#Multi Purpose Ladders

[equalonline]

How A Ladder Can Make Your Work Easier

A ladder is a set of rungs or steps. There are two variants of the ladder: rigid ladders which are self-supporting and that may be leaned against a vertical surface such as a wall, and aluminum which may be hung from the top. Rigid ladders are generally moveable, but some types are permanently fixed to a building. They are usually made up of metal, wood, and fiberglass, but they have been known to be made of tough plastic.

Ladders are the most wanted love of every housewife. Either it is to clean spider houses or to make your child like a monkey. Every housewife loves it. And for men, it plays the role of lifesaver to climb it and find their long-lost files. The ladder plays a very crucial role in every house. Not just only in the houses but also in shops too. Ladders have all the capacity to make you go from zero to hero.

Aluminum Ladders

Aluminum is the most well-liked choice for ladders used in households because the leading features of aluminium ladders are that they have a high strength-to-weight ratio which makes an aluminum model easy to transport and store as well as less expensive to produce than ladders which made from other materials. Aluminum products, such as ladders, may weigh up as much as 50% less.

Folding Ladders

A folding ladder is a ladder that is in the form of the step ladder style with one or more but generally not more than three that’s one-way hinges. For this ladder, Storage is not a problem as it is packed together once folded and be able to be easily stowed away. You can use this on rough surfaces such as a flight of stairs. As this type of ladder is lightweight, this is extremely moveable and suitable to use.

Telescopic Ladder

Telescoping ladders are a more versatile, moveable, and convenient form of the traditional ladder. As opposed to a typical adjustable ladder and extension ladder, this ladder used patented technology to extend and lock by the foot to a user's desired height, making them enormously versatile. This is convenient to store which is due to their compact nature. This is less vulnerable to the elements which are partially due to storage, and partially due to their makeup. This is lightweight because of that it is easily carried and transported. This is highly versatile which is appropriate for several jobs. This has high safety standards which are due to the sturdy build.

Multipurpose ladder

Multipurpose ladders are versatile and can be used for any purpose. It can be changeable and adjustable into a variety of positions according to how users want to use it. Users can use them as a step ladder, low platform, workbench, and an extension ladder with standoff (L-shaped bend), and that’s all in one single ladder which is an easily stored package. We can use it as the single solution for all our ladder requirements as it is very easily adjustable to any type of ladder. It is cost-effective as it eliminates the need to buy a variety of ladders for different purposes. It reduces space requirements for storage as you can buy only a single ladder and as well as you can fold multi-purpose ladders, make them compact and convenient to move at the same time.

The most common household ladders that are used for home purposes are step-ladders in which aluminum ladders are very strong and that’s why the most preferred choice for home purposes. Ladders made up of aluminum are lightweight and non-corrosive

Different kinds of industrial ladders are used for various applications. Most industrial ladders are made up of metal because they are required to be durable. Aluminum ladders become very popular because they are lighter in weight as compared to steel ladders and that is also not affected by corrosion. Some of the commonly used industrial ladders are step ladders, extension ladders, folding ladders, and platform ladders.

In my opinion, ladders are the most useful, sensible, and most importantly motivational things a person could ask for. It gives you a light, a light of path for your journey.

Quality that we all desire and it can become from those who are experienced in their work. So here for you EQUAL in which the name itself expresses the right one. EQUAL is a solution provider based in Jaipur, Rajasthan. It is one of the leading manufacturers in India. With Experience of 20+ years, EQUAL provides high-quality Ladders all over India at the best price. It designs ladders that are made from stainless steel and aluminum. Its ladders are durable and cost effective and they meet all the safety regulations.

[exeltrading]

Enhance Workplace Safety with Multi-Purpose Ladder Abu Dhabi, Safety Equipment Abu Dhabi, and Caterpillar Safety Shoes Abu Dhabi

With the urge to establish a solid corporate identity in this clamor and confusion, you cannot neglect safety at your work. If you don’t want to get detained, put on proper climbing gear for a walk in Abu Dhabi. Which has gained lots of attention for its real estate sector as well as other forms of construction including industrial parks.

It isn’t cheap to go for high-quality things but it saves builders big money eventually when they do not have to redo things again due to accidents or injuries. that come up because everything wasn’t done right from scratch With reliable multi purpose ladder Abu Dhabi, high-quality Safety equipment Abu Dhabi, and durable caterpillar safety shoes Abu Dhabiamong others forward-thinking companies are putting all these security requirements first.

The Versatility of Multi-Purpose Ladder Abu Dhabi

A multipurpose ladder Abu Dhabi serves multiple purposes as mandated by the construction industry, maintenance industry, or even home ownership.

They are very flexible ladders that may act as step ladders, extension ladders, or scaffolds. You can transport them easily because they are lightweight and storage is not a problem in that sense as well while their heavy-duty models make sure your safety during the work period.

With a multipurpose ladder Abu Dhabi you can simply do any kind of work at Any Level (8824): It is safe at height for cleaning purposes or maintenance up a building or at times you want to reach something that’s placed too high like an item on shelves within warehouses.

The materials used to make these ladders include aluminum which means that they have enough strength, and lightness as well as retaining the beauty. Thus purchasing such a ladder would not only increase your productivity but also reduce cases reported concerning falling due to unstable constructions or unrelated objects.

In this regard, Excel Trading provides many types of multipurpose ladder Abu Dhabiaimed towards both commercial and industrial applications customized for any business’s requirements. They conform to international safety standards and are made for hard-working environments, thus making them important parts of any working area.

Safety Equipment Abu Dhabi: Protecting Workers on the Job

Workers in many sectors such as construction, manufacturing, and logistics are exposed to a range of hazards; thus, workplace safety cannot be overemphasized. They need to have proper Safety equipment Abu Dhabi available to avoid accidents and injuries. In creating a safe working environment helmets, gloves, high-visibility clothing, and goggles among others are essential safety gear.

Business owners must ensure that they invest heavily in quality safety gear to comply with regulations as well as keep their workforce protected from harm. Not only do these minimize chances of injury but also improve productivity since workers feel more at ease and secure while undertaking their tasks.

Personal protective equipment (PPE) forms an important line of defense in areas where there are many risks involved thus selecting the right ones may prevent any accidents from taking place at work.

