#Importance of clean drinking water

[platinum-horizons]

4

edit: 4 was NOT supposed to be there i dont know how it happened

Like I know we all love making ADHD seem cool but like, don't forget it's actually a disability? My ADHD is bad enough I've nearly been evicted for forgetting to mail the rent check to the property manager, I've forgotten to pay the utility bills and had my water or power get turned off or had to pay fines bcs I missed a credit card payment. Once I was supposed to cat sit for a friend and I lost the house key she gave me but didn't realize until she was already out of town, and she had to call the apartment office to get someone to give me the spare so her cats would have food for the week. When I'm unmedicated I can't even get myself to shower half the time, forget eating or cleaning. Before I started living with my fiance I'd just like, not eat for days because I didn't have anyone to remind me to eat or go buy me food. I've forgotten to turn the stove off so many times and ruined kettles and tbh been DAMN fucking lucky the house didn't burn down. I've done stupid, impulsive shit that's nearly gotten me KILLED. I can't remember to close the shower curtain reliably even through my fiance points out every single time I forget, and he's almost out of soap rn bcs for the last MONTH neither of us have been able to remember to order more once we get out of the shower.

I've had such bad memory my entire life that to this day someone suggesting I forgot something because I simply didn't care enough is a legitimate trigger that, in the worst cases, makes me have a breakdown.

I get that for some of you this is just something that makes studying hard or you forget to take a pee break when you're playing Minecraft or whatever, that's still a valid struggle and you do deserve help and understanding, but like, ADHD is a disability. It's disabling. It's not impossible to improve and learn coping skills, meds help a lot, there are great accommodations out there(LIKE CLEANING SERVICES), but not every case of ADHD is the same, and a lot of them are pretty ugly ngl, and just because you managed to do something doesn't mean someone else is gonna be able to manage it too, or that they're being lazy for struggling. And that obviously doesn't mean ADHD people have a free pass to never work on themselves and make everyone cater to their every need or whatever, but we do deserve some understanding when we explain that our disability is actually disabling in ways that aren't palatable to you. So like, idk, maybe don't immediately recoil in horror when you find out that someone with ADHD can't keep their house clean. And for fucks sake don't ridicule them for it.

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[mrbizz1]

Stay Hydrated: Why Most Americans Don't Drink Enough Water

🚰 Hydration Hacks: Why You're Not Drinking Enough Water & How to Fix It 🚰 Did you know that 75% of Americans don't drink the recommended 8-10 glasses of water a day? 😮 It's time to change that! Drinking enough water is crucial for: ✅ Keeping your ski

Did you know 75 percent of Americans don’t drink the recommended 8-10 glasses of water a day? This is a big problem many of us face every day. Drinking enough water is key for many reasons. It can make your skin look younger. It helps you recover faster from workouts. It improves your thinking. It keeps your weight in check. It boosts your cell health. In this article, we’ll look at why you…

[ramservices1]

Understand the importance of regular RO purifier service to ensure safe drinking water. Keep your water clean and healthy with proper maintenance.

Do Read: https://ramservicesandsales.com/2024/08/16/importance-of-regular-ro-purifier-service/

[thebibliosphere]

My husband and I were discussing how the first felon is defending the FDA and how the quality control of our food is gonna basically disappear and I proceeded to have so much anxiety about it that I didn't sleep last night. How do we prepare for this? Is there a way to make food safe at home? How can we avoid getting poisoned from the grocery store? Sorry for bringing this anxiety to your inbox but I'm exhausted and scared and I'm hoping you've come up with food safety tips what with your general food complications.

I’m afraid I don’t have a solution for something of this scale and am just as equally terrified, but that said:

Check your local state regulations. Some states actually have strict testing that the FDA when it comes to certain things like milk. See if they are listing any recalls.

Stop eating things raw for the foreseeable future. Wash and cook everything thoroughly, even if the bag claims it’s pre-washed, wash it again. Cooking will also help eliminate any remaining pathogens. It means no more salads for a while but that’s okay.

For things like fruit, try to go with things that have an outer skin that can be taken off. If it requires you to cut into it with a knife, give the outer skin a scrub and rinse to reduce the chances of your knife being contaminated by anything like e-coli and then contaminating the insides by cutting it up.

For fruit that can’t be peeled, make sure to inspect and wash them thoroughly. If you are immunocompromised like me, consider cooking it down into a jam or pie filling to reduce further risk. Not as fun as eating it fresh for some people, but it’s a valid way of still getting the flavor and nutrients.

For things like milk, only drink pasteurized and ultra pasteurized. Try to get pasteurized eggs if you can too.

If you don’t have a meat thermometer, now is the time to get one. Make sore everything is cooked to its required internal temperature. For poultry, the recommended temperature is 165°F (74°C), while for beef and pork, the recommended temperature is 145°F (63°C) with a 3-minute rest time. Ground meats should be cooked to 160°F (71°C). Eggs should be cooked until the yolk is set. No more runny egg yolks for a bit until we get a competent source of information back about bird flu.

For things like flour, try to go for reputable brands that have their own independent testing facilities for things like gluten. They also usually test for other things and clean their facilities thoroughly. My go to is King Arthur atm.

Also, stop eating raw cookie dough if you’re not going to toast the flour in the oven first. That’s how a lot of people get sick, not necessarily from the raw egg, though stop eating raw egg right now if you do. Again, bird flu. [Addendum] I learned the flour trick in a job I used to work, but apparently, the pre-defunded FDA didn't think toasting the flour made it safe, so maybe just don't eat raw cookie dough. And I know someone's going to be a cunt in the notes like "I don't care I do what I want" good for you, hope saying that made you feel better.]

This is a dwindling possibility with the tariffs but try to buy food imported from other countries that still have food quality control. I get my masa harina from a small company that imports directly from Colombia. They can’t afford the gluten free label required to be classified as such in the USA, but considering Cheerios in the USA can afford to buy that label and the celiac foundation certification logo and still routinely sells contaminated produce due to not using gluten free oats and a mechanical sorting system that can’t be certified gluten free (1) (2) (3), I’m more inclined to go with other countries labeling right now.

With clean water under threat, use a filter for your drinking water. We currently use the ones by Life Straw. They don’t fit into your faucet but the LS filters are better than most of the ones that can be attached that way and the housing of the jugs and countertop filters are easy to clean. Make sure you do so once a week and change the filters as directed.

Most of this is just basic food hygiene stuff combined with what it’s like to be immunocompromised, but it’s always worth repeating in case someone didn’t know, but especially worth repeating right now with all our rules and regulating bodies going out the window 😞

[sab0dssey]

Simon Riley wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes. And right now, those actions consisted of him sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, arms resting on his thighs, watching you like a man utterly engrossed in the most intense thriller of his life. His sharp, brown eyes followed every single one of your movements with laser focus—so much so that you had to stop and arch a brow at him through the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you mused, dragging a cotton pad soaked in toner across your skin.

Simon didn’t even blink. “Yeah.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

A slow shrug. “You do this every night, and it still feels like watchin’ a bloody mission unfold.”

You snorted, shaking your head at his dramatics. “It’s just skincare, Si.”

“To you,” he countered, tilting his head as you reached for your serum. “To me? It’s an operation. You’ve got phases, precise steps, different solutions. Looks like chemical warfare.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Simon, this big, lethal man, who faced warzones and threats on a daily basis, was utterly captivated by something as mundane as your skincare routine. He never complained—not once. In fact, you were convinced he could sit there for hours if given the chance.

As you dropped a few dots of serum onto your cheeks, his fingers twitched. You caught it immediately. “You wanna do it?”

He exhaled through his nose, pretending to contemplate, but the answer was obvious. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, holding out the dropper. “Be gentle.”

His bare hand wrapped around the bottle as he squeezed out a tiny amount. His touch was surprisingly delicate as he smoothed the serum over your skin with slow, deliberate motions.

“There,” he murmured, voice low, like he had just completed something of grave importance. “Good?”

You hummed, leaning into his touch. “Perfect.”

Simon nodded, satisfied, before leaning back to watch the rest of your routine unfold. His girl, in her element. Nothing in the world could pull him away from this.

The door slammed open—well, as much as it could with Simon catching it at the last second, his reflexes kicking in. You stumbled in, barely managing to toe off your heels, giggling at absolutely nothing. The room swayed around you, the effects of one too many drinks wrapping around your mind like a thick haze.

Simon, ever the patient man, just sighed. “You’re pissed.”

You blinked up at him, your pupils blown wide. “M’not.”

“You are.” He exhaled sharply, stepping forward just as your knees buckled. One strong arm wrapped around your waist before you could faceplant onto the floor. “Alright, c’mon, love. Let’s get you sorted.”

You melted against him, cheek pressing against the hard planes of his chest. “You smell good,” you murmured, voice muffled.

Simon huffed out a small chuckle. “Yeah, yeah.”

