#nuo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

top100k · 2 years ago

Text

Veido kaukė nuo raukšlių ▶ https://kahgo.ru/BvQzcJ9

🔔 INTENSKIN: PAGRINDINIS SĄJUNGININKAS KOVOJE SU AMŽIUMI

Kai man atsirado gilios raukšlės, pradėjau gėdytis dėvėti rūbus su iškirpte, o veido išvis neįmanoma uždengti rūbais. Mano kremai nebepadėdavo. Reikėjo ieškoti kitų problemos sprendimo būdų.

Mano finansinė padėtis neleisdavo man švaistyti pinigus kosmetologui. Pradėjau internete ieškoti įvairių priemonių nuo senėjimo ir veido masažo technikų. Daug ką išbadžiau, o ypač pačios pagamintas kaukes. Poveikio beveik nebuvo.

Galiausiai nustojau klausyti liaudies patarimų ir pradėjau ieškoti atsakymo pas specialistus. Radau straipsnį, kuriame kosmetologė pasakojo apie daugelio brangių kremų žalą ir neefektyvumą. Susidomėjau ir nusprendžiau kreiptis pas ją konsultacijos internete.

Proceso metu kosmetologė pasiūlė man išbandyti naują kremą Intenskin . Jį visai neseniai išleido pirmaujanti kosmetikos įmonė, bet jis jau tapo populiarus tarp įžymybių, tinklaraštininkų ir grožio srities specialistų.

Kremas turi du didžiulius pliusus – universalumą ir natūralią sudėtį. Kremas tinka akims, veidui ir kaklui. Jo sudėtyje yra daug natūralių mineralinių komponentų ir mikroelementų, kurie ne tik gerina odos būklę, bet ir šalina raukšles, kurios nuodijo man gyvenimą. Svarbiausia, kad įsigyti vieną kremą, kuris šalina trūkumus visose probleminėse zonose, yra kur kas pelningiau.

Kremo sudėtis padeda gaminti kolageną. Su amžiumi ši funkcija blėsta, o kremas padeda odai atsinaujinti, kaip 20 metų. Iškart įvertinau poveikį. Intenskin neužkemša porų, o atvirkščiai valo ir siaurina jas. Po poros dienų supratau, kad mano oda per dieną tapo mažiau riebalinga ir sausa (ji yra mišraus tipo). Per dvi savaites ji tapo drėgna ir patempta.

Kiekvieną dieną įdėmiai žvelgdavau į savo raukšles. Kaukės burokėlis. Kai kurių neberasdavau. Maitinanti veido kauke. Kai mano kursas baigėsi, kartu su tuščiomis kremo pakuotėmis išmečiau 15 metų. Namine paakiu kauke.

Dabar naudoju tik Intenskin. Veido odos patempimas.

Dauguma moterų neturi galimybės lankyti kosmetologo ir švaistyti pinigus lazerinei korekcijai, mezoterapijai, fileriams, biorevitalizacijai ir kitoms procedūroms. Veido liftingas kaina. Intenskin ne blogiau už profesinę priežiūrą aktyvuoja nuosavo odos kolageno formavimąsi, atkūria ją sluoksnis po sluoksnio ir daro raukšles mažiau pastebimas. Lakstines veido kaukes. Svarbiausia, kad kremas yra prieinamas kiekvienam ir jį įsigyti galima ne tik pas kosmetologą, bet ir tiesiogiai pas gamintoją. Valomoji veido kauke.

Šiandien noriu padovanoti jums asmeninę nuolaidą kremui. Veido kaukes su hialurono rugstimi. Galite užsakyti jį su 50% nuolaida. Veido pakelimas siulais atsiliepimai. Tikiuosi, kad ši priemonė pakeis dar kažkieno gyvenimą į gerą. Kaukes veido. Paskubėkite. Lakštinė veido kaukė.

Veido kaukė nuo raukšlių #Veido #kaukė #nuo #raukšlių

0 notes

hatsbuckets · 11 days ago

Text

I Missed You

NikPrice Week 2025 - SFW Day 6 - I Missed You

Pairings: (Reincarnating!) Price x (Immortal!) Nikolai Short Vers: After a rough mission, John misses Nik. John wants Nik. And John's walk home is filled with longing. WC: 2080 Warnings: Some angst. Mention of blood. It's Halloween but I kept it pretty generic.

Series Master List | Prev (NSFW) | Next (NSFW)

October 31, 20XX Flying Home — Somewhere over France Rough one. Could’ve gone worse. Probably should’ve. Still breathing, though. Soap’s got a busted lip. Gaz took a knock to the ribs but he’s laughing again already. Ghost didn’t say a word the whole evac ride, but he didn’t need to. We all know we got lucky. I’m tired. Not just in the body—though God, the bruises are setting in already—but in that way you feel when you’ve been stretched too thin for too long. I don’t want a debrief. Don’t want a shower, even. Just want to get home. I want Nik. It's selfish. I know. I’ll have shit to do at base regardless. Don’t know why it’s hitting me so hard tonight. Maybe it’s the silence after the noise. Maybe it’s the fact that I kept thinking about him while we were pinned. That he’d find me, somehow, if I didn’t make it out. Maybe I just miss him. Ache for him. I want his voice. His hands. The way he looks at me when I walk through the door like I’m whole, even when I’m not. I just want Nik. – John

The air hit him harder than expected when he stepped out of the car, cold, damp October wind biting through the holes in his jacket.