For instance, Excel Trading offers a wide selection of safety gear that adheres to the industrial standards ensuring worker protection in Abu Dhabi. These include various solutions meant for construction sites and factories that not only enhance safety but also help manage the drafting provisions on occupational health and safety.

Caterpillar Safety Shoes Abu Dhabi: Reliable Foot Protection

Initially, one of the key parts of safety in working places is having proper shoes because of several reasons such as heavy machines and slippery surfaces. In Abu Dhabi, caterpillar safety footwear is known for their sturdiness, comfort ability, and ability to protect employees from hard circumstances.

The unique features of these shoes include steel toes, anti-slip soles as well as being puncture proof hence making sure maximum protection is provided where there are dangers.

Caterpillar safety shoes Abu Dhabi are designed for construction workers, power men, stockroom crews, and all other physically tasked jobs to avoid injuries. They endure extreme conditions and remain comfortable even after long use which makes them favorite among workers irrespective of area.

Excel Trading has various collections of caterpillar working footwear available for both companies as well as individuals who may need caterpillar safety shoes Abu Dhabito cater to their varied operational environments.

These types of protective footwear assure an unwavering assurance on-site like on construction sites or at the warehouse therefore bringing ease when it comes to doing what you love best without fear daily.

Why Choose Excel Trading for Safety Solutions in Abu Dhabi?

Should you want to get a high-quality multipurpose ladder Abu Dhabi, dependable safety equipment Abu Dhabi, and durable caterpillar safety shoes Abu Dhabi, then you should think of Excel Trading. Its wide selection of products serves entrepreneurs with operational and safety demands that vary from one field to another.

“Safety is a team effort,” says Excel Trading which always gets the best materials from all over the world that will ensure your company's adherence to international regulations on its safety standards while allowing it access to essential tools for keeping its employees secured and operations running smoothly. You can be sure that they have it all, be it ladders safety gear, or protective footwear; they are here to increase your workplace’s protection as well as productivity.

Conclusion

In a metropolitan area like Abu Dhabi, where industries are ever-changing and booming, it is crucial to ensure worker safety. Better operational efficiency and safe workplaces can be realized by companies in Abu Dhabi if they invest in quality multipurpose ladder Abu Dhabi, reliable Safety equipment Abu Dhabi, and durable caterpillar safety shoes Abu Dhabi.

Through partnerships with reputable sellers like Excel Trading, organizations have access to top-notch safety products which helps them keep their workers and maintain high levels of safety as well as productivity.

[corvidsindia]

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[aluminium-scaffoldtowers]

Multi Purpose ladder | Aluminium-scaffoldtowers.co.uk

The Red Giant Telescopic Multi Purpose Extension Ladder is a 3 in ONE multi-position ladder that functions as a step ladder, extension ladder and stair ladder. Easily change between configurations with its quick locking hinges and adjust the height in each configuration with its telescopic sides. This really is a ladder that can do it all, perfect for almost any type of work!

Multi Purpose ladder

[writingquestionsanswered]

Stuck in Planning Stage of Writing

Anonymous asked: Do you have any advice on how to get out of the planning stage and more into the doing stage of writing? I’m up to my ears in notes for scenes and fragments of dialogue between characters. I know where I want to go with the story, I’ve even written a handful of scenes when the ideas come to me, but now that I have this lump of thoughts I need to start organizing and placing them all in their rightful spaces. The one thing I truly know is how much I’d love to see this through. Do you have any advice for a girl who’s unwittingly made herself stuck with a puzzle?

[Ask edited for length]

Planning a novel can sometimes be like digging a really deep hole for a specific purpose, then suddenly realizing you've stranded yourself at the bottom of the hole without a ladder. You've spent so much time digging the hole, you'd like nothing more than to get out of the hole and move forward with whatever project required you to dig the hole in the first place. There's just one problem: you can't teleport yourself out of the hole. You have to climb... or, ideally, build yourself a ladder to climb out with whatever materials are available to you.

That's probably where you are right now with your story. The hole you've dug was necessary, and it's good that you dug it, but as much as you'd like to just magically leap out and write your story, you can't do that. You have to build yourself a ladder to climb out of the hole first. So...

My go-to emergency "get out of the planning hole I've dug myself into" ladders are timelines, scene lists, and outlines.

Timelines: Your story may take place over a single day or several centuries, but either way, time flows in your story. All of those notes and fragments of dialogue and partial scenes are moments or events that happen within the time frame of your story. So, plotting those moments and scenes out on a timeline--according to when they need to happen--is about the easiest way to break your story down into its existing pieces and to see what's missing/where.

There are lots of ways you can format a timeline, such as a table, a list, a horizontal timeline, calendar, or a roadmap timeline. My go-to is a basic two-column document where the left column is date/time and the right column is the moment/event. There are also apps and online tools that will help you build a timeline in various formats.

Horizontal Timeline:

Calendar Timeline:

Table Timeline:

More info: Making a Timeline for Your Story Scene Lists: Stories are made up of scenes, so a list of those scenes is another great way to organize the events of your story. You may even find that creating a scene list is easier after making a timeline, because a timeline may help you see where certain moments or events need to be their own scenes and which can be combined together into a single scene. Just like timelines, scene lists can be as simple or complex as you want to make them. Once again, my go-to is a simple two-column document with the left column for the scene number and the right column for the scene summary, preferably just a sentence or two. Ultimately, once I have my rough timeline and scene list done, I usually combine them into one multi-column document along with my story structure beats.

Table Scene List with Beats:

Complex Scene List/Timeline/Beat Sheet:

More info: Scene Lists

Outlines: Outlines can be really any format you want them to be, and some people count timelines and scene lists as their outlines. My go-to outline is just an exhaustive beginning to end summary of everything that needs to happen. Sometimes, just working through your story from beginning to end can be the best way to make sense of all those disparate pieces you've been piling up.

More info: Guide: How to Outline a Plot Story Structure: Finally, I want to talk a bit about story structure templates like Save the Cat Writes a Novel!, Larry Brooks story structure, seven point story structure, etc. Story structure templates can be a really great way to make sure you're hitting all the right story beats--almost like a road map through your story. It's just important to know you do not by any means have to stick to any particular story structure exactly. Use it as a guide, take what works, leave what doesn't, and don't panic if your beats don't fall exactly where it says they should. As long as your story is working, that's what matters. Some writers even like to frankenplan their stories using a variety of different structure templates.