He guided you toward the bed, setting you down with an ease that made you feel weightless. As soon as your body hit the mattress, exhaustion washed over you in waves, your limbs heavy, your mind sluggish. But just as you were about to succumb to sleep, Simon’s voice cut through the haze.

“You gotta clean your face first.”

You whined, attempting to burrow into the pillows. “Don’t wanna.”

“Doesn’t matter.” There was no room for argument in his tone, but there was something else there too—something soft, something… fond.

Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of cabinets opening and closing filling the space. When he returned, he had a small cotton pad in one hand and your bottle of micellar water in the other. Your sluggish brain could barely comprehend what was happening as he crouched in front of you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he cupped your jaw.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice low, as if afraid to startle you.

You hummed, too dazed to do anything but comply. With careful precision—like he was handling something fragile—he pressed the damp cotton pad against your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your foundation. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was performing some sort of sacred ritual.

The cool sensation against your skin was oddly soothing, and you sighed, leaning into his touch.

Simon shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Didn’t think I’d be doin’ this, but here we are.

You smiled sleepily. “Taught you well, huh?”

“That you did.” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone before he continued, working his way down to your chin, your forehead, even swiping a fresh pad over your lips with the utmost care.

When he reached your eyes, he hesitated. “Close ‘em for me, love.”

You did as he asked, feeling the gentle sweep of the cotton against your lids, ridding them of mascara and eyeliner. His touch never faltered, never rushed.

By the time he was done, your skin felt fresh, clean, and your body… impossibly heavy. Sleep tugged at you, lulling you into a warm, blissful state.

Simon sighed, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Alright, bed.”

You barely registered the blankets being pulled over you, barely noticed the way he lingered for just a moment longer, watching over you like a silent guardian.

But just before sleep fully claimed you, you mumbled, “Love you, Si.”

A beat of silence. Then, a quiet, barely-there response.

“Love you too, sweetheart…”

[mehmetabdullah]

🚨This is my story 😥 Save the family of engineer Nariman Muhammad.

One morning, on October 7, 2023, we suddenly woke up to the sounds of rockets and artillery. We quickly ran, wondering what had happened and what was going on. At that moment, we didn't know or understand anything. I took my wife, my sons, and my daughters, and we left the house—the house that I had built brick by brick and spent my whole life working to create. We left with only the clothes we were wearing, without taking any of our personal belongings. The most important thing in that moment was to save ourselves from the death that surrounded us from every side. We moved away a little, searching for a safe place.

We moved away from our home, which was completely destroyed, reduced to rubble, and buried under the debris. All of our belongings, our possessions, even our memories were gone. We never returned to our home.

Since that day, we have been displaced, moving from one place to another in search of safety. Now, we live in a tent that doesn't protect me from the summer heat or the winter cold. It's extremely difficult to find food and drink because they are scarce, and we don't have the money to buy them at high prices. We also struggle to get clean water, and we have no clothes, no shoes, and no medicine. We are deprived of the basics of life and the simplest necessities.

We lost everything—our home, our jobs, everything. We can't even sleep because of the constant shelling that never stops, falling on our heads.

Our lives have truly been destroyed, without us committing any wrongdoing, and we have no connection to what happened. We are not a party in this conflict.

It is the evil people who start wars, and the innocent who pay the price. 😥

I am. Thank you from here forever and from all my heart❤️ for reaching our goal 🙏

Whatever your donation, even the price of the cup of coffee you drink, will contribute to saving a human life.🤝

Nariman Donate - GoFundMe.👇 🚨🚑

[maysaasalman]

Hello 👋

Hello, I am Maysa Al-Dahdouh from Gaza. My family and I face death, hunger, and diseases daily. We are a Palestinian family in need of help from anyone with a living conscience, a compassionate heart, and an understanding of humanity.

Help me overcome adversity

I am reaching out to you today, standing firm against incredible challenges. Life in our area has become increasingly difficult due to the ongoing and escalating conflict, and I struggle to secure the basic necessities for myself and my family.

About me and my family

I am married to Hussam Al-Dahdouh, and I am 38 years old. I have five children: Jamal, 16 years old; Muhammad, 14 years old, who suffers from a chronic illness known as Mediterranean fever and must take lifelong medication; Layan years old; Amir, 8 years old;

We have faced death dozens of times. Our home was completely damaged and burned down, making it uninhabitable. We have been displaced more than 20 times and have miraculously survived certain death. We have lost over 100 relatives, neighbors, and loved ones. The area I live in is subjected to rockets, shelling, and gunfire every day. We struggle to find healthy food, clean drinking water, and medication for my son Muhammad. My children can no longer return to school.

Therefore, my family and I have decided to leave Gaza to protect our children from death, hunger, and diseases due to the war, lack of

food and medicine, water pollution, and

How you can help us

• By making a financial donation, even if it's small.

• By sharing our story on social media.

• By offering words of support and encouragement.

The funds raised will be used for:

• Our departure from Gaza and seeking refuge in a country that respects human rights, such as Canada, Belgium, or Sweden. The cost of leaving is high, as each family member needs $5,000 to leave. Since we will be starting our lives anew outside Gaza, we will also need housing, appliances, cooking utensils, education expenses, medication, and health and psychological rehabilitation.

Every contribution, no matter how small, is important

No donation is too small; every contribution brings us one step closer to relief and a better future. Even if you cannot contribute financially, sharing this campaign with your generous network can make a significant difference.

You can donate through the page below

Thank you

Thank you for taking the time to read our story and for your kind generosity. You can help us overcome these difficult times.

[gothhabiba]

You may remember me spotlighting the Mawasi Al-Qarara Mutual Aid Project (MAQMAP) in the past. MAQMAP is now Relief for Rafah (R4R), as the organisers and inhabitants of the camp return to their homes across Gaza.

Relief for Rafah needs funding to provide clean drinking water, food, and cash assistance to families in the Al-Genina District of Rafah. Despite the ceasefire, the aid entering the strip is not meeting the needs of the Palestinians in Rafah. Clean drinking water is desperately needed as well as edible food. Not to mention, the level of displacement remains high, with many families returning to piles of rubble. We aim to step in where the international aid organizations aren't. By donating, you are helping us sustain dignity, life, and love within the community. Your contributions will go to providing food, water, and basic life neccesities. Please help in rebuilding the lives that were destroyed by supporting and sharing our work.

I am personally organising bank transfers for this organisation and have been in personal contact with the organisers for some time. I can assure you that your donations are doing important work in Rafah.

[mahmodsafy]

please don't ignore my story

I am Mahmoud Safi, currently living in the completely destroyed city of Gaza.

Since the start of the war on Gaza on October 10, 2023, we have been living in very difficult conditions under horrific bombing, frightening sounds of aircraft, and genocide. Many of my family members have lost their children. They suffer from a lack of food and clean drinking water, which has caused malnutrition for my children, as well as a shortage of medicine and baby formula. 💔 My home was bombed twice, and we miraculously survived. My brother is now martyred. We were displaced under the bombing to the Mawasi area of ​​Khan Yunis. My wife was in her ninth month of pregnancy during the displacement, and she went into labor while we were fleeing our home to the displacement site. Fear, displacement, and the pain of childbirth combined for her, as she was alone without anyone from her family or mine. She gave birth to a child, and there was no shelter, clothes, diapers, or milk for the child. 🍉 We live in a dilapidated tent due to the weather conditions. In light of the above, we now live in a tent that lacks the most basic necessities of life, as we are unable to protect ourselves from the cold of winter or the heat of summer. 💔 Your donation €50 for my children will save their lives from death and help us resist the difficult circumstances of life. With your help, we will reach safety. You are a people of humanity and kindness. Please do not ignore my story. Your donation is important and necessary. It will make a difference for my children, even if it is a little. I will be very grateful.