He pulled it tighter and waved off the driver behind the wheel. “I’m good walkin’ from here. Thanks.”

The city pulsed faintly ahead, Hereford’s hum cracked open for one night of glitter and noise.

Halloween.

He hadn’t realized. Or maybe he had and just hadn’t cared.

Now, as he stepped onto the cracked sidewalk and started walking, he noticed the orange flicker in windows. Paper bats. Kids’ voices laughing down side streets. A couple students stumbled past in cheap vampire capes, high on sugar or something stronger. One of them bumped him.

“Sorry, mate—oi, nice costume!”

John let himself smile a bit and kept walking.

His boots scuffed through a pile of dead leaves. Somewhere to the left, a fake skeleton rattled in the breeze.

He could feel it building. It wasn’t just the cold, there was something else. The kind of ache that settled into your lungs and lived there.

He passed a butcher’s shop with a fogged-up window. On the glass someone had smeared a handprint in fake blood. John stared at it for a second too long.

A flash—

Real blood.

Nik’s hand over his.

“Stay awake, John. Just stay.”

Smoke. Screams. The sound of mortar fire hitting too close.

A pair of fingers brushing his temple like a blessing.

“There you are.”

He blinked, and the sound came back, laughter, high and shrill. A girl in a ghost sheet ran across the pavement, trailing streamers behind her to catch her friends.

He kept walking, shoulders hunched and hands in his coat.

The cold pressed in deeper. October chill soaking through the seams. He welcomed it. It felt realer than the noise or the pounding in his chest.

Another block. Another glimpse.

Nik’s coat around his shoulders.

The smell of fur and tobacco.

“You’re not breathing right. Let me help.”

A kiss. Or was it a prayer?

He stopped just outside the corner market. A street performer was dressed like Dracula, playing a mournful fiddle.

John’s fingers twitched.

He couldn’t breathe for a moment.

Firelight.

A barn.

Rain on the roof.

Nik, kneeling beside him, voice barely a whisper.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

John stumbled forward.

He didn’t cry, probably couldn’t if he wanted to, but his jaw clenched tight enough to ache. His chest squeezed like something ancient had wrapped hands around his ribs and was pulling, pulling, pulling.

The pub ahead had a chalkboard sign.

“🎃 HALLOWEEN QUIZ NIGHT🎃

PRIZE: BOTTLE OF RUM + VOUCHER FOR TWO”

John stared at it.

Nik had said once, long ago, “You owe me a drink.”

And John had smiled, leaned in across a dirt road in France, and whispered:

“First round’s on me, Colonel.”

He kept walking past the blinking lights, the drunk laughter, the hollow decorations, the masks.

Because all of them felt fake and the memories flooding his chest felt realer than anything he’d ever known.

By the time he turned onto their street, he was trembling.

The field hospital.

The barn.

The river.

The cabin in the snow.

The blindfold. The rope. The way his name sounded in the Russian’s voice.

“I have missed you, John.”

“I’ll find you again.”

He stopped halfway down the block.

Looked up at their flat. The windows were lit. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk while the wind howled around him and the sound of Halloween thudded through the street behind him and he remembered everything.

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk, just beneath the streetlamp. The mist caught in the glow, swirling like breath made visible.

He looked down the street. Pumpkins flickered on stoops. A kid in a werewolf costume howled behind a fence. The distant thump of music bled through brick walls.

Life, as he had always known it, was right in front of him.

He turned back toward the streetlamp and tilted his head up into the light like it might bless him. The wind stirred the collar of his coat. The mist kissed at his lashes.

He saw a fishing rod. A blanket by the river. “He looks like a Gregory.” Sunlight in Nik’s eyes. A kiss to the back of his hand.

“You’ve always been like this?”

“Only since I met you.”

He saw an alleyway. A kiss stolen between the bricks. Nik’s knees on the cobblestone.

“Let me have this.”

His own hand on the back of Nik’s neck. A heartbeat against his ribs.

He saw a battlefield. A tent. A winter storm. A man holding him like he’d prayed for this one moment. A voice, broken with joy: “You’re alive.”

John swallowed hard and his fingers flexed at his sides.

The wind howled. The streetlamp flickered.

And he whispered, like the name had been buried in his chest for centuries and had finally fought its way free, “Nik…”

On legs that felt to weak and thin to be his, John moved.

He made his way up the stairs. Stopped at their door long enough for the pattern of the wood to burn in his eyes.

The lock stuck, like it always did when it was damp.

John's knuckles were white where he gripped the key. His other hand braced against the doorframe, shoulders shaking with something between cold and collapse. His breath fogged in the light, chest rising in shallow, unsteady pulls.