More info: Creating a Detailed Story Outline (story structure)

Once you finally have a roadmap for moving forward, whether that's a timeline, scene list, outline, or all of the above, you know you're ready to start writing!

Final note: I just want to add that planning isn't for everyone. Some people are discovery writers who let their stories work themselves out as they go. The above is just meant for people who are planners, who have done a lot of planning, but need to pull that planning together into a cohesive, organized document. And... if you have all of the above and still find yourself unable to start, you might find help in the links below. Happy writing! More help:

Beginning a New Story Figuring Out Where to Start a Story Deciding How to Open Your Book How to Move a Story Forward Trouble Getting Started Have Plot, Can’t Write

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A little bit of a disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2 (coming very soon)

WARNINGS: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him. 

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding. 

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true. 

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that. 

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed. 

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior. 

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again. 

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction. 

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s. 

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire. 

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help. 

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die. 

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off. 

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths. 

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American. 

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might. 

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said. 

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet. 

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at. 

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in. 

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain. 

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room. 

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged. 

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then. 

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment. 

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way. 

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.   

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared. 

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you. 

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted. 

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you. 

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal. 

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious. 

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.” 

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more. 

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell. 

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team. 

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you. 

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands. 

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe. 

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight. 

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.” 

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that. 

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.” 

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in. 

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside. 

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head. 

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged. 

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine. 

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived. 

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion. 

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.���

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?” 

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane. 

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag. 

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day. 

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to. 

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”  

“I told you I’d find you.” 

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.” 

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm.  “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line.  He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely.  He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”    When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming very soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

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[irisintheafterglow]

More Than It Seams (Epilogue)

SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: a year after the events of the hero ball, you have an anniversary party for your company with a few familiar faces. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 1.4k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of food/eating, just grown-up class 1a having a party with you and shoto, pet names (love, babe, baby)

note: surprise! one more little drabble to end out this series because i just can't get enough of them. thank you thank you thank you for all the support you've given this series, it's been so fun writing it and i'm excited to create more in the future.

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated <3

“I am not skilled at blowing up balloons.” Another fart-like sound of a flying balloon zips past your head and you duck. Part of you was wondering if he was doing this on purpose. 

“It’s okay, babe, really. I’ll get to them in a second. Just leave them there, please?” 

“Can I start on the streamers, then?”

“You bought streamers?”

“Midoriya told me to.” A gust of freezing air and particles of ice blow past the back of your neck, indicating that your boyfriend had made yet another spike of ice instead of grabbing a ladder. 

“Sure, love. Please remember to melt those before everyone gets here.” Your words are choppy and borderline indecipherable from the roll of tape you hold between your teeth. You’d been trying to hang the banner for ten minutes now, but the adhesive wasn’t cooperating with you. You puff an exhale through pursed lips, resting your hands on your hips and scowling at the multi-colored pennants of cardstock. “I will defeat this piece of shit, so help me All Might,” you mutter spitefully to yourself, but he hears it anyway. 

“Do you want me to actually call All Might? I can do that.” 

“I know you can, and please do not.” You can’t help chuckling at his earnestness, and smile as he sticks his tongue out in concentration taping a blue streamer to the top of a window. “You look cute like that.” 

His head tilts in your direction, two-toned hair falling messily on his forehead while he still holds one end of the streamer. His voice is even, but his eyes twinkle with boyish mischief. “Don’t I look cute all the time?” 

“You do, but even more so when you’re doing this.” You mimic his expression, sticking your tongue out to the side, and he huffs out a laugh. “Thank you for helping me with all of this. You really didn’t need to.” 

“I know I didn’t need to–”

“But you wanted to. I know, love.” A sharp eyebrow raises teasingly at your easy completion of his sentence. “You’ve been saying that for over a year now, you know.” 

“Have I?” 

“Mhmm, even though it seems like yesterday you were destroying my work for an excuse to look at me.” 

“I think destroying is much too harsh of a word.” 

“Doesn’t matter what you think. I’m right.” You can’t help grinning amusedly when he gives you a blank stare. You both know that you’re the best at twisting his words around back at him, much to his displeasure. You peer at him over the expanding latex of the stray balloon you’re inflating. 

“Fine. You’re right, and I own this building,” he declares in triumph, choking out another laugh when your face falls in disbelief and you accidentally spit out the balloon.

“You can’t pull the building card every single time I’m winning an argument!” 

“I definitely can.” He was right, even if you didn’t admit it. 

Following you quitting your job, Shoto helped both you and your roommate move out and lease your own spaces. He accompanied you through numerous apartment showings and reassured you of your decision for the place you called yours now. Ever the respectful boyfriend, he didn’t ask you to move in with him right away; instead, he asked if he could move in with you in your new apartment, even though he financed half of it. You knew he had extensive real estate holdings across the globe, but discovered one morning when you were lying in bed together that he considered your apartment home. Home, you’d echoed, looking up at him and running your thumb over his scar. I like the sound of that. 

He’d also helped you find a new space for you to kickstart your company and took it upon himself to buy not just the floor your office was on, but the entire building. 

“You what?!” 

“I bought the building.” He said it so casually, slurping a bundle of soba noodles as if buying a whole plot of land was as natural as breathing. It was another late night where you waited for him to get off patrol, sharing dinner in the living room of your home. His eyes flicked to your jaw, slack in disbelief, and he shrugs. “It’s really not that important, babe.” 

“‘Not that important,’ my ass. You bought me a building?”

“No, I bought us a building. I could buy the whole block, too, if you’d like.” You cough, noodles sliding down the wrong pipe of your throat. He was playing, now, but you knew he’d buy you the entire city if you asked for it. After merging the costume division of his agency with your company, he released a public statement announcing the partnership between the Todoroki Agency and your business. Shortly after hiring new staff, including your other designer from M’s collapsing company, other agencies began requesting partnerships after Izuku and Bakugo’s agencies pledged to work with you too. Momo and Jiro hopped ship to your business as well after investigations revealed M embezzling funds and committing tax evasion. 