✅️Vetted by

@gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #613 )✅️

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

so... i'm seeing a lot of activism (like, actual activism, not just tumblr posts--letters & scripts to us senators, for example, copy written for press, etc) focusing on improving ventilation & filtration as primarily an access issue for immunocompromised people. basically, presenting the argument as "this is in service of this demographic, who is blocked from public access currently."

this is like. true. of course. it is the main reason i want clean air and i think it is the most pressing reason overall for it. but i think it's the wrong tack for building a clean air movement and getting legislation passed.

like, unfortunately, the vast majority of people in power--and of americans in general, tbh--are not immunocompromised and do not have immunocompromised roommates or family members. should you have to have this experience to understand that public access is a big fucking deal for, like, staying alive? no! you shouldn't! but most people straight up will not understand whatsoever unless they have personal experience with immune compromisation.

trying to change hearts and minds to have cognitive sympathy for disabled people takes a long time, decades' worth of work to just change a handful of people; meanwhile, getting legislation passed is 1) imminently important, 2) while still a lengthy process, takes significantly less time if it doesn't hinge on first converting the majority of the population to have sympathy for a marginalized demographic they have no contact with (and yes, they have no contact with us because we are barred from public access to begin with, again, i am aware of how fucked up this is).

here's some arguments for passing clean air legislation that are designed to appeal to a normative, conservative-leaning crowd:

air filtration is a public health and sanitation baseline just like running water. we provide clean water to drink and wash our hands in as a baseline for public life; we should also be providing clean air to breathe similarly.

improved ventilation and filtration in schools results in less sick days for students, meaning better attendance and less time off work for parents.

improved ventilation and filtration in the workplace results in workers taking less sick days. it also makes it less troublesome when a coworker comes in sick; it's less likely you will have to take sick leave as a result.

improved ventilation and filtration in hospitals, doctors' offices, etc, helps combat the health care worker shortage by reducing the amount of sick leave health care workers need. it additionally makes hospitals safer overall; for example, it makes it safer for cancer patients to be in the same building with patients with highly infectious airborne illnesses such as chickenpox.

improved ventilation and filtration in public buildings at large could improve the economy, as less workers stay home, more people enter the workforce, more people begin attending public businesses like bars and venues, etc.

if government programs to upgrade ventilation and filtration are created, this could create jobs for blue-collar workers, further improving the economy.

the last note i have is that, as much as this sucks shit, don't mention covid as much as you can avoid it. covid has become a massive culture war thing in the usa and as soon as you bring it up, the entire discussion becomes about virtue-signaling and showing in-group affinity--it doesn't matter what you're saying about covid, anyone who thinks "covid is over" will immediately shut down and become incapable of listening to anything else you have to say. and unfortunately, a majority of the population does, in fact, think covid is an irrelevant concern even for immunocompromised people in 2024.

importantly, all general air sanitation improvements will improve the covid situation significantly. in this context, you do not have to talk about covid in order to make real, material changes limiting the spread of covid. system-level changes that limit the spread of things like the flu and chickenpox are equally effective in limiting the spread of covid. take advantage of that!

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── PRETTY PRIVILEGE . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka you're jake's pretty, and he'll always give you pretty (princess) privilege.

── sim jaeyun xf!reader ౨ৎ wc. 981 ⌗ crack, fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption, literally just crack, jake loves to spoil yn ugh when is it my turn

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── this one's a cutesy, short & sweet one! just a lil slice of life for ya. i love these little slices of life of jakeyn, pls give me more ideas/scenarios because they're my literal babies im never letting them go ever ever ever ever ever ever

You wake up feeling like death incarnate.

Your skull is throbbing. Your throat is dry. Your stomach is playing a dangerous game of will I or won’t I hurl all over my sheets?

The sunshine slipping through your curtains feel personally offensive to your eyes, and worst of all—

Your memory is vaguely plagued with Jungwon’s voice yelling at you to take just one more shot, because it’s in the name of lifelong friendship.

And you, the absolute genius you are, agreed.

Your life is in shambles.

You’re one second away from giving up on your future and letting the bed consume you when—

“Morning, pretty.”

The voice is soft. Sweet. Familiar.

And infuriatingly cheerful.

You groan, cracking one eye open to see your boyfriend sitting on the edge of the bed close to you, smiling down at you like he woke up next to Sleeping Beauty herself and not a half-dead raccoon.

“Ew,” you croak, “Why do you sound so alive.”

Jake chuckles, bright and so boyish, entirely too entertained the suffering of your consequences, “Because I wasn’t the one peer pressured into drinking my body weight in tequila.”

You let out a dramatic groan, flipping your body face-first into your pillow, “This is why I have trust issues. Never speaking to Jungwon ever again. Ever.”

“Mmhm. Sure you aren’t,” Jake hums, poking your cheek. “Anyway. Sit up.”

You let out a long whine into your pillow, kicking your feet in protest, “Whyyyyy—”

“Because I made you breakfast.”

Your head jerks up from the pillow.

You crack one eye open.

And sure enough, right there on your nightstand—

An entire set up you didn’t notice before.

A perfect omelette—with cheese and onions and ham and slightly overcooked because Jake knows you won’t have it any other way.

Next to it, a small bowl of chopped fruit, a glass of ice water, two painkillers, and—

“Pause. Is that my iced peach latte?”

“Yup,” Jake smiles proudly, nodding as he reaches over to pass the cup to you, “70% sugar. Less ice. I bribed the barista with a 20% tip to give me a plastic straw because I know you hate the paper ones.”

You take a slow sip. Let it sink in. Then you look back at him.

“God, I love you.”

Jake watches as you flop dramatically onto your stomach again, blindly reaching out to grab a strawberry…and miserably failing.

“Baby, just sit up,” he lets out a laugh, guiding you upright with his annoyingly gentle hands, fluffing your pillow behind you to lean against the headboard. “Much better.”

You sigh, leaning against the headboard, melting into the comfort of your bed as he tucks the blanket perfectly around your legs, “I don’t deserve this.”

Jake snorts, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your temple, “You deserve everything.”

Once you’re settled in your place, you look down and—

Wait.

You blink.

Once. Then twice.

Your (read: Jake’s) favorite hoodie is draped over your body instead of last night’s party dress. Your hands reach up to your face and—it’s clean. Your makeup is already off. And your hair? Well, god forbid it’s still messy after your slumber, but it’s not a bird’s nest. Which means—

“Did you…like. Take care of me last night?”

Jake lets out a chuckle as he feeds you a piece of omelette, “What else am I supposed to do? Let you drool all over your pillow with mascara smudged up to your forehead?”

You choke on the mouthful of food, “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, oh my god is right—” Jake just snickers, remembering the vivid memories from the night before. “You’re lucky I love you, because last night you were literally the most annoying drunk in existence—”

“HEY—”

“—you made Sunghoon hold your heels while you piggybacked Jay—”

“Oh, that’s actually kinda funny—”

“—then you cried because you saw a billboard of a puppy adoption center and wanted to pet the dog on the poster—”

“...Okay, fine, that one sounds accurate—”

“—and then, my personal favorite, you demanded I play with your hair and sing you songs until you fell asleep.”

You pause.

Jake is full-on grinning now, smile wide and full of endearment as he’s clearly reveling in the way your cheeks turn pink.

“I hate you,” you mumble before opening your mouth to let him feed you another bite.

Jake chuckles, feeding you another spoon before nudging you over so he can slide under the blanket next to you, “You love me.”

You huff dramatically, your cheeks warm as you drop your head onto his shoulder, “Unfortunately.”

Jake presses another kiss into your hair—warm and soft and so, so clearly smitten.

“And fortunately for you, I accept all forms of Y/N, including this spoiled gremlin princess version of you.”

You roll your eyes, but cuddle in closer, his arm wrapping around your waist naturally.

He grabs another strawberry and lifts it to your lips, “Say ahh.”

You snort, but open up anyways, accepting it at this point.

“I should drink more often if this is the treatment I get.”

Jake faces you with a look of fond exasperation, “You mean the pretty privilege?”

“Yup,” you flash him a smug grin, nudging his shoulder. “You’re really gonna let me get away with everything forever because I’m cute, huh?”

“Yes,” he says. Instantly. Without blinking.

“Even when I cry over billboard dogs?”

“Especially when you cry over billboard dogs.”

You grin wider.

“Sounds like a you problem. I almost feel sorry.”

Jake smirks, cutting another bite and feeding it to you, “Sounds like a me win.”

And honestly?

With him holding you close, spoon-feeding your breakfast, brushing your hair out of your face—

You’d believe it too.

Because, maybe your hangover is hell.

And maybe you’ll never speak to Jungwon ever again.

But being Jake’s spoiled little gremlin princess?

Yeah.

That’s definitely your prettiest privilege.

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[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and you aren't around so they're in charge of their children.

pairing: dad & husband! alhaitham, kaveh, kaedehara kazuha, lyney, wriothesley x fem! reader

cw: original characters, domesticity, fluff. characters may look a bit ooc or not.

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

ALHAITHAM

Hakim stirred restlessly beneath the blankets, his small face flushed with fever as his jade-green eyes slowly blinked open. A soft whimper escaped his lips, catching your attention, seated at the edge of his bed, pressing a damp cloth against his forehead.

“How are you feeling, my love?” you asked gently, brushing aside strands of his silver hair.

Hakim mumbled, burrowing deeper into the warmth of the covers. “It hurts, mummy... 'm hot…”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and your husband stepped inside, his usual impassive expression in place, though his gaze softened slightly at the sight of his son.

“I'll stay with him today,” Alhaitham said simply, crossing his arms.

You blinked. “Are you sure? Won't they miss you at work or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” his voice left no room for debate. “Hakim needs someone here, and you have an important meeting to attend.”

You hesitated but then sighed, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you, dear.” You pressed a kiss to Hakim's temple before standing up. “I'll leave some potions and instructions in the kitchen. Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.”

Alhaitham gave a small nod, already rolling up his sleeves. “Go. He's in good hands.”

“I know he is,” you smiled softly and left, casting one last glance at your son before slipping out the door.

