She’d responded well, and the two of you scheduled a date for 10 on a Sunday night. 

So why was it 11, and she still wasn’t showing? You’d ordered your red wine, then ordered water, then another wine, and there was no Cat to be found. The waiter would come around every so often and ask if you needed anything. There was an underlying tone of pity. The longer you sat alone, the more judging eyes you felt on you- after all, who sits alone at a table with two place settings? The waiter probably should’ve kicked you out a while ago, you think, wallowing in your emotions. 

You paid the bill and left after the staff offered a free slice of pie. That had sent you over the edge, tears pricking at your eyes as you thankfully wove your hands around. “That’s really so sweet, thank you guys so much, I’m okay, I really am, but I really appreciate this. You don’t know how much that means.” The rambling certainly didn’t help your appearance, but you really were grateful.

With a to-go box and an overreactive text to Cat, you left the restaurant, dragging the roses you’d brought for the date. You drudge to the red line, and you overthink as you wait for the train. The thoughts are entirely unreasonable, and you know this, but you let yourself have it—a little self-deprecation, as a treat.

The train is mostly empty, save for someone huddled in the corner. You’ve got quite a way to go to get home, and the first few stops feel torturously slow. About a quarter way through your ride-of-shame, someone boards the train. You avert your eyes as they do, not wanting to draw attention to how goddamn pathetic you feel. From the corner of your eye, you see them approach. The fuck? Am I gonna get stabbed? 

But you recognize those shabby Converse and the worn bottom of a guitar case. You look up to see the girl you’d been trying to get over, looking absolutely radiant in the disgustingly unflattering yellow light of the train. You follow her movements as she sits down right next to you, feeling absolutely entranced. Your gaze glances over her cute nose, the silver jewelry on her ear, and how two of her nails are cut too close to the flesh while the others are grown out. She clears her throat.

“So… you okay?” Her voice is a little hoarse, and it sounds like she’s been talking all day. She’s probably tired. You don’t usually see her on Sundays, so you wonder why she’s out. Her eyes are dark and tinted a little purple on the under-eye, but she stares at you like she genuinely wants to listen.

You realize you’ve been staring long enough to make it weird. “Um- yeah, I just- yeah. I’m good.” You throw up a pathetic thumbs-up. Jesus. That was… awful.

She smiles. “Say it again, but mean it this time.” You laugh a little.

“I look like I was mugged, huh?”

“No. You look nice. A little sad though. So what happened?” 

“I got stood up. It’s alright though, I wasn’t that into her.”

“Was she a dry texter or some kind of weirdo?” She says, and you chuckle.

As you lament to her about the no-show-Tinder-date, she listens intently, leaning forward as she nods along. Every so often she scoffs as you describe Cat, as if this stranger is your best friend spilling drama with you. It’s easy to talk to her when she acts so familiar with you.

“You fucking kidding? You bought her flowers and shit and offered to pay and she still didn’t show up?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s bullshit. You sound like the ideal date, honestly. Her loss.” Ellie cringes again. Could she have come on any stronger? Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like you mind, chuckling a little.

“I don’t know about all that, but thanks.” It’s quiet for a little, not awkward, but both of you can tell the other wants to keep talking. You decide to take the first leap. Maybe the fact that your subway girl is here is a sign from the universe. “So, I don’t usually see you on Sundays. Got your guitar with you. You do something fun?” You berate yourself internally- you know when you see her? Stalker, much?

She bashfully tells you that she went to an open mic in a Cambridge bar. “It was a little weird since I’m new to having an audience n’ all. I usually bring my guitar to work to practice, but that’s it.”

Your face lights up excitedly. “Hey, that’s so cool! I bet you did great.” Ellie holds in a smile, lips twitching upward as she tries to deflect the compliment.

“I guess I was okay. A little stiff, maybe.” You playfully hit her arm. She freezes for a second and looks down at where you touched her. Wow.

“Come on, don’t be so humble. You write your own stuff?”

“Yeah. Uh, I do.”