He gave it one more heartbeat, two, then he turned the key. The door gave way to warmth.

Soft light spilled from the kitchen. The smell of black tea and something faintly sweet. A low hum echoed from the speaker tucked behind the bookshelves, Russian probably, but John couldn’t hear it. Nik liked putting on old ballads when he cooked.

The world inside was still.

“Nik?” John croaked, barely more than breath.

Nik stepped into view, kitchen towel still in one hand, sleeves pushed up, collar open and chest hairs peeking out, hair pulled back in a tiny knot, barefoot on the hardwood.

He froze the moment he saw John.

And smiled. “You’re home.” His voice was low, surprised but gentle. Just relieved, as if John’s return was both inevitable and sacred.

John stood in the doorway, a bit damp in the October air, throat too tight to answer. His eyes swept over him and saw him.

Saw him.

Not just the now, not just the man who kept tea hot and knives sharp and flew in with impossible timing. But everything.

His Nik.

His immortal.

Kievan warrior. Russian captain. Ghost of war and time.

The man who knelt in mud to tend his wounds.

Who spoke his name like a vow.

Who had loved him through every incarnation, without ever asking anything in return.

Nik stepped forward, towel forgotten. And John moved one staggering step, then another. He dropped his bag. The strap slid from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud.

Nik’s arms were around him before he fully registered it, strong, certain, and familiar. One hand splayed across John’s back, the other rose instinctively to cradle the base of his skull.

John folded into him like gravity had finally won.

He buried his face against Nik’s neck, pressed there like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

Nik didn’t ask. He just held him. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid, and his breath stirred the hair behind John’s ear. His hands stayed anchored to John. One palm on his neck, the other cupped against his ribs. A thousand years of stillness wrapped around him like a home rebuilt from memory.

John trembled. It felt right in a way that nothing else ever had.

His fingers curled into the back of Nik’s shirt. He turned his face slightly, inhaled the scent of cedar and tea and the faint trace of motor oil that always clung to his skin. The ache behind his ribs swelled.

He didn’t mean to speak, or for it to sound so broken, but it fell out anyway.

“I missed you.”

Nik went very still. He didn’t ask what he meant. Just whispered, low and sure, lips brushing the edge of John’s hairline: “I missed you too.”

John’s eyes closed. His hands clung tighter. The warmth of the room. The quiet hum of a faraway Russian song. The press of Nik’s chest against his.

Nik didn’t let go as he closed the front door behind them, or as John toed off his boots with uncoordinated motions. Not as the war peeled off his skin piece by piece and left him bare in the quiet warmth of home.

Nik just held him step by step.

Eventually, when John’s legs threatened to give out, Nik guided him to the couch. He sat first. His back to the cushions, arms open. And John followed without a word.

He curled against Nik’s side, head on his shoulder, one leg tucked under him, the other stretched over Nik’s thigh. Nik adjusted them both a bit then pressed a kiss to John’s hair and pulled the soft wool blanket over them both with practiced ease.

The room was low-lit, one lamp on in the corner. The old Russian song had ended; now it was just the quiet creak of settling furniture, the faint hiss of the kettle left on standby.

Nik’s thumb rubbed a slow arc along John’s upper arm.

“You’re wired,” he said gently.

John didn’t answer at first. His eyes were half-lidded, watching Nik’s pulse at his throat like it told time better than any clock.

Nik waited patiently, thumb brushing over and over again at John’s arm.

Eventually, John said, voice low and rough, “The mission was rough.”

Nik nodded slowly. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

John’s throat worked. His hand curled into the hem of Nik’s shirt. “All I could think about,” he murmured, “was getting back to you.”

Nik’s hand paused, just for a second, then resumed its slow rhythm.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said softly. “You’ve got me.”

John pressed closer.

He wanted to, badly, but he didn’t say I remembered the war with you in 1759.

Didn’t say I thought I watched you die once in a ruined village in France.

Didn’t say I loved you on a riverbank in another life and swore I'd find you again.

He just breathed in the scent of him. Felt the heat of him. Let Nik’s heartbeat under his ear remind him that this was real.

“I wanted you,” John whispered.

Nik smiled against his hair. “Then I’m glad I am here.”

Later, Nik fetched tea. He moved carefully, not wanting to disturb the moment but knowing John would need it. The kettle was still hot. He picked the same mugs they always used.

When he returned, John hadn’t moved much. Just blinked at him with those deep, blue eyes that looked, somehow, older than they had this morning.

Nik didn’t comment. Just handed him the mug, brushed his thumb along John’s wrist before letting go.

They drank in silence.

John’s hand slid across the couch cushion between them.

Nik took it and their fingers wove together. And John held on like it was the only thread tying him to the present.

#nikpriceweek2025 #*Genie's voice* TELL HIM. THE TRUTH. John: uh nuo #idk if the point got across in this one but yeah john remembers now and nik is not aware that John remembers and John's too scared to talk #nikprice #captain john price #nikolai cod #cod #call of duty

33 notes · View notes