The morning that followed was mostly spent with Alhaitham staying by Hakim’s side, ensuring his comfort. Carefully, he fed the boy warm herbal soup, patiently insisting that he take slow sips, even when Hakim scrunched up his face at the taste.

“It's bitter…” Hakim murmured, wrinkling his nose.

“It's medicine, not dessert,” Alhaitham replied flatly. “You need to take it to get better.”

With a small sigh, Hakim relented, leaning tiredly against his father as he took another reluctant sip.

When the fever made Hakim restless, Alhaitham prepared a lukewarm bath, carefully lowering his son into the water. His touch was firm but gentle as he washed away the sticky sweat clinging to the boy’s skin. Hakim whimpered when the cooler water trickled over his forehead, but Alhaitham ran a calming hand through his damp hair, murmuring, “I know, Kim. Just a little longer.” 

When Hakim was finally cleaned and dressed with a new and fresh pair of pajamas, the scribe carried him back to bed, tucking him snugly beneath the covers. The soft hum of the ceiling fan and the steady presence of his father seemed to soothe the little boy, allowing him to finally rest.

It didn't take too long for Alhaitham also notice Hakim’s fever began to subside as his breathing grew more even. Seizing the opportunity, Alhaitham went about tidying the house—washing the dishes, straightening the furniture, and even preparing a simple but nutritious meal for later.

Once everything was in order, he headed to Hakim’s bedroom again and checked his asleep form from the doorframe, humming in satisfaction at the relaxed sight in the boy's features. With everything running as good as it could possibly be, Alhaitham finally settled onto the couch back in the living room, a book in hand, savoring the rare silence.

But it didn’t last long.

A small, sleepy voice called across the hall. “Baba?”

Alhaitham closed his book, immediately standing and making his way to Hakim’s room. The boy was sitting up, his eyes drowsy but alert. Without a word, Alhaitham effortlessly scooped him up, carrying him back to the couch.

“I'm here,” he murmured as he sat down, cradling Hakim against his chest. The boy clung to him sleepily, nuzzling into his father’s warmth.

Alhaitham picked up his book again and opened it. “Want me to read to you?”

Hakim gave a small nod, and without changing his calm tone, Alhaitham began reading his current text—an academic study on the evolution of Teyvat language.

The words were dense and complex, but the steady rhythm of his father’s voice lulled Hakim into a peaceful state, his blinks growing slower and slower.

By the time Alhaitham reached the end of the chapter, Hakim was already fast asleep.

A rare, faint smile touched Alhaitham’s lips as he adjusted a blanket around his son, pressing a silent kiss to his silver hair.

The house remained quiet, but this time, it was a comforting kind of silence.

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

The Kaedehara estate was unusually quiet that first night without you. 

Kazuha sat on the floor with Haruki nestled against his chest, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of his father’s haori. The little one had been fussier than usual, missing the warmth of his mother’s presence. Kazumi and Kiyomi sat on either side of him, their faces a mix of uncertainty and longing.

“Mama will be back soon, I promise,” Kazuha murmured, gently rubbing Haruki’s back. “But in the meantime, we must carry on and make the most of our days.”

Kiyomi leaned her head against Kazuha’s shoulder, letting out a little sigh. “I miss her…”

Kazumi, trying to be strong for his younger siblings, nodded but kept quiet. He wouldn’t admit how much he missed you too. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with Kiyomi’s, squeezing her hand.

That night, Kazuha tucked them all into bed with extra care. Haruki, after much rocking, finally drifted into a peaceful sleep. Kiyomi clutched one of your scarves as she dozed off, and Kazumi, despite his usual independence, asked if Kazuha would stay until he fell asleep. Kazuha did, running his fingers gently through his firstborn’s hair until his breathing evened out.

By the third day of your absence, though, the household had found a rhythm. Kazuha had planned small adventures to keep the children engaged. 

In the morning he’d reserve his time to help the older kids with their homework, his calm voice guiding them through difficult subjects. However, as soon as they got restless, he’d take all of them outside to the garden, where they played or trained together—Kiyomi, full of energy, attempting to mimic her father’s fluid sword techniques, and Kazumi practicing precise movements with quiet focus. Haruki, too small to participate, sat comfortably in his playpen, giggling at his siblings’ enthusiasm and having fun with his own toys as well.

Afternoons were filled with quieter moments, though.

Kazuha would prepare a meal, tying an apron around his waist as he balanced Haruki on his hip. Kiyomi eagerly assisted, though her true goal seemed to be sneaking tastes of the ingredients, while Kazumi helped set the table. After meals, Kazuha would help them to bathe and after everything was done, he'd gather everyone in the living room to read fairytale books to them—the soothing melody of his voice lulling Haruki into peaceful naps. Kiyomi would often lean against him, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth coming from her father's body, while Kazumi listened intently, his expression relaxed.

As the last afternoon before your return arrived, Kazuha gathered the children. “What’d you guys like to do today?”

“Street market!” Kiyomi and Kazumi chorused in excitement and Haruki clapped, almost like in agreement.

And so, the four of them ventured into town.

The marketplace was bustling with life—vendors calling out their wares, the scent of freshly grilled skewers wafting through the air, and colorful lanterns swaying overhead. Kazuha carried Haruki in one arm while holding Kiyomi’s hand in the other, with Kazumi walking confidently beside him.

“Ooh! Dango! Can we have one, please, 'tōchan?” Kiyomi blinked cutely.

Kazuha chuckled but agreed, purchasing a few sticks, ensuring Haruki had a small, soft piece to nibble on as well. 

They then stopped by a goldfish-scooping stall, where Kiyomi leaned forward with intense focus, trying to catch a golden fish.

“Careful now, Kiki,” Kazumi teased. “You don’t want to break the paper too fast.”

“I know what I’m doing!” the little girl huffed, her tongue sticking out slightly in determination. With careful precision, she managed to scoop up a small, wriggling fish, beaming proudly.

Kazumi gave it a try too, and while he had an air of confidence, his first scoop tore almost instantly. “Eh?” He blinked in surprise before laughing. Kazuha smiled beside him. 

“Even the steady hand of a swordsman can falter.”

With the sun beginning to set, they picked up some sweet pastries to bring home, a treat to celebrate the end of their eventful week.

Back to the estate, as the children helped set the table for dinner, Kazumi and Kiyomi whispered excitedly about their surprise at your return. Kiyomi arranged a bouquet of wildflowers they had gathered earlier, while Kazumi wrote a small welcome-home poem on a slip of parchment.

“I’ll make it extra pretty so mama loves it!” she declared proudly.

Haruki, too young to contribute much, remained in Kazuha’s arms, drowsily sucking on his pacifier. Kazuha smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to each of his children's heads. “I think she’ll be very happy to see all of you.”

And as the evening settled, Kazuha couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth in his heart. Even in your absence, your family had flourished, finding joy in each other’s company. Soon, you’d return, and your home would feel complete once more. But for now, he cherished the quiet laughter of his children, the scent of fresh flowers, and the anticipation of a joyful reunion.

KAVEH

Kaveh heaved a deep sigh as he stepped into his home, rolling his sore shoulders and rubbing his temple. The day had been grueling—endless site inspections, client complaints, and the ever-looming threat of deadlines.

The first thing that welcomed him was the scent of roses and something faintly herbal drifted through the air, drawing his attention toward the living room. And just in there you stood—giving the makeup a last touch-up with your hair pinned up with golden accessories, and a white qipao embracing your curves.

He nearly forgot his exhaustion.

“You look stunning, azizam,” he murmured, lips curving into a tired but genuine smile.

You turned at his voice, brows immediately furrowing in concern. “And you look exhausted, Kaveh. My goodness! It is starting to make me reconsider if I should go. I can stay—”

“No, no, absolutely not,” Kaveh waved a hand, marching forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “You deserve this night out. I can handle Zahra.”

“She can be a handful.”

“She is my handful, and I adore it,” he said, puffing his chest despite the clear fatigue in his voice. “Besides, I have a foolproof plan: playtime, dinner, bath, story time, sleep. Easy.”

You hummed, unconvinced, but he gave you an exaggerated grin and a thumbs-up. “Go, enjoy yourself. The girls are waiting, and if I recall, you’ve said something about have being challenged at dice again.”

That earned a chuckle from you, who finally relented. “Alright. But if you need me, don’t hesitate to come at me. I’m dead serious.”

Kaveh saluted you dramatically. “Yes, ma’am!”

With one last glance—one that lingered, as if memorizing him just in case—you left. The moment the door shut, Kaveh slumped against its wood with a deep sigh. Still, he didn't stay there for too long and soon crossed around the house's corridors looking for his daughter.

Zahra was in the middle of a grand pillow fortress when he found her, golden eyes bright with mischief. “Hi Daddy! Look! I made a castle!”

Kaveh grinned, kneeling beside her. “It's magnificent, my little architect. But I think it needs a tower here… and maybe a secret passage here?”