“You mind showing me?” Ellie startles. Of all the things she’d expected from tonight, she didn’t expect a late-night serenade. She places the guitar on her thigh, slipping it under her right arm. As she begins to play a song, you feel a weird shift in the air. Your face falls from its playful expression and you take the chance to admire her, from the dips and divets in her face to the artful spattering of freckles across her cheeks, to the scars along her arms and hands. You see her pretty tattoo again. It’s not perfect up close, but it’s more personal and charming. The ink is slightly faded and bleeds in the thinner areas. It looks like it covers a scar. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she focuses on hitting all the right notes, desperately wanting to impress you. 

As she finishes the song, she looks up at you, wide-eyed and vulnerable. You smile that bright smile at her again, and Ellie feels validated. Her chest is warm and her fingers are tingling- her body feels absolutely electrified. “You’re really skilled. That was amazing.”

Ellie shifts, subconsciously scooting closer to you as she does. Your thighs touch together and it feels right. It feels comfortable. “Thanks. Was that kinda cheesy or…?”

“How do you mean?”

“Was this a late-night guitar serenade?” She wiggles her eyebrows and you laugh.

“Mhm. Definitely. This some kind of meet-cute?” Ellie’s eyes crinkle again in the corners when you say this. You notice she doesn’t laugh a lot. She notices that you do. That’s charming, the two of you think.

“I don’t know. Is it working?” Her expression gets a little more serious. 

Your face experiences a flush of hot, then cold, as you feel yourself becoming embarrassed at how forward she is.” Yeah. It is.” You admit. She just nods, smiling.

“Cool.” It’s silent for a few beats again. “Cool cool cool.”

“...So, uh, I never got your name, actually.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. I’ve just been calling you cute train girl. I’m Ellie.” Her hand slips into yours as you tell her your name. She’s a little clammy, but you are too. It’s awkward and a very weak handshake, but it’s incredibly important to the two of you.

“So uh-”

“Do you-” You both start to speak at the same time, and you chuckle and motion for her to speak first.

“Would you- and feel free to say no, like, I don’t wanna pressure you- but would you maybe want to go out with me? As a- as a make-up date of sorts?”

You grin like it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Ellie feels like a 17-year-old experiencing her first love because of how goddamn giddy she is. “I’d love that. I just- I don’t know about going out this late.” Ellie’s face falls a bit, and you feel like you kicked a puppy. You move quickly to defend what you said. “If you wanted to have the date now…” You pick the roses up from your side. A few have brown bruises from wilting, but you hand them to Ellie, who enjoys the gesture nevertheless.

“You’re corny.” She grins.

“You played the guitar for me. So, I guess you are too.” 

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

Ellie plays a few song covers for you. You give a few requests that she knows, and she peppers in a Weezer song and smiles like it’s the funniest thing ever. You play along, weirdly charmed. It feels like you’re the only two people in the world. The moment is far from perfect- the train jolts violently, the crisp fall air bites at your nose, and you and Ellie are both quite tired. But it’s a really, really nice moment. You know you’ll dream about it tonight.

Your stop comes first, and you reluctantly warn her that you’ll have to leave. Ellie asks for your number, and you happily give it to her. Her wallpaper is a picture of her and her friends, in which she is mid-eye roll. You smile a bit at it and put your contact name as “Cute Train Girl”. When you get your phone back, you see she’s put a dinosaur emoji next to her name. The speaker announces your station as the train rolls to a stop. Ellie stands up before you, taking your hand and helping you up.

“Would you maybe wanna do this again sometime? Not the ‘getting stood up and being on the gross train’ part, but like, a date. An actual date. Not one with someone doing k in the corner of a subway car?” You glance over at said man. Yeah, a real date sounds good.

“I’d love to. Just text me about it, yeah?”

Ellie breathes out a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

You say goodbye and step out of the train car, and right as the train announces to be clear of the closing doors, a foot jams into it, and the door bounces back open. “Fuck, ow,” Ellie mutters. She runs out of the train and turns you to face her. “Don’t go yet. I just- I need to kiss you. I have for a while now.” She admits, and you fluster. She smiles at your reaction. “Don’t get too flattered.” She teases. 