“Does that look okay, babe?” You stand back to inspect your work hanging above the gigantic posters of your hero partners in your sitting area. Each pennant of the banner is coordinated to match one of your clients, spelling out “CELEBRATING ONE YEAR OF COLLABORATION” in vibrant colors. 

“It looks great, love. And right on schedule, too. They should be arriving any minute–” 

As if on cue, the entrance blows open with a swift kick and you bite down a smirk at the stomping of heavy boots. “Alright, nerds. I brought your fucking food. You better have plates because I didn’t bring that shit.” Bakugo’s rough voice echoes through the office and the smell of whatever is in the aluminum container he carries wafts into your nose. “What’s so funny, Salonpas?” 

The corner of your boyfriend’s mouth quirks and you snort at his new nickname. “Did you forget utensils? I wasn’t aware you were capable of forgetting things.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with two fingers. You loved Shoto, but he could be a royal asshole sometimes. 

“I’m gonna make you forget things if you don’t shut the fuck up–” Bakugo’s face contorts into a growl, but morphs into indignancy as a corded bicep wraps around his shoulders, effectively restraining him. “He forgot. He’s just too stubborn to admit it.” Kirishima’s toothy grin appears from behind Bakugo’s hair, followed closely by Kaminari and Mina. “We did snag some cool looking drinks on the way, though!” Kaminari holds up a six-pack of questionably colored fizzy soda, and you hand it to Shoto to put on ice. Mina pulls you into a tight hug, spinning you around to look at your outfit and running her fingers appreciatively over the decadent fabric. 

From the corner of your eye, you spot a black tendril attached to a neighboring building and then immediately detach. Something thuds against your east-facing window, despite being on the thirteenth floor, and you casually yell that it’s open without looking at who it is. It glides open, and Deku scrambles down from the ledge. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Am I late?” He pulls off his mask and starts furiously pulling items from his belt, including a lighter, candles, confetti poppers, and party hats. 

“Oi, Deku! Close the damn window, dumbass! You’re letting all the AC out!” 

A gloved hand raises to slide it shut, but stops as another voice calls from outside. 

“Yo, leave that open!” Sero shouts as he swings into your office, excitedly holding up an identical six-pack of neon drinks to mirror Kaminari. “Damn, everyone’s here already. Am I that late?” 

“No, I think we take that title from you, Sero.” Momo and Jiro enter hand-in-hand, waving apologetically. “We got a little caught up in what to wear to a designer’s party, sorry.” 

“Oh, shit, were we supposed to dress up?” He glances down at his usual hero costume, grimacing. “Oops.”

“No, no, you’re all good. This isn’t a fancy party by any means.” You gravitate to Shoto’s side, and his arm slides around your waist like clockwork. “If this was a fancy party by any means, that toxic waste would be nowhere near our building.” You point at the 11 bottles of unnaturally colored alcohol in the cooler on the counter, and raise an eyebrow at Kaminari as he cracks one open. 

He takes a sip sheepishly, eyes widening in shock. “Holy fuck, this is so good.” He raises the bottle triumphantly like a sword. “To one year of making sure we don’t look ugly when we’re kicking ass, and to many, many more!” 

Your boyfriend gives your hip a squeeze, pressing a kiss to your cheek as your friends cheer in agreement.

[singingcicadas]

Why are Autobots just as bad as the Decepticons?

Why? Some people seem to be under this impression that the Autobots have some kind of original sin that makes their cause morally inferior to that of the Decepticon 'revolutionists', for Reasons:

1. Autobots are bad because they were part of the old oppressive government.

Okay but it was literally Optimus who came up with the name, when he stormed the Senate demanding for autonomy? Sentinel took it for his own use. Optimus was a fugitive under Sentinel. He was doing vigilante work against the government. 

2. But Optimus was a cop and served Zeta. Cops are bad and Zeta was bad so Optimus was just as bad. 

Well Optimus only worked with Zeta because Zeta hid his true colours at first and seemed a decent progressive guy. He and Megatron killed Zeta when that turned out not to be the case, thus ending the oppression of the old government. 

What did he do as a cop that’s so unforgivable, besides the occupation itself? He wasn’t making political arrests for the government (he treated Megatron with respect and lauded his polemics, he sided with rebel bomb planter Hot Rod) or persecuting people based on their class or function. He threw the cops who did that in jail (sorry Whirl), he got help for the people on the streets instead of arresting them as per government protocol (Drift). The only arrests he was shown to make were either thugs harassing defenceless citizens (the guys beating up Drift), illegal drug and arms dealers (Swindle), murderers, and terrorists. Notice how they’re all Decepticons. Because that’s what the Decepticons were to Cybertron’s society.

— Like it's important to note that there's never been a sweet point in Decepticon history where they were true upright freedom fighters, dedicated to nothing but emancipation of the people. That idealized version only ever existed in Megatron's writings. The Decepticons didn't start out well-meaning and turned bad somewhere along the way, they've always been a ragtag gathering of degenerates from the dregs of society looking for a venue to excerise violence and embrace their pursuit for chaos and power. They were warmongers. Terrorists. Thugs. Weapons traffickers. Opportunists. Sadists. Bloodsport enjoyers/profiteers. It’s those people who were the targets of Megatron's recruitment speeches when he promised them that he'd turn the planet into their gladiatorial arena. It’s those traits that were coveted, sought, valued by the Decepticon ranks. Revolution of the oppressed lmao, aside from Megatron himself, there's not one honest-to-god true proletariat or bottom class in the Decepticons' upper echelons. Soundwave, Ratbat’s lackey. Starscream, criminal tax swindler. Shockwave, mad scientist (with a specialization in body experimentation) and former sketchy Senator. Honest work got you as nowhere in the Decepticons as in the Cybertron social ladder.