She gasped, completely entranced as the two of them got to work. What was meant to be a quick addition turned into an hour-long session of castle enhancements, dragon-slaying, and a daring escape from an imaginary evil mage.

Dinner followed, a messy affair of Zahra insisting she could eat with her hands and Kaveh attempting (and failing) to get her to use a spoon. “Zahra, my love, pasta is not finger food—oh, Archons, now it's in your hair!”

After a particularly splashy bath—where more water seemed to end up on Kaveh than in the tub—he wrestled a giggling Zahra into her pajamas. “You, little miss, are far too energetic tonight. Let’s get you into bed before I turn into a prune.”

Tucking Zahra into bed was the easiest part. Reading to her, however, was where the real challenge began.

“Tonight’s story is…” Kaveh yawned, flipping open a book, “The Adventure of the Clever Fox.”

He cleared his throat, sitting up straight. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly.

“Once upon a time in a vast forest—” a second yawn broke through “—lived a cunning fox who outwitted everyone he met.”

Zahra giggled as Kaveh attempted voices: a sly, slinking tone for the fox, a gruff, burly one for the bear, and a high-pitched squeak for the rabbit. But his words grew slower, syllables melting together.

“And then the fox said… said… uh…”

Zahra peeked up from under her blanket. “What did the fox say, daddy?”

Kaveh blinked rapidly, shaking himself awake. “Ah, yes! The fox said… Oh! Right. He said—” Another yawn. Another pause. “He said…”

Silence.

Zahra sat up. “Daddy?”

He was slumped against the headboard, mouth slightly open, the book resting on his chest nearly falling on the ground.

Asleep.

Zahra giggled and poked her father's cheek, testing how deep he fell asleep. Kaveh, in response, remained out like a light, completely oblivious to his surroundings. She took the book from his chest, flipping to a random page. “And then the fox said—” she mimicked, turning the book upside down and reading in an exaggerated voice, though the words were nowhere near what was actually written.

When you returned home a couple of hours later, you were greeted by an unexpected sight: Zahra, wide awake, cross-legged on the bed, reading (or attempting to) while Kaveh snored beside her.

You bit back a laugh, stepping forward. “What’s going on here?”

Zahra beamed. “Daddy slept before telling me what the fox said, so I read it for him!”

You leaned down, brushing back Kaveh’s hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He barely stirred.

“You did a great job, sweetheart," you whispered, picking Zahra up. “But it's past your bedtime. How about you sleep with mommy tonight? Let's let daddy get some rest here tonight.”

The little girl eagerly agreed, and you led her back to your own bedroom, quickly stripping off your robes and accessories and getting your nighttime routine going so that Zahra wouldn't be kept awake waiting for you for too long.

As you settled beside your daughter under the blankets, Zahra’s sleepy voice murmured, “Daddy tried his best…”

You chuckled, putting a stroke of her blonde hair behind her ear. “He really did, didn't he?”

And as Zahra drifted off to sleep in the warmth of your embrace, across the hall, Kaveh let out a soft snore, his hand twitching slightly, as if still lost in dreams of clever foxes and bedtime stories.

LYNEY

The morning light gently streamed through the curtains of the twins' bedroom, casting a delicate golden glow over the cozy space. 

Lyney leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a soft smile on his lips as he observed the scene before him—two little lumps hidden beneath a sea of blankets, completely indifferent to the sunrise light.

“Time to wake up, little ones,” he called playfully, taking a few steps into the room. No response. He sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “What a tragedy! It seems my dear children have been turned into statues overnight! What should I do?” Still nothing. He could hear their soft breathing, confirming they weren’t so asleep as before.

Smiling, he tried a different approach. “Oh my... I guess I’ll have to eat all the pancakes by myself.”

Quentin’s reaction was immediate. The little boy threw the blankets aside, revealing a mess of tousled hair. “Pancakes?” He said almost in disbelief, his purple eyes still half-closed from sleep, but already moving by instinct. He jumped out of bed in a hurry, only pausing to give his father a good morning kiss on the cheek before dashing to the bathroom.

Lyney laughed, rubbing the spot where his son had kissed him. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

He turned his attention to Corinne, who was still curled up under the covers, unmoving. Lyney crouched beside the bed and gently pulled the blankets down just enough to reveal his daughter’s sleepy and serene little face. “Cori, sweetheart, time to wake up,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

A small whimper escaped her lips as she snuggled deeper into the warmth of her bed. “’m still sleepy, papa…”

Lyney’s heart melted. “I know baby girl, but it's time to get up…” he murmured, sliding his arms under her small body. Corinne let out a soft sigh as he effortlessly lifted her, her sleepy little head resting against his shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple before carrying her to the twins’ shared bathroom, where Quentin was already washing his face.

With one hand, Lyney dampened a cloth and gently wiped Corinne’s face. She mumbled softly but didn’t resist. “There, all fresh and beautiful,” Lyney sang, helping her brush her teeth and comb her hair.

“Papa!” Corinne murmured when he picked up the brush to separate her silky strands for a braid. “Not too tight.”

Lyney immediately loosened his touch. “Oh! Sorry,” he quickly apologized, loosening the braid a bit more. She let out a small sound of approval, allowing him to continue. Once he was done, he tied it with a lilac ribbon. “Voilà! Ready for breakfast.”

With both children's morning routine done and they dressed properly, the trio finally made their way to the kitchen, where a stack of fluffy pancakes awaited them. The twins eagerly dug in, Quentin pouring syrup over his pancakes while Corinne savored each bite slowly. Lyney couldn’t help but smile as he sipped his morning tea, watching his little ones enjoy their meal.

The rest of the morning was filled with activities. First, he helped them with their homework—simple number and letter exercises—then came cleaning time, which quickly turned into playful chaos.

Quentin and Corinne tried to help with dusting and sweeping, but their tiny hands only made more of a mess. At one point, Quentin tripped over the broom, sending dust flying everywhere, making his twin sister burst into laughter. Lyney sighed, knowing he would’ve to redo everything later, but their joyful laughter made it all worth it.

By noon, it was time for lunch. “Let’s make something special,” Lyney suggested, flipping through your recipe book.

“Ooh! Moon pie, moon pie!” Corinne pointed excitedly at a page.

Lyney raised an eyebrow. “Ah, ambitious! But why not? Let’s do it.”

Quentin tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Please, no onions, papa.”

The magician chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair. “No onions, got it.”

Cooking with the twins turned the kitchen into absolute chaos. Flour covered their faces and hair, bits of dough stuck to their fingers, and eggshells ended up in the most unexpected places. Quentin was in charge of mixing the filling, while Corinne carefully arranged the crust. At one point, Lyney noticed Corinne placing tiny decorative stars on top of the pie with an expression of absolute concentration.

“It looks wonderful, Cori,” Lyney praised, kissing her forehead.

With the pie in the oven, they moved on to making cookies, shaping them into hearts, moons, and even little cat faces. Quentin insisted on adding extra chocolate chips, saying it was “the secret to making them magical.”

By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was a disaster, but the pie smelled divine. They sat down to eat together, and even Lyney had to admit—it was delicious.

After lunch, the twin began yawning, their morning energy finally running out. Kitchen could be cleaned later. At this very moment, Lyney just wanted to enjoy his children a little bit more. 

The magician guided them to the couch, covering them with a soft blanket there. “Why don’t you take a little nap while the cookies are still baking? By the time you wake up they‘ll be ready to be eaten,” he whispered, gently stroking their hair.

Corinne nodded and snuggled against him, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I love you, papa,” she murmured sleepily.

Quentin, already half-asleep, echoed, “Love you, papa…”

Lyney’s heart swelled as he pressed a soft kiss to each of their heads. “Je vous aime aussi, mes amours.”

As their breathing slowed, Lyney remained there, holding them close, listening to the soft hum of the oven and the gentle patter of rain against the window. A moment of peace, perfect—a memory he'd cherish forever.

WRIOTHESLEY

The morning air of the Fortress of Meropide carried the scent of sea salt and diesel oil from the working machines, mingling with the distant murmur of underground streams.

Back in his family private quarters, though, Wriothesley sat at the dining table, sipping his black tea calmly as he thumbed through the latest news from The Steambird. Across from him, you hurriedly nibbled on a slice of toast, your mind clearly elsewhere.

“I wish you’d eat more before leaving,” Wriothesley murmured, watching as you stood up and brushed the crumbs off your hands.

“Yeah, I know. But I woke up at the last minute today. I’ll make sure to grab something later, though. Don’t worry,” you assured him, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Cameron is your responsibility today. Behave, love.”

His lips curved into a playful smirk. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?”

You only smirked before heading toward the door. “Bye, sweetheart! Have fun with your dad today!” you called over your shoulder.

From the hallway, a soft voice replied, “Bye, mommy.”

Wriothesley turned just in time to see his son, still in pajamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he entered the dining room.