You grin and bite your lip as she tilts your chin up. As your lips make contact, you realize that this is what you’ve been waiting for for months. There’s a sense of deja vu, like you’ve been experiencing this exact moment every night, and now that it’s finally happening, it barely feels real, but the feeling of Ellie’s lips against yours grounds you to the moment. You want to memorize the feeling of her adoration. 

You allow yourself to get lost in her touch, appreciating how lucky you were to get stood up.  If Cat wasn’t a no-show, you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to get to know Ellie. You wouldn’t have been able to explore this feeling with her. 

But most importantly, thank God for the red line and your incompetence with the card swiper.

[cameronspecial]

Little Subway Things

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Rafe and Y/N like each other, but haven't defined their relationship and Rafe is ready to take the next step.

A/N: Inspired by something I saw on the subway once. It was cute.

Masterlist

So far, New York is everything Y/N expected it to be. The tall towering buildings give her a sense of claustrophobia not experienced in the open skyline of the Outer Banks. She smells new, often familiar with some sort of bodily expulsion, scents that remind her that she isn’t the first person to have explored this area of land. The people are exactly like she sees on the screen; always in a hurry to get somewhere unknown. Yet, despite this short experience not surprising her, she is still engrossed with the city. She and Rafe have been here for three days now and they’ve been to most of the sites already. The 9/11 memorial. Rockefeller Centre. The Empire State. The Brooklyn Bridge. The Statue of Liberty. Central Park. All the historical landmarks she’s wanted to see. They’ve been moving from place to place via the driver Rafe hired for their trip. Now, that they are slowing down in their activities, Y/N gets to experience something she’s never got to do in the Outer Banks. The island barely has a transit system, let alone a subway, so the girl is curious about the idea of travelling underground on a train. Rafe doesn’t understand her excitement, but this trip is all about her and he would do anything for her happiness. 

She bounces on her feet as Rafe pushes in the information on the kiosk’s screen. He slides his card in and quickly removes it when prompted. The screen displays a reminder to get the MetroCard. He holds out his hand in the direction of the card, telling her she can take it. Her hand snatches it and holds it against her chest. He smirks at his girlfriend with a shake of his head. His arm wraps around her shoulder to pull her into his side. They get to the turnstile and he takes the card from her hand. He tries swiping it, yet the machine seems to reject his attempt. She waits patiently in front of the bars for it to work. Eventually, she gets nervous from the stares of the city’s natives. “Baby, why don’t you let me try?” she suggests. Rafe could be considered the human embodiment of machoism, except all he wants is to get out of this public place. So he sighs and hands over the card to her. 

Her smile is small and it reassures him. She steps away from the gate, allowing Rafe to take her place. Once she slides the thin rectangle through the machine, the bar finally moves and lets him through. Y/N repeats the process, so she can join him. He intertwines their hands and navigates her to their platform. As they wait for the train, her back faces the track while she peers upward to talk to her boyfriend. Wanting to be out of here, his eyes dart to the screen that tells him how long until the next train. “So we are going to the pizza place now, and I was thinking maybe we can go to the all-romance bookstore?” she wonders. He looks down at her with an arched brow, “You don’t read tho, Cupcake.” “I know. The place looks aesthetic though and maybe romance books will get me into it,” she shrugs. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Having been on the subway a few times before when he visited the city, he knows the signs that the train is coming. Y/N seems to be oblivious to the slight rumble of the floor and even though she is behind the yellow safety line, Rafe grows worried she isn’t far enough. The subway approaches fast and he instinctively reaches out to tug her into his chest. She bumps into him, turning in his arm to watch their transportation zoom by. His leathery-scented cologne fills her senses and she takes it in. He sighs at her content, gently shoving her onto the now-open train. 