This is an example of political persecution. By a team of sanctioned torture police created for this explicit purpose. For literally every bad thing the government did, the Decepticons have done something to one-up them. Think functionalism is bad? How about let's conscript everyone into a combatant and if you don't want to fight you can die. Painfully. Social stratification? How about a military hierarchy for the entire society based purely on might makes right. Empurata and shadowplay? Forced frame alteration and body experimentation. Lobotomy. Grooming. Vamparc ribbon that sucks the life out of an entire city's worth of people? Burn up the planet and massacre half its population. Unlawful treatment of prisoners? Pick from the menu of anti-personal bombs, live incineration chambers, multi-year torture marathons, or a DJD custom treatment. Persecution/neglect of the unfortuate mechs who ended up on the streets? Just throw them straight into the smelting pool to make into something useful instead. Expansion and colonism? Imperalism and genocide ftw. The Decepticons were worse than the old government in practically every concievable way.

3. But Optimus was violent as a cop.

Yes he was violent towards the Decepticons, a Decepticon specifically, Swindle, an unrepentant repeat offender, because they were using innocents to bomb cities and conquering citystates and Megatron must be stopped before the situation got any worse but Swindle just won’t spit any info. Like obviously his actions were wrong but they weren’t completely unfounded considering the circumstances, certainly not comparable to an equal level with the Decepticons who regularly torture prisoners for the entertainment. The most he's guilty of is paying evil unto evil and meeting violence with violence.

4. Autobots were perpetrators of the injustices of the society because they didn’t actively fight against it.

That’s not true, Optimus fought against it by using his position to help people as much as he possibly could; a lot of his work went against government orders. Rachet fought against it by running his clinic at Dead End. Impactor fought against it when he stood up for Rung. The outlier vigilante team fought against it, they risked their lives to help the Decepticons with Optimus when they stole the fake matrix bomb. Hot Rod fought for Nyon. They all fought by allowing themselves to grow beyond the societally imposed prejudices, by focusing past the rightful anger at being born into such a cruel world, by trying to become the best people they could under the circumstances and extending kindness to others no matter how difficult their own struggles. It's the entire society that's dysfunctional and has been dysfunctional since the beginning of history, individuals should not be held responsible when they're just trying to make the best out of the life they'd been given and not maliciously harming anyone along the way.

5. But that doesn’t count as actually fighting if they didn't get engaged in outright war.

Uhhh I’m sure that’s the justification Decepticons used when they were doing join or die massacres but okay I guess.

And then there’s the grand finale：

6. “Autobots are bad because wars are bad and they fought a war.”

The Autobots didn't want to fight. It was the Decepticons who declared war on them. They were literally forced into it. It was either that or accept Megatron’s peace through tyranny. And there is a massive difference between deaths/violence/destruction/resource appropriation that’s justified by military necessity and the excessive use of force like killing and torture for the funsies only the latter would be considered a war crime omgggg people please stop spamming the word war crime

Anyways this line of reasoning need to go and duel it out with the previous one because they are contradictory.

The Autobots are by no means perfect but to make them comparable to the Decepticons is just. I dont even know. It's like putting a piece of white paper with a black dot on it beside a piece of black paper and saying they're the same colour. No. The black paper didn't even start out white. Of course not everything is going to be that clear cut in war but acknowledging the presence of those grey areas doesn't mean you can equate the values of right and wrong. 

And also associating the Decepticon movement with freedom fighters is buying into their propaganda. Megatron never gave a shit about anyone's freedom other than his own.

'Peace through tyranny' is a pretty self-explanatory phrase come on

[fluffystevefest]

Fluffy Steve Fest really flew by! Thank you so much to everyone who shared their creations or showed their love and support - the round-up of daily masterlists (with a side of fun statistics) is coming on July 10. In the meantime, be generous with your likes, kudos, reblogs, shares, and comments! 💙

THEME ★ STEVE'S...

Fluffy Steve Fest Day 7 - Steve's...less common friendships by @bulkyphrase ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Multi ★ It's the final day of @fluffystevefest! Sunday's theme is "Steve's..." and I've decided to focus on Steve's rarer friendships. So please enjoy this list of lighthearted stories featuring some lovely platonic Steve rarepairs.

Fluffy Steve Fest Rec List: July 7: Steve's... by @ephemeralbutterfly ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Multi ★ Hello everyone! I am doing daily themed rec lists for @fluffystevefest. The fics are related (some more loosely than others) to the daily prompts. The number of fics for any given day and prompt varies, but I have at least one fic for each day. There's also a wide variety of fic types and ratings, so I hope there will be something for everyone. The lists are vertically long, so I've put them behind a cut. The longest list for the last day. Once again a grab bag.

Coming Around Again by @polizwrites ★ Fic: 572, G ★ Pairing: Steve/Bucky ★ When Bucky calls Steve out on an old habit, he remembers the first time they shared an apartment.   

Day 7: His Wickedly Wild Menace by @mercurial-chuckles ★ Fic ★ Pairing: Steve/Reader ★ As a Systems Engineer, you were working on a machine in the gym. To your great dislike, a rookie bullies your trainee, and you can't help but show the rookie his place. Unbeknownst to you, the Avengers were vetting out the recruits before physical strength tests, and they see the whole thing. You capture Steve's interest.

yours, steve rogers by @meidui ★ Fic: 1k, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Avengers ★ Life seems to slow down, gentle and forgiving in a way it has never been before, and Steve gets into writing letters.

PROMPT ★ CHILDHOOD

For the First Time by @thebrooklynnway ★ Fic: 3.2k, M ★ Pairing: Steve/Tony ★ Steve is six years old when he meets Tony. He kisses Steve on the cheek, declares that they are best friends for life, then makes his way down the ladder of the treehouse. Steve watches with a blush on his freckled cheeks, a mixture of happiness and something he doesn’t really understand swirling in his heart.

I Drew it for You by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 100, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Sarah ★ Steve draws something for his mother.

de-aged steve fic recs <3 by @meidui ★ Rec list ★ Pairing: Steve/Tony ★

PROMPT ★ HABITS

Expensive Habit by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 100, G ★ Pairing: Steve & Tony, Steve & Avengers ★ It sort of just happens...

PROMPT ★ FIRST TIMES

Name Change by @ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok ★ Fic: 396, T ★ Pairing: Steve/Scott, Steve & Cassie ★ Scott had seen a similarly shocked pause before, back when Paxton went from Jim to Papa.