“Good morning, champ,” Wriothesley greeted warmly. “Hungry?”

Cameron nodded but didn’t ask for help. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, carefully pushing a stool to the counter so he could reach the bread and jam. Wriothesley watched in an amused delight, resting his chin on his hand, as his six-year-old meticulously prepared his own breakfast. His heart swelled with pride—Cameron was growing up so fast.

“You know... I could've made something else for you,” Wriothesley suggested, taking another sip of tea.

“That's okay, daddy. I can do it myself,” the little boy replied, spreading the jam on his toast with determined focus.

A small chuckle escaped Wriothesley. Not long ago, he carried this boy everywhere, and now Cameron was set on doing things on his own.

After finishing his meal, Cameron cleaned up his own messy by putting them into the dishwasher, heading to the bathroom where he brush his teeth, and a couple of minutes later, he returned to his father already dressed. Wriothesley looked at him approvingly, though he couldn’t help the bittersweet pang in his chest.

“Alright, let’s head to my office,” Wriothesley said, ruffling Cameron’s hair. The boy pouted but didn’t protest much.

Once inside the office, Cameron settled on the floor with his building blocks while Wriothesley started his reports. The steady sound of wood tapping against wood filled the room as Cameron focused on his creation, occasionally pausing to inspect it with critical eyes.

“Need help with that?” Wriothesley asked, noticing that Cameron was struggling to balance a particularly tall structure.

“No, I can do it.”

“Alright, alright.” Wriothesley chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair—but his eyes never went too far from his son's little form.

A few moments later, Cameron found himself tired of playing so he decided to jump to another activity. He picked up a homework book from his school bag he had brought earlier and started scribbling some numbers and letters. It wasn’t long before his pencil stopped, and he frowned at the page.

“Stuck on something?” Wriothesley asked.

Cameron hesitated, gripping his pencil tighter, but he said nothing. He could handle the problem by himself easily. Well… that’s what he wanted to believe, at least.

Wriothesley smiled knowingly but let him try. Only after five more minutes did Cameron finally give in, standing up and walking shyly over to his father’s desk.

“Uh…Daddy,” he murmured, almost in a whisper. “Can you help me with this?”

Wriothesley’s heart melted at the timid request. He patted his lap, and when Cameron hesitated, he gently pulled him up to sit there, just like he used to when he was smaller. “Of course, Cam. Let’s take a look.”

Together, they worked through the problem, Wriothesley’s voice soft and patient. Cameron, despite all his independence, nestled into his father’s warmth, his small fingers gripping Wriothesley’s sleeve.

Maybe he was growing up, but he’d always be Wriothesley’s little boy.

And that was more than enough.

[ramservices1]

Ensuring Safe Drinking Water: The Importance of Regular RO Purifier Service

In today’s world, ensuring safe drinking water is more crucial than ever. Water pollution from industrial discharge, agricultural runoff, and urban waste can introduce harmful contaminants into our water supply. Reverse Osmosis (RO) purifiers have become a popular choice for ensuring clean drinking water, but their effectiveness hinges on regular maintenance. This blog will delve into why RO purifier service is essential, the Importance of Regular RO Purifier Service and  the benefits of regular water purifier maintenance, and practical tips to keep your RO system running smoothly.

Understanding the Need for Safe Drinking Water

Safe drinking water is vital for maintaining overall health. Contaminated water can lead to a variety of health issues, including gastrointestinal infections, reproductive problems, and neurological disorders. The role of an RO purifier is to remove contaminants such as bacteria, viruses, heavy metals, and chemicals, ensuring that the water you consume is free from harmful substances.

The Role of RO Purifiers

RO purifiers use a semi-permeable membrane to filter out impurities from water. They effectively remove contaminants that are too small to be captured by conventional filters. However, for an RO system to function efficiently, regular servicing is essential. Without proper maintenance, the system’s performance can degrade, compromising the quality of your drinking water.

The Importance of Regular RO Purifier Service

1. Ensures Consistent Performance

Regular RO purifier service ensures that your system operates at peak efficiency. Over time, filters and membranes can become clogged with impurities, reducing their effectiveness. Routine maintenance helps identify and address issues before they impact the performance of your RO system.

2. Prevents Costly Repairs

Neglecting regular water purifier maintenance can lead to major problems that require expensive repairs. Routine servicing can catch minor issues early, preventing them from escalating into more significant and costly repairs.

3. Maintains Water Quality

The primary function of an RO purifier is to provide clean drinking water. Regular RO maintenance ensures that the filters and membranes are functioning correctly, which is crucial for maintaining high water quality. Without regular servicing, the efficiency of these components can diminish, leading to compromised water safety.

4. Extends the Life of Your System

A well-maintained RO purifier can last significantly longer than one that is neglected. Regular maintenance helps keep all components in good working condition, reducing wear and tear and extending the overall lifespan of your system.

5. Optimizes System Efficiency

Over time, sediment, minerals, and other contaminants can accumulate in the filters and membranes of your RO system. Regular servicing ensures that these components are cleaned or replaced as needed, which helps maintain optimal efficiency and performance.

Continue Reading: https://ramservicesandsales.com/2024/08/16/importance-of-regular-ro-purifier-service/

[reasonsforhope]

ETA: Article here (can't believe I forgot this rip)

A new study finds you can reduce the amount of microplastics you drink simply by boiling your water.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposure.

Nano- and microplastics are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter.

Boiling and filtering your tap water may dramatically lower the amount of microplastics you drink, according to new research.

Recent studies have found that nano- and microplastics (NMPs), which are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter, have been found in a host of products and even in tap water.

A new study, published February 28 in Environmental Science & Technology Letters, found that boiling mineral-rich water for just five minutes can reduce the amount of NMP you’re exposed to by up to 90%.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposureTrusted Source, but growing evidenceTrusted Source suggests the plastics can accumulate in the body and trigger oxidative stress, inflammation, insulin resistance, and liver issues.

Certain advanced water filtration systems can capture and help remove some NMPs from tap water. But researchers wanted to figure out other options to remove microplastics, especially since in poorer countries cheaper, more accessible solutions for clean water are needed.

Boiling water may be a safe, simple solution that can effectively decontaminate household tap water, the new findings suggest.

“Boiling water before drinking is a great example of an ancient cultural practice that can help reduce an environmental exposure,” Dr. Luz Claudio, PhD, a professor of environmental medicine and public health at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, told Healthline.

Claudio was not involved in the study.

How boiling water can help remove microplastics

The researchers found simply boiling water is the first step to removing NMPs from tap water.

The researchers collected multiple samples of tap water from Guangzhou, China and contaminated the samples with varying levels of NMPs.

Each sample was boiled for five minutes then left to cool for 10 minutes.

Boiling hard water that’s rich with minerals — such as calcium or magnesium — creates a chalk-like residue known as limescale, or calcium carbonate (CaCO3), which can trap the plastics.

That solid, chalky residue then had to be separated and removed from the water with a standard coffee filter or stainless steel filter, thereby removing NMPs.

The team found that the impact was greatest in harder water: In samples that had 300 milligrams of CaCO3, for example, nearly 90% of NMPs were removed.

In softer water samples with less than 60 mg of CaCO3, roughly 25% of NMPs were removed.

“What’s important to note here is that the effectiveness of trapping these micro/nano plastics in these mineral solids is tied to how hard the water is – the harder the water, the more solids are formed, the more microplastics are trapped,” Dr. Anja Brandon, PhD, the associate director of U.S. plastics policy at Ocean Conservancy and an environmental engineer, told Healthline.

Brandon was not involved in the study...

How to limit your exposure to microplastics 

Anyone who wishes to boil their water should do so in a glass or stainless steel pot.

After boiling the water for about five minutes, let it cool, and do not stir it, Claudio says.

The microplastics need to bind to the calcium and fall to the bottom of the pot so they can filtered or scooped out."

-via Healthline, February 28, 2024

[ccupcakqs]

— Miss America & Mr. Melbourne ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: not proof read, tooth rotting fluff, oscar's a huge softie pairing: oscar piastri x first daughter!reader a/n: from a request, idk not my best fic in my opinion

it starts with a mistake.

not the kind that causes chaos, or lands you on the front page of every newspaper in the country. just a soft, silly kind of mistake. the kind that might make the secret service frown, but won’t trigger a full lockdown.

it’s miami. it’s hot. it’s loud. it’s crowded in that way that makes your security team nervous, and you restless.

it’s also the first time in six months that you’ve managed to convince your father’s chief of staff that you don’t need a formal schedule for the weekend. technically, you’re attending the grand prix in an “informal diplomatic capacity,” which just means you’re allowed to smile for cameras but not say anything interesting.

so instead of sitting in a hospitality suite with senators and ceos, you wander.

in sneakers. in sunglasses. in a bucket hat you stole from one of the interns.

you ditch your detail for a little while — not recklessly. just enough to breathe. they know where you are, roughly. you’re not reckless. just tired of being watched.

somewhere around turn nine, you find a wall of orange — and duck behind it.

it’s just a canvas divider, separating the mclaren hospitality area from the paddock walkway. you’re not supposed to be here. no one says anything, but you know the rules.

still, it’s cooler in the shade. and quieter.

until someone steps around the corner.

he’s tall. not imposing. just… tall. clean lines. race suit unzipped and tied around his waist. dark hair damp from his helmet. and eyes — bright, amused, gold-flecked — that land on you like he already knows something you don’t.

he blinks. you blink.