They can’t find a seat once there so his hand rests on her waist while the other tightens around one of the poles above to keep them stable. She squeezes against him in the packed environment and looks up at him with adoration in her eyes. The little thing he does to keep her safe always melts her heart. “I love you, Baby,” she whispers. He grins down at her and presses his lips against her forehead, “I love you too, Cupcake.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[athina-blaine]

Summary:

vehicle

noun;

1) A device or structure for transporting persons or things; a conveyance.

2) A self-propelled conveyance that runs on tires; a motor vehicle.

3) A medium through which something is transmitted, expressed, or accomplished.

-

Laios and Kabru take care of each other.

Rating: General Relationships: Kabru/Laios Touden Chapters: 1/1 [Complete] Word Count: ~2k Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Comfort No Hurt, Established Relationship, Autistic Character, Trans Male Character, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting Beta'd by @yuri-puppies

“I still can’t believe the new series director was sitting in the audience with us that whole time,” said Kabru as he weaved through the oncoming crowd. Must have just missed the train , he thought, looking over his shoulder back at Laios. “Good showmanship. Makes me excited to think that the studio’s getting out of its slump.”

“Yeah,” said Laios, craning his neck over the stream of people. His elbow bumped a passerby, abruptly jostling the tote bag of merch in his arms. “That was pretty crazy.”

Kabru nodded, scanning his metro pass onto the card reader. “It’s too bad we couldn’t get any autographs,” he called over the din as he shuffled through the turnstile, “but I guess there’s always next year.” He glanced back at Laios again with a sheepish look, gesturing toward his own shoulder bag brimming with merchandise. “Provided this year’s con hasn’t already bankrupted us.”

After squeezing through the turnstile himself, Laios drew up next to Kabru, his gaze wandering off with drooping eyes. “Hmm.”

Kabru had to hold back a sympathetic sigh as they reached the platform and stepped up to the yellow line. They still had another seven stops to go before they got home, but it was clear that Laios was starting to flag. The noise must be getting to him, even through his earplugs. As much as Kabru loved the opportunity to people-watch on the train, part of him still wished he’d insisted on just calling a cab from the convention center. But Laios was right that they couldn’t really afford it, especially after Kabru encouraged Laios to splurge on that new lorebook … If Kabru could at least snag him a seat …

[Continue on AO3]

[mosscairn]

Thinking about fragments of human presence, especially infrastructure, placed erroneously where they have absolutely no reason to be. tbh.

—

A row of turnstiles deep in the woods, some flickering ‘OUT OF ORDER’. It’s not clear why they are still receiving power, and long gone are any remnants of a larger structure they could have once been part of.

The card reader on one of them is lit up green.

—

A sinkhole on a rural property leads to the discovery of a cave system. In its depths, past several crawl spaces and rappels, is a single blue US Postal box, bolted securely into the stone ground.

—

that sort of thing! i just think its neat~

[isfjmel-phleg]

The Saga of Ray's Refrigerator

As discussed by the editor and writer, The Ray 1994 is in part "about a guy who needs to buy a refrigerator." Readers evidently took that to heart, like D. B. Bennett here:

Does Ray ever get that fridge the minute he really needs it? Why a refrigerator? Why is it important?

Story time!

After the death of the uncle whom Ray grew up believing was his father, their house had to be sold to cover legal fees. Ray goes apartment hunting on a small budget with no credit, and the best he can do is a shabby one-room place over a pizza restaurant. There's a huge, hideous sculpture in one corner, but no refrigerator. Note the place beside the stove that suggests that there must have been a refrigerator there at some point.

(The Ray 1994 #1)

This demonstrates the level of squalor that he has sunk to, as well as the fact that he hasn't really "made it" as an adult on his own yet--he doesn't have all the basic household necessities. He's not really ready to take on life.

The lack of a refrigerator is the first thing everyone points out upon entering the apartment, everyone from Ray's father...

(#5)

...to a random burgler.

(#11)

A repeated reminder of his inadequacy as an adult.