Thawed Interest by @darthbloodorange ★ Fic: 300, T ★ Pairing: Steve/Bucky, Steve & Avengers ★ Steve experiences his first crush since coming out of the ice. The Avengers have thoughts...

PROMPT ★ HAPPY ENDING

World's Best Dad-Venger by @darthbloodorange ★ Art ★ Pairing: Steve & Avengers ★ Summery: A retired Steve wakes in the morning to find a gift left by the young heroes he helps train.

Happy Ending by @americas-ass-writing ★ Fic: 1.3k ★ Pairing: Steve/Reader ★ Happy endings were something from fairytales. The real life didn't offer this. Steve would know. Every single piece of happiness was taken from him after way too short. His dad, his mom soon after, Bucky (who luckily returned to him), his own life. After trying to reclaim what he could of his life things looked better. He had friends, a found family, a sense of purpose... only for it to be taken far too soon. After the fight with Thanos everyone went their separate ways. Tony quit to be with his family, Natasha went on a lengthy solo mission. Sam and Bucky went on their own adventures after Steve gave the shield to Sam, too tired to continue being cap. Being someone he just isn't anymore. Thor went back to new Asgard. Bruce went to California. Which leaves Steve alone in New York. Alone to pick up the shambles of his and everyone else's life. Alone.

[augustjustice]

He and Eddie have nothing in common.

Steve Harrington was prom king, on half the Hawkins’ High sports teams, a member of the student council.

Eddie Munson was the leader of the school’s long-lamented Dungeons & Dragons Hellfire Club, and his band played at the single dive bar in town at least one night every week.

Steve wears pastel polos and light jeans, practically the poster boy for the preppy privilege that populates the multi-story houses of Loch Nora.

Eddie has shaggy hair, tattoos, and chains on his belt loop, proudly displaying his otherness in a way that had prompted the small-minded denizens of their equally small town to try and run him out on a rail the first chance they got.

The King and the Freak.

The Freak is just a construction. Sure, it was still Eddie, just dialed up to eleven. Eddie had taken the title, the jeers and the taunts, and constructed an identity out of it, wrapping it around himself like a cloak to protect him from the rest of the world.

The King is flimsier, less real, but serves much the same purpose. Steve’s parents, his friends, his teachers all expected certain things from Steve. Not much brain, but handsome, athletic. Enough to skate by in life, end up at a cushy job at his dad’s company with a wife he barely spoke to and 2.5 kids behind a white picket fence at the end of the cul-de-sac.

King Steve threw ragers. King Steve worked his way through as much of the Hawkins High female population as he could. King Steve said nothing when Tommy H. went after kids well below them on the social ladder, even threw in a few of his own taunting remarks when he felt he had reason. The King helped Steve get by, and that was fine, for a while.

Until Nancy Wheeler. Until the monsters. Until the nightmares and the nail bat and Dustin Henderson on the Wheeler’s lawn demanding that Steve help him.

The King has died many deaths over the years, and Steve, disappointing to his parents though he may be, is all that’s left behind.

But Steve, even real Steve, whatever that means, isn’t much like Eddie Munson.

Because Steve likes romantic comedies and John Hughes’ flicks about suburban teen angst and Tom Cruise-led blockbuster vehicles. Eddie, meanwhile, scours the Family Video shelves for blood-soaked Giallo horror movies and the stray John Waters’ cult classic that had somehow slipped through the cracks.

(“Okay, but, you kinda have to admit,” Steve had said, gesturing between them one late night in the Munsons’ living room, when he somehow managed to strong arm Eddie into his rewatch of The Breakfast Club, “he’s onto something with this one.”

“I will admit no such thing, Steve Harrington,” Eddie had dramatically proclaimed, “not even under threat of death. Vecna himself could manifest physically, in the room, right now, and you will still hear nary a word from my mouth openly admitting that I find The Breakfast Club, of all fucking things, relatable.”

Then Steve had tackled him on the couch, thwapping Eddie with a pillow until he cried uncle. Getting Eddie to admit to actually liking the movie, though, was still a work-in-progress.)

Steve tends to listen to whatever Top 40 has made its way onto the Hawkins’ airwaves from week-to-week, Eddie has very specific and adamant opinions about a slew of metal bands Steve has never even heard of.

(Well. Had never even heard of, before. These days, he gets an earful any time he so much as suggests They all sound the same to me, Munson. He wonders how long it will take before Eddie catches on to the fact that he’s just doing it to rile him up.)

At a glance, it’s plain to see. He and Eddie have nothing in common.

….

There are matching scars on his and Eddie’s sides, the pound of flesh taken by the interdimensional bats they fought off deep beneath the soil of Hawkins proper.

The ghost of Chrissy Cunningham haunts Eddie’s eyes late at night when he wakes up screaming from nightmares in Steve’s bed, having slept over again and too lazy to crawl out into the guest room. (The fact they both sleep better with someone else in the room remains unspoken between them.) Just the same as Barbara Holland haunts Steve’s own.

They both have a habit of taking younger kids under their wing. When Steve tells the kids no! adamantly–in full mom-mode as they call it–Eddie is right there, saying nope! with the exact same inflection. The pair of them share an exasperated look over Dustin’s head everytime he takes that fucking tone yet again, rolling their eyes in unison. Shepherding all the little lost sheepies! Eddie had called it, before laughing at the confused expression on Steve’s face at the phrasing.

(“You’re weird, Munson,” Steve had told him, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

“You, too, Harrington,” Eddie had shoved back, still grinning that megawatt smile. From his lips, it sounded like a compliment.)

Dustin Henderson worships the ground they both walk on, and Steve knows, for a fact, that they would both die for him.

They both have a habit of running, but coming back when it really, really counts.

(“What you did, with the bats?” Steve had said quietly, sitting beside Eddie’s hospital bed a few days after the world didn’t end. “Hero shit, Munson.”

“Maybe I was just trying to impress you,” Eddie laughed weakly, still high enough on painkillers the bold flirtation came easily.

“Don’t do it again,” Steve scolded, stern, the way he got with Dustin and the others. Then he added, in such a low mumble Eddie barely caught it, “You’ve already got my attention.”)

So, yeah. Steve and Eddie have nothing in common.

…Except when it comes to all the shit that actually matters.