"this is… definitely not the red bull lounge," you say, deadpan.

he huffs a laugh. “no, not quite.”

and that’s the moment it begins.

not with fireworks. not with recognition. just with a stranger behind a curtain, on a hot saturday in miami, looking at you like you’re not the president’s daughter — just a girl.

and for the first time in a long while, you feel like one.

he doesn’t ask who you are.

maybe he doesn’t know. or maybe he does, but decides not to make it weird. either way, you’re grateful.

you lean your shoulder against the canvas divider, squinting at the pit lane past his elbow.

“you’re oscar,” you say. not a question.

his lips twitch. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

“neither are you,” you counter, a smile tugging at your mouth.

“i drive here.”

“i walked.”

he raises a brow, like he knows that isn’t the full story, but doesn’t press. instead, he glances over his shoulder, makes sure no one’s listening, and lowers his voice just enough to feel like a secret.

“you’re supposed to be in the ferrari suite.”

“that obvious?”

he shrugs. “you’re wearing a mclaren hat.”

you blink. reach up. realize you grabbed the wrong one from the hospitality desk.

“shit.”

he laughs. it’s quiet, but genuine.

you’re not sure why you’re still standing there, tucked behind a canvas wall with him. you could leave. your phone is buzzing with unanswered texts from your detail. someone probably wants to escort you back to a Very Important Room with air conditioning and filtered water.

but you don’t move.

because he’s not asking for anything. he’s not telling you to smile. not pretending to be impressed. just standing there, easy in the heat, looking at you like you're not a headline or a talking point.

“want a drink?” he asks.

you hesitate. “are you offering because you’re polite, or because you actually want me to say yes?”

he tilts his head. “a little of both.”

you follow him without thinking.

the mclaren motorhome is busy, but not overwhelming. people nod as you pass. no one stops you. oscar slips a staff badge lanyard over your neck without comment.

you sit in a shaded lounge while he brings you two cold cans of something citrusy and sparkling.

“thank you,” you say.

“you’re welcome,” he says. “you looked like you needed a moment.”

you do. more than a moment, really.

you sip your drink, letting the coldness ground you. he sits beside you, not too close, elbows on his knees, looking out at the crowd beyond the glass.

it’s the first time in weeks you haven’t felt like you’re on display.

and somehow, it’s oscar piastri — quiet, sharp-eyed, soft-voiced oscar — who gives that to you.

you watch him from the corner of your eye.

he doesn’t fill the silence. doesn’t try to entertain you. just exists, calm and steady, like he doesn’t mind sharing this exact moment with you.

you think, maybe he’s like this on track too. focused. unshakable. maybe you want to stay a little longer.

you’re not sure how long you sit there with him.

five minutes. maybe twenty. long enough for the tension in your shoulders to dissolve, for your pulse to stop ticking like a countdown.

no one interrupts.

when you finally glance at your phone, there are a few texts. nothing urgent. nothing on fire.

he notices. not nosy, just observant.

“should i be worried the cia is about to drag you out of here?” he asks.

you huff a soft laugh. “wrong agency. but yes, probably.”

“do i have to pretend i didn’t see you?”

“only if i pretend i didn’t see you either.”

he smiles, and it’s boyish. not for show. not political. just… real.

you haven’t seen many real smiles lately.

outside, the sun shifts. the sky softens from harsh afternoon to gold-tinted early evening. track activity slows. the noise pulls back.

you let your head fall gently against the wall behind you, the cold can still sweating in your palm.

“do you like it?” you ask.

he looks over. “f1?”

you nod.

he considers it.

“i love it,” he says, simple and certain. “but i don’t always like it.”

you understand that.

it’s how you feel about politics. about the white house. about your title. a thing that shaped your life but doesn’t always feel like it belongs to you.

he doesn’t explain the difference. and you don’t ask. it’s enough that the words exist between you.

you watch his hand flex on the rim of his can. long fingers. calm rhythm. thoughtful, the way people are when they don’t speak just to fill the air.

you glance back at the track.

“can i ask you something?”

he nods.

“do you get scared? before races?”

he doesn’t flinch.

“sometimes,” he says. “but mostly i get quiet.”

“quiet?”

“yeah.” he leans back a little, turns his head toward you. “like everything goes still right before i go.”

you swallow. that feels familiar too.

“does it help?”

he shrugs. “it makes me honest. like i know what i want. and what matters.”

you look at him a second longer than you probably should.

you think he’s telling you something he doesn’t say often.

you think you’ll remember it later, when things feel too big.

he finishes his drink, tosses the empty can into a nearby bin, and stands slowly.

“i should go debrief,” he says. “and you… probably have to go be very important again.”

you nod, lips tugging up. “i guess i do.”

he reaches down, then pauses.

“is it okay if i—?”

you hand him the lanyard before he finishes the sentence.

he slips it off your neck gently. doesn’t brush your skin. doesn’t need to.

“thanks for not calling security,” you say lightly.

“thanks for hiding in the right curtain.”

you both linger.

then he says it — casually, like it doesn’t weigh anything:

“see you around?”

you say yes, even if you don’t know if you will.

but you hope you do.

you get escorted back to your suite twenty minutes later.

your detail doesn’t scold you. they’re used to your disappearing acts by now — quiet, timed, harmless escapes that never last longer than an hour. still, you can feel them tracking every step. the weight of duty presses in again like velvet ropes around your ribs.

you change. you debrief. you shake hands with people who pronounce your name like it’s a title instead of a person. one man tells you you’ll make an excellent diplomat someday. you smile. it doesn’t feel like a compliment.

your mind drifts back to the canvas curtain. to citrus sparkling water and the sound of his voice. to the way he didn’t try to impress you, and somehow impressed you more because of it.

the rest of the night moves on. more press. more photos. more smiles. you’re good at all of it. you always have been.

but every once in a while, you catch yourself turning toward the crowd, wondering if you’ll see a familiar face.

you don’t.

not that night.

the next time you see oscar, it’s accidental.

or maybe it isn’t.

you’re in monaco, two weeks later, at a glittering reception hosted by someone who owns three yachts and two national banks. you’re wearing pale silk and borrowed diamonds. your name is on the guest list twice — once as your father’s daughter, and once as an independent delegate for an international youth diplomacy council.

the latter sounds more impressive, but everyone here only cares about the former.

you’re standing by a high window, watching the lights skim across the harbor, when someone steps up beside you with a glass of something golden and fizzing.

he offers it to you without looking. you take it without hesitation.

“you clean up well,” you say.

he smiles at the reflection in the window. “so do you.”

his voice is just the same — low and unhurried, like nothing about this world startles him. it steadies something in you.

“do you do this often?” you ask. “stumble into galas like a romcom lead?”

“only when the girl behind the curtain might be there.”

your chest tightens. soft. stunned.

you look up at him fully now.

he’s in a tux. sharp black lapels. no tie. hair a little unruly, like he hasn’t been able to stop running his hand through it. he looks like every girl’s favorite daydream and none of it seems to reach his head.

“you remembered me,” you say, mostly to yourself.

he turns toward you slightly. “i haven’t forgotten anything.”

the room spins slowly. laughter clinks through crystal. cameras flash across the marble hall behind you. and somehow, it’s all quiet.

quiet like he said. quiet like the moments before the lights go out and the race begins.

you don’t know how long you stand there, just looking at each other, framed by crystal and gold and candlelight.

he watches you like he did in miami — calm, certain, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, beside you. and maybe it’s the champagne or the dress or the way the evening feels stretched like a ribbon between something old and something new, but you lean in.

not much.

just enough to ask the question without words.

he answers without hesitation.

his hand finds your waist. your palm finds his collar. his mouth finds yours, slow and warm and sure.

it starts soft.

curious. familiar in a way that surprises you both. the kind of kiss that makes your stomach drop and your lungs forget what they’re supposed to do. you breathe into it like you’ve been holding your breath for weeks — since miami, since the curtain, since that first stolen moment in the middle of a crowd.

and then it deepens.

his hand curls tighter against your side, pulling you closer. your fingers slide into his hair, tilting his face toward you like instinct. your lips part. he follows. and suddenly it’s a kiss that says i found you again. i remembered. i wanted to.

he tastes like champagne and adrenaline. like gold light and something just a little dangerous beneath the stillness.

it doesn’t feel careful. not anymore. it feels wanted.

his mouth moves against yours, slow but intent, and your back presses against the tall glass window behind you. you think you hear him exhale — shaky, barely-there — and it makes you want to pull him even closer.

he kisses like he’s been waiting.

you kiss like you finally let go.

your heart drums wild in your chest, but nothing about this feels uncertain. the world outside might be watching. people might be whispering. the press might have opinions and headlines already drafted.

but none of that reaches here.

not where his hand slips up, thumb brushing your jaw, not where his lips linger when the kiss breaks, just barely.

you stay close, foreheads pressed, breathing like you’ve both just crossed a finish line you didn’t know existed.

he’s the first to speak.

his voice is low. rougher than before.