At one point, Ray intends to go shopping for a list of household necessities, including a refrigerator, but instead he purchases a huge Superman poster and a stereo he can't really afford. Money management is apparently another thing he never learned during his isolated upbringing, and his priorities are still those of a child--things he wants before things he needs.

(#6)

Of course, it's not just Ray's immaturity that's keeping him from that refrigerator. Writer Christopher Priest on his website provides a more in-depth account of Ray's attempts to purchase a refrigerator and how difficult this is for someone with no real-world experience in an era before online shopping:

Ray Terrill wants to buy a refrigerator. Folded into a tiny second-floor walkup over Shahid's Famous Pizza in North Philadelphia, Ray's been keeping his milk and cheese out on the fire escape to keep it cool. But now that spring has arrived, he needs an actual ice box. Problem is, Ray's watched the Home Shopping Club virtually non-stop for six days, and they haven't offered a refrigerator. None of the mail-order catalogs that come to his house display any, either. The chilling realization washes over him: if he wants the refrigerator, he's going to have to go out and get it. Ray's had lots of bad luck interacting with the real world. Having spent most of his life indoors, Ray's perception of the world at large (and American society in specific) has been shaped almost entirely by mass media. His "light sensitivity" disease ultimately exposed as a lie, Ray, at eighteen years of age, has been thrust into a world that bears little resemblance to the one he's read about. Ray doesn't know how to drive. Or ride a bike. Ray has never even seen a coin-operated laundry machine. Or a subway turnstile. Ray's never been to the bank. Or church. Ray was startled and impressed to find stand-up urinals in restaurant men's rooms. It earned him a black eye when he remarked, "Wow. Look at that!" as another patron relieved himself. He was a washout as a cashier for a fast-food restaurant because he'd never seen curly fries. Clearly taking a bus downtown to the nearest K-Mart and buying a refrigerator is, for Ray, a major challenge; one fraught with anxiety. [...] At the K-Mart, Ray realizes he has no money. He tries to open a charge account to buy the fridge, but is denied credit because he has no credit history. No one will give Ray a credit card until someone else does. Staring incredulously at the blank-eyed clerk, Ray remarks, "But, yesterday I saved the universe..." The clerk suggests Ray move along.

Once Ray starts working for Vandal Savage, he moves into a luxurious condo with all the amenities, including, presumably, a refrigerator. But even so, the quest for this appliance is such a habit with him that when offered his greatest desire by the demon Neron, the first thing he can think of that he wants is...

(#19)

Besides, Ray knows that the life he's currently living is a sham. He's got a prestigious job and wears fancy clothes and has a rooftop hot tub, but it's all an act to keep him out of the eye of his deadly creation Death Masque. Underneath it all, he's still a nineteen-year-old who still needs to buckle down to the task of furnishing his own first place.

He may technically have a refrigerator now, but at what cost? We don't see the condo's refrigerator in the main timeline, but we get a good long look at it from the inside in a version of 2016 in which forty-year-old Ray has gone evil after letting the power and status of working for (and eventually supplanting) Savage go to his head. By now, the refrigerator is not just a symbol of adult achievement but also of the emptiness of ill-gotten wealth and status. Forty-year-old Ray is too preoccupied with business phone calls to even use the refrigerator himself--this is his girlfriend getting him a soda.

(#25)

Back in the main timeline, Ray, with some intervention from his girlfriend from the future, who has time-traveled back to prevent his going evil, quits working for Savage, which means giving up the condo (and presumably returning to his old place). This is hard for him, because...

(#28)

So by the end of the series, he is just as refrigerator-less as he started. But the refrigerator was never the real point. What he does have is the restoration of his integrity, a more mature and less self-centered outlook, and new connections with a mother and brother he didn't even know he had when he moved into that one-room apartment. What greater signs could there be of finally becoming a real adult?