[equalonline]

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[pnwnativeplants]

Corruption in PNW Conservation: Holly Farmer on Weed Control Board Prevents Board From Protecting Forests from Invasive Holly

Original article by Becky Chaney, WNPS Conservation Committee Chair (Full original article can be read here)

In November, the Washington State Noxious Weed Control Board (hereafter referred to as the Board) considered the Whatcom County Noxious Weed Board proposal to list English holly (Ilex aquifolium) as a Class C noxious weed, as requested by Thomas and Tricia Morrel, owners of a designated Stewardship Forest in Whatcom County. The effects of holly on western Washington public and private lands, documented by numerous studies and mapping from multiple agencies and scientists, was presented to the Board during the November 1 public hearing. The information included statements regarding the negative impacts of holly, including its detrimental crowding out of under-story vegetation and the increased forest fire risk resulting from this relatively recent addition of a non-native ladder fuel. The information presented was quantitative and backed by scientific research from numerous studies. Eleven speakers, included botanists and land managers from a wide variety of agencies and environmental groups, spoke in favor of the state listing. Two speakers, owner of Holly Hill Orchards and his son, spoke in opposition. Expressing concern that the listing would destroy their family business, a holly farm purchased in 2011. They are convinced the habitat risks are over-stated and find the dollars spent on control ($90,000 from 2007-2009 at just a SINGLE Seattle site) inconceivable.

The Board considered the potential impacts to the holly farms and the floral industry. To ensure no harm to these small family businesses, a concurrent addition, developed with input from Washington Attorney General Bob Ferguson, was proposed and approved before taking a vote on listing holly. A new definition—feral—was added to Washington’s noxious weed laws. The definition reads: “Feral means where a plant species has escaped a managed landscape or is growing without human management or design. ‘Feral’ does not include any plants grown for agricultural or commercial purposes” (WAC 16-750-003). The proposed Class C listing of feral holly only applies to escaped holly—holly existing outside of gardens and cultivated lands such as holly farms. It would allow wildland managers to fund control of invasive holly where it is negatively impacting forestland and for educational programs addressing why and where feral holly is a problem. Nothing in the listing would restrict farming holly, or selling it, either live or cut, within or outside of the state. A class C listing as feral holly would not require its removal from ornamental gardens or farms, or restrict its commercial uses. This consideration wasn’t enough to ease the concerns of the Washington holly growers. The holly farmers argued that the image of holly would be tarnished, and that holly farming would no longer be economically feasible. No economic data was provided to back up their claim. Board Education Specialist Anne Schuster did provide information noting that Pacific Northwest holly growers supply 90% of English holly sold in the United States, export it to countries such as Japan, and that it has grown here for over 90 years.

Sadly (from my perspective), the listing of English holly as a Washington State class C noxious weed received only a 3-3 vote from the Board members present; passage of the listing needed a majority. There are nine voting positions on the Board, but the Northeast Tier is currently vacant. Two members, Randy Johnson and Brad White, did not attend the meeting, so only six members voted. The listing was supported by board members William (Bill) Agosta, Janet Spingath, and Allen Evanston. In opposition were members Jerry Hendrickson, Carey Caruso, and Ken Bajema. Bajema, in addition to being on the Board, is owner of Columbia Gorge Holly Farms, a multi-generational family farm growing holly since 1959. He is a long- term, vocal opponent of listing holly as a state noxious weed. Again, from my perspective, I can’t help wondering how conflict of interest (a thorny issue) may have affected the vote. At least one respondent to a 2022 survey provided to the Board ahead of the hearing expressed concern that the Board had a conflict-of-interest problem. As far as I know, this was not publicly addressed by the Board or staff ahead of the vote. After the vote, the question over conflict of interest was raised during public comment. The Chair responded “Obviously, there is a conflict of interest if you are talking about...a member of the Board being a holly grower, but there’s no law against that...he is a member of the Board and he is a holly grower and that’s perfectly legitimate. Yes, that creates at least one person with a conflict of interest but I’m afraid... there’s no law against that. We have no rules about recusal and so there’s no basis for requiring a person with a conflict of interest to recuse himself in this circumstance.” Staff indicated that it was important to have Board members who feel the impacts of these decisions and expressed the opinion that it is “rightfully so that Ken has a vote.” I agree that the boards are supposed to include representation from various affected interest groups and are mandated to consider and mitigate impacts on business. However, I believe elevating special interests above the Board’s legal mission is wrong. A Capital Press article written in 2010, then updated in 2018, states that “Dee and Ken Bajema scoff at claims that English holly is invasive.” It states that the Bajemas (say) it’s difficult to remain positive about the fate of the requested “noxious” listing. Ken Bajema says nothing to correct this public record. He does not acknowledge that holly is invasive, is environmentally detrimental, or that it is a multi-county problem. Survey comments verify that holly is a concern in at least ten Washington counties. More than half of the survey respondents who note that holly impacts their county also stated that holly’s unlisted status (negatively) impacts their ability to control it.

[corvidsindia]

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[firawren]

FiraWren's master list

All the stuff I make—memes, charts, gifsets, fic—I tag with "my stuff," but here are shortcuts to some sub-collections within that.

All rights reserved to © FiraWren. Do not repost my work as your own. Please contact me for permission if you would like to translate one of my works.

All works are fictional and made purely for entertainment purposes. I don't own any of the characters.

Last updated: September 23, 2024

Fanfic

Everything I write, I tag with "my writing," but I occasionally post something on AO3 without posting it here on Tumblr too, so it's best to subscribe to my work on AO3 if you don't want to miss anything.