“i think i’m in trouble.”

you smile, breathless. “me too.”

he’s still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. the glittering lights of the gala blur behind his eyes, but the moment feels sharp, real, like you’re both finally breathing after holding it in for too long.

“so,” he says, voice a little rough, “how do we not mess this up?”

you laugh softly, a breathy sound that feels like relief. “i don’t think we have a choice but to try.”

he grins, that same boyish smile that makes the world seem less heavy for a minute.

you shift slightly, the silk of your dress whispering against the marble floor, and suddenly the noise of the party fades. there are conversations and music, but they feel distant — like they’re happening underwater, muffled and far away.

“you make it easy,” you say quietly.

“you make it worth it.”

there’s a pause, warm and full. his fingers trace the small of your back, steady and sure.

you want to believe him. want to believe this isn’t just a stolen moment but something that could stretch beyond the track and the spotlight and the expectations.

but there’s still the world waiting outside.

“we should probably get out of here before someone notices,” you whisper, not quite ready to pull away.

he nods, eyes darkening just a little. “yeah.”

you don’t move yet. you just let your fingers lace with his.

there’s a soft kind of promise in the way your hands fit together, and for once it’s not about duty or diplomacy. it’s just two people — no titles, no cameras, no racing or politics — just the quiet hope of what might come next.

you slip out of the gala through a side door, the warm mediterranean air wrapping around you like a blanket. the party’s hum fades behind you, replaced by the distant lapping of waves against the harbor.

oscar keeps his hand gently on your back as you navigate the narrow cobblestone streets. neither of you says much. words feel unnecessary. the night is full of quiet possibility, the kind that lives in stolen moments away from cameras and expectations.

you find a bench tucked under an olive tree. the scent of salt and jasmine hangs heavy in the air.

he sits close, close enough that you can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat. the kind of closeness that doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand — just is.

“what’s your favorite part of all this?” you ask.

“the quiet,” he says without hesitation. “the seconds when everything slows down. when it’s just me and the car and the track. no noise, no distractions.”

you nod, thinking about your own favorite quiet moments — the rare times you slip away from the spotlight, the press, your security detail. the rare seconds where you can breathe without performance.

“do you think we can find our quiet?” you whisper.

he turns to you, eyes softening. “i think we have to.”

the world might be loud. complicated. relentless.

but maybe here, now, it can be different.

you lean into him, the gentle press of your forehead against his the softest kind of promise.

for now, that’s enough.

the next days blur into a whirlwind of noise and schedules, but you carry that night with you like a secret warmth beneath your skin.

at the paddock, the world spins faster. flashes, interviews, racing strategy — all the things that pull at you in different directions.

oscar’s there, always present but never intrusive. a steady presence in a storm of chaos.

you find small ways to steal moments. a quick smile across the garage. a touch on the small of your back when no one’s looking. whispered jokes in hallways bustling with engineers and team principals.

there’s an unspoken understanding growing between you. one that doesn’t need words because it’s written in glances and quiet proximity.

during one race weekend, after a long day in the heat, you find yourself sitting beside him on the steps of the hospitality area, your legs stretched out, racing shoes dusty.

“you look tired,” he says softly.

“you don’t?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

he shrugs. “race day is always draining. but moments like this help.”

you close your eyes, savoring the rare stillness.

“promise me something?” you say after a while.

“anything.”

“that no matter what happens out there on track… or off it… we’ll keep this. this quiet space we’ve found.”

he smiles against your hair. “promise.”

and in that promise, you find a quiet kind of strength.

days fold into nights, and every quiet moment you share with oscar feels like a small rebellion against the chaos surrounding you.

one evening, after dinner, the paddock is already dark and humming with the distant noise of late-night team meetings.

you walk together toward the motorhome, the cool air brushing past you like a whisper.

oscar’s hand finds yours, fingers curling around yours gently. you don’t pull away.

“sometimes,” he says softly, “i wish this part wasn’t so complicated. that we could just be two people — no expectations, no headlines.”

you squeeze his hand, the same thought crossing your mind.

“me too,” you whisper.

he stops walking, turns to you, and the glow of the lights paints his face in soft gold.

“but maybe the best parts are the ones we fight for.”

you nod, leaning into him. it feels like home.

he kisses your temple, warm and steady, a silent promise that no matter what, you’re not alone.

and for a moment, the world outside fades to nothing but the two of you.

you stay wrapped in each other’s arms for a long moment, the weight of the world outside forgotten, if only for a little while.

“we’ll figure it out,” you say softly.

“together,” he agrees.

the paddock buzzes faintly around you, but inside this bubble, there’s nothing but steady heartbeats and slow breaths.

he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze gentle and sure.

“thank you for taking the risk. for sneaking behind the curtain.”

you smile. “thank you for letting me.”

there’s a promise in the silence between you — not just for now, but for everything that’s to come.

and as the night stretches on, you know this is just the beginning.

you never expected the quiet to feel so loud.

after the grand gala in monaco, after the nights spent walking narrow streets and stealing moments away from cameras, you find yourself craving the silence between the chaos more than anything else.

oscar is always there, steady and calm, like the eye of a storm you never want to leave.

today, you meet at a small café tucked away from the bustle of the paddock. the smell of fresh espresso and warm pastries fills the air.

you sit opposite each other, the sunlight catching the gold flecks in his eyes.

“you ever get tired of all this?” you ask, gesturing vaguely to the busy paddock around you.

he shrugs. “sometimes. but then i remember why i do it. why every race matters.”

you nod, understanding too well the weight of expectations.

“it’s hard,” you say softly. “to be yourself when everyone’s watching.”

he smiles, a little sad but honest. “you make it easier.”

you laugh quietly. “good. because i’m not going anywhere.”

he reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours.

“me neither.”

and in that simple touch, you find a world of promise.

the weekend races blur into a rhythm you almost get used to — the early mornings, the roar of engines, the intense focus before each qualifying lap.

oscar is always nearby. sometimes it’s just a glance, other times a quick squeeze of your hand. small gestures that say more than words ever could.

one afternoon, you find him alone by the pit wall, watching the sunset turn the sky a shade of burnt orange.

you sit beside him, legs dangling over the edge.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask softly.

he shrugs. “how lucky i am to have found this — found you.”

you smile, heart fluttering.

“you’re the only thing that feels real.”

he turns to you, eyes shining.

“same here.”

the world feels quieter then, like it’s folding around you both.

and for once, the noise of the season can wait.

after the race, the paddock starts to empty, teams packing up equipment, engineers exchanging tired smiles.

you and oscar find a quiet corner near the garage. the air is cool now, touched with the faint scent of fuel and rubber.

he leans back against a tire stack, pulling you close by the waist.

“race days are intense,” he murmurs, voice low.

“but moments like this make it all worth it,” you reply, resting your head on his shoulder.

he kisses your hair softly, a silent thank you for being there, for understanding.

you both stay like that for a while, savoring the calm after the storm.

no words are needed. just shared breath and steady heartbeats.

and the quiet promise that this is only the beginning.

days stretch on, the pace relentless, but the little moments you share become your anchor.

one evening, after a long day of interviews and media appearances, oscar finds you alone on a balcony overlooking the circuit.

the sky is painted in soft pinks and purples.

he slips his hand into yours without asking.

“sometimes,” he says, “i forget how lucky i am.”

you squeeze his fingers gently. “me too.”

you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

the world fades away — no cameras, no schedules, just the two of you in the quiet.

he turns to kiss your temple, slow and sure, a reminder that no matter how loud life gets, you always have this.

you and oscar stand side by side as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of gold and lavender.

he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“this,” he whispers, “is what i want to remember. not the races, not the pressure — just us.”

you smile, heart full.

“me too.”

the air hums softly around you, the world slowing down just enough to hold this moment.

you press your cheek to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

in the silence, there’s a promise — of more stolen moments, of soft laughter, of love growing quietly but fiercely.

and as the stars begin to twinkle overhead, you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms under the fading sky, everything feels quiet and right.

the chaos of the world — the cameras, the expectations, the endless noise — fades to a whisper.

in this moment, there is only you and oscar.

two people who found each other behind the curtains, in the quiet spaces, in the stolen moments.

and maybe that’s all you really need.

because love, soft and steady, is its own kind of victory.