[tripodturnstile]

tripod turnstile door from RS Security Co., Ltd(www.szrssecurity.com) Suitable for all types of public locations that require orderly passage of pedestrians, such as beautiful spots, exhibit halls, movie theaters, docks, train stations, bus stations and other locations that need ticket verification; locations that require authorized entry such as factory presence, canteen consumption, golf courses, monthly card leisure centers, and so on; anti-static control locations of electronic factories, units that require rigorous security measures such as face acknowledgment and finger print acknowledgment. RS Security Co., Ltd primarily produces, develops and sells gain access to control items, such as waist height turnstile barrier, city flap turnstile barrier, servo motor swing turnstiles gate, translation turnstiles door, drop arm gates gate, full height turnstile gate, half height gates barrier, speedlane turnstiles barrier and other channel gates gate items, and boom barrier, facialface recognition cam, hydraulic bollard, roadway blockers three rollers turnstile barrier Integrated electronic tickets, gain access to control and participation, club consumption/catering, anti-static, finger print, palm print, face recognition, iris acknowledgment Integrated application of other series of products; complete stainless steel frame structure, Taibang motor, individually established and produced movement; one-way/two-way turnstile door/ swipe to launch the lever button and the upper lever is optional, with Counting function can understand RS485 direct communication with the computer system; waist height turnstile barrier prompts and instructions and alarm triggers; automatic fall of the pole when power is off and manual fall The pole is optional, and it gets the switch signal to open gates door; it can be geared up with a card reading control part, and numerous systems can be connected to the network; it can be equipped with magnetic card and distance card combination techniques; it can be purchased according to various functional requirements. Do. A totally rainproof box made of alloy aluminum or stainless-steel, compared to the metro flap turnstiles gate servo motor swing turnstile Door and other pedestrian passage devices, tripod turnstile gate are more economical. It has an individualized setup user interface (such as card reader, indicator light setup, and so on) to ensure that the system integrator's control gates gate equipment is simple and practical to set up. The motion of the three-stick gates door device has actually an immediately changed hydraulic shock absorber. When utilizing the three-stick turnstile door operation, the noise is very small and silent. Effect, turnstile door bar automatically slows down back to center. The surface area of the motion is plated with yellow dichromate. Can be configured with gates barrier maker control, one or two direction control (set by user). The base is repaired with growth bolts.

[szrssecurityswingturnstile]

dc brushless slim turnstile gate likewise called pedestrian wing barriers gate, which comes from the gain access to control system, is one of the crucial elements of modern-day entryway and exit control. The door wings are driven by the control system and open and close immediately. The operating mode can be chosen through shows settings: As soon as it is verified that the individual going into is authorized, the door wings open automatically. It closes after a delay, and the delay time is adjustable. Common servo motor glass gates door are divided into scissor doors (train flap barriers gates) and swing doors. (1) Scissor doors are frequently utilized in rail transit, and common scissor doors are mostly utilized in trains and other locations. The door wings extend from the within the box, which can effectively seal the passage and play the role of access control. In addition, an infrared picking up gadget is set up inside the door body, which can understand the purpose of "a single person, one card" for individuals to pass through. (2) The swing door appeared behind the scissor door and belongs to the 2nd generation dc brushless glass turnstiles barriers. Such servo motor speed turnstile gates is that the door wings run in the front and back direction. The operation procedure is within the human body's view, which is more secure. In addition, because the door wings do not need to be retracted into package, The styles of swing doors are more different. Due to the above characteristics, swing doors are typically used in banks, corporate structures, high-end office buildings, and so on. Anti-trailing function: There is a total infrared light band detection location in the channel. The switch state can be adjusted by software according to the consumer's precision requirements. The application of the light band to adapt to different needs avoids the imperfections of point-type infrared detectors that are easily polluted and affects the dependability of judgment, and can successfully judge the future. Tag reader who reads the card. When the system determines that tailgating has actually happened, the system will react based on the place of the valid cardholder returned by the infrared detector. After the door opening signal is sent out, there are still some abnormal uses that will set off an alarm.

[fionayao2008]

Tripod Turnstile Overview Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, as well as Flap Turnstile( RS Security Co., Ltd: www.szrssecurity.com) are modern-day control devices for pedestrian passages. They are made use of in places where the entryway and exit of people need to be managed, such as smart areas, canteens, hotels, museums, gyms, clubs, metros, stations, docks, and so on place. The use of Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and Flap Turnstile can make the circulation of people organized. Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, Flap Turnstile are utilized in combination with smart cards, fingerprints, barcodes and other recognition system equipment to develop a smart gain access to control network control system; they are used in combination with computers, access control, participation, billing administration, ticket systems and various other software to form a The smart Turnstile Gate comprehensive monitoring system can realize functions such as accessibility control, participation, intake, ticketing, as well as current restricting. This Turnstile Gate monitoring system is part of the "all-in-one card" as well as is installed at flows such as areas, manufacturing facilities, smart structures, canteens, etc. It can finish various administration functions such as worker card traveling control, presence at get off work and dishes, and eating. Tripod Turnstile system attributes Fast and convenient: check out the card in and out with one swipe. Make use of the authorized IC card and also wave it in front of the clever Tripod Turnstile visitor to complete the Tripod Turnstile gate opening and cost recording work. The card analysis is non-directional and the reading and also composing time is 0.1 secs, which is quick and practical. Protection as well as discretion: Use background or local confirmation, licensed issuance, and also one-of-a-kind identity, that is, the card can just be made use of in this system, and it is risk-free and also confidential. Reliability: Card superhigh frequency induction, stable and also reliable, with the capacity to court as well as think. Flexibility: The system can flexibly establish access and also departure control workers authorizations, period control, cardholder legitimacy and also blacklist loss reporting, adding cards and also various other functions. Convenience: Through consent, the customer card can be used for "one-card" management such as auto parking, participation, gain access to control, patrol, intake, and so on, making it simple to realize multiple uses one card. Simplicity: Easy to install, easy to attach, the software program has a Chinese user interface and is simple to operate. Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and also Flap Turnstile( RS Security Co., Ltd: www.szrssecurity.com) are contemporary control tools for pedestrian flows. The use of Tripod Turnstile, Swing Turnstile, and Flap Turnstile can make the flow of individuals organized. Make use of the accredited IC card and also wave it in front of the wise Tripod Turnstile visitor to complete the Tripod Turnstile gate opening and also charge recording work.

[szrssecurity]

Swing Barrier Gate is typically called a slap door in the rail transit market. Its barrier body (gate pendulum) remains in the type of an airplane with a certain location, perpendicular to the ground, and swings through rotation Implement obstructing and release. The products of the obstructing body are typically stainless-steel, organic glass, and tempered glass. Some likewise use metal plates covered with special versatile materials (to minimize the damage caused by striking pedestrians). Bridge Smart Swing Gate The more popular name has been acquired from the original bridge-shaped structure. It includes a main chassis and 2 movable swing bars. The swing bars can swing 180 ° or 90 ° to accomplish the function of discouraging or launching. Column Swing Door Turnstile The look of the primary equipment remains in the type of a column, which can carry out the very same functions as the bridge type Swing Barrier Gate. It is characterized by lower cost and less area. RS Security Co., Ltd Main Products: barrier, flap turnstile, complete height gate, swing gate, hydraulic bollard, road blocker, gain access to control, face recognition, barrier gate and so on. Application of Swing Gate It is generally utilized for passage entrance and exit management. Typically, only people are permitted to go through, or people dragging baggage, and handicapped people. Considering that Swing Barrier Turnstile can achieve wider channel attributes than wing gates. The majority of Swing Gate passages can be blended with pedestrians, bikes, mopeds, handicapped automobiles and other non-motorized lorries. component Swing Turnstile structural structure: Swing Turnstile includes chassis, motion, swing arm, control system, infrared sensing unit, It consists of control equipment and other parts. High-end brake Swing Gate consists of: chassis, brake movement, control system, infrared sensor, control equipment and other parts (high-end brake Swing Gate is that it can stop rapidly and smoothly, there is no shaking, no mechanical stuck structure, and the swing arm automatically opens after power failure. It completely complies with fire protection requirements).