Pride and Prejudice

Tea time and titles | post-canon, fluff | 1221 words | G

The perfect opportunity to propose | mid-canon, fluff | 730 words | G

Six inches deep (in mud) | post-canon, smut | 2k words | E

Seize such an opportunity | mid-canon, fluff | 1111 words | G

Ungentlemanly | post-canon, smut | 5k words | E

Spirit and Spookiness | parody | 860 words | G

Carrots and the missing bonnet | post-canon, fluff | 793 words | G

I come back to the place you are | mid-canon, humor, fluff | 1000 words | G

Mr. Darcy's bedchamber | canon divergence, smut, first time | 8.2k words | E

Midnight (sick) kiss | post-canon, fluff | 500 words | G

The last man in the world whom I could ever suspect of being ticklish | post-canon, fluff, mild smut | 746 words | M

Beauty and the Beast

Breeding a fresh start | canon divergence, smut | 7k words | E

The Rose Brides | retelling, angst with happy ending | 79k words | E

Needing so much more than dusting | canon divergence, smut | 3.4k words | E

Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain | canon divergence, smut | 1.4k words | M

Charming in its imperfection | mid-canon, post-canon, fluff | 2k words | T

Dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated | modern AU, fluff, light angst, eventual smut | 15k words | E

Warming up | canon divergence, hurt/comfort, mild smut | 3.2k words | M

Transformation | canon divergence, angst with happy ending | 123k words | E

Walking under ladders | modern AU, fluff | 532 words | T

Needing exercise, a chance to use our skills | canon divergence, smut | 1k words | E

Scent doesn't lie | canon divergence, smut | 1.8k words | E

Beauty and the Brute | retelling, slow burn enemies to lovers | 34k words | E

Adjustment | post-canon, fluff | 500 words | G

The touch of a name | mid- and post-canon, angst, fluff | 1.7k words | T

A taste of something new | mid-canon, fluff | 500 words | G

Rose-scented bath water | canon divergence, fluff, mild smut | 304 words | M

A scent there that wasn't there before | canon divergence, smut, first time | 3.7k words | E

Forming love | mid-canon, angst, fluff | 1.6k words | G

Other Austen

Rediscovering what was lost | Persuasion/Sense and Sensibility crossover | canon divergence, angst, romance | 11k words | G

Every heartbeat | Lost in Austen | post-canon, smut, wedding night | 5k words | E

Other Disney

Two words, sounds like "pets duck" | Frozen | canon divergence, smut | 3.2k words | E

Black cat crossing your path | Frozen/Beauty and the Beast crossover | modern AU, fluff | 1.8k words | G

Yeah, just like that | Frozen | post-canon, smut, first time | 5k words | E

The Beast of Arendelle | Frozen | canon divergence, post-Frozen 1, angst, horror | 13k words | M

Everything he's got | Hercules | post-canon, smut, first time | 3.3k words | E

Other fandoms

Teach and teach | Our Flag Means Death | modern AU, first date | 9k words | T

Don't freak out. This is happening. | Chuck | canon divergence, smut, first time | 1.4k words | E

Memorizing him | Chuck | post-canon, angst, fluff, baby | 557 words | G

Memes and other nonsense

I made a series of Pride and Prejudice chapter memes, one for each chapter of the novel.

Other Jane Austen stuff I've made:

All Pride and Prejudice memes

Persuasion memes

Emma memes

Northanger Abbey memes

Sense and Sensibility memes

Multi-book Austen memes, crack, charts, gif sets, and other nonsense

Non-Austen memes:

Beauty and the Beast memes

Frozen memes

[snifflesthemouse]

Remember waay back when I told you what would happen?

This author told you way back after that now-infamous Oprah interview how it would go, didn't this little rodent?

Like I have reiterated before, the ONLY way a divorce would go down is if KC3 wanted it. Those two will only officially separate with consent from BP, working royals or not.

My source has been right about several things, even if I've tested those things silently. If you hear of a divorce coming, it is because Charles has ordered it.

If you go back and look at all royal divorces, all of which really started with Princess Margaret for this modern era (centuries ago, divorce was traded in for a sharp blade at the back of the neck usually). Look at every single divorce that has occurred. They all happened at the behest of the orders of the monarch.

Whether the Monarch had a choice, or whether it was simply the only way to save face isn't important. The important thing here is to see the pattern present. The Monarch orders divorce.

And do you really think they want a divorce right now? Meghan isn't ready with her transition. She has only just begun to start the distancing.

She could take her dog to the market, which wasn't allowed... but she couldn't take her children that were? Do you really think for one second that she would risk demonitizing their faces by rolling them out to compete with Catherine?

Come on now. Think about what I said years ago. Once Harry and Meghan ran out of steam from the victim narrative, what did I say would happen?

This little mouse said that they would eventually turn on one another because they both would need the content to stay relative.

And I saw my dear friend mention me in a comment today on a video, and I appreciate those who always mention my blog. A lot of personal things are going on in real world, and I am so happy to see that some of you find enjoyment in reading me ramble.

But that video was suggesting divorce based on WME signing only Meghan, her distancing herself from him, all the nonsense about the book and Meghan saying she let Harry "get on with it"... Murky Meg is back with a new video btw.

My London source, who also knows Ashli's old source, too, says that an offer is being worked on for Meghan. Maybe, if this does come to fruition, this is why we're seeing her more alone. But, I have another thought to add to that.

Meghan will ONLY divorce Harry if the divorce would stand to make her better off than staying married to him would. Right now, what does Harry himself have to offer Meghan that she could potentially get from divorce?

Think about the house payment, the security bill, the upkeep, the clothes, the fashion, the cars, all of it. How is it REALLY paid for? They'd have to really be making a ton of money.

Spare allegedly needed to sell 1.7 million copies for the publisher to break even on the $20M advance allegedly received by Harry. But that was a multi-book deal, remember.

Oh, and according to Mercury News, that $10M Archewell donation came from SIlicon Valley Community Foundation. Remember, they donated $3M of the $13M they received in donations?

Money issues are always money issues when you live above your means. That is why they are known as grifters, they wanted freebies.

So, while I am very glad Murky is back with a video, and my dear, dear friend shouted me out to support my blog (that I may be ending sooner than later), I want to stress something from a conman perspective.

You will never cut off your only source of notoriety, money, fame, whatever... unless you already have another ladder to hop to. Which is really the true purpose behind the Flying Pasta Game. She's essentially looking for a backup for when Harry becomes too erratic to control (already is).

If the rumors of them living separately are true, then Meghan wouldn't have as strong a hold on Harry as she does.

And Murky, my friend was right... Meghan will allow Harry to look like a fool through every bit of this because it becomes her new cannon fodder.

I said it many, many times. When you run out of steam from one victim narrative, you must needs find water to boil for another. Harry is just like her. So imagine what a War of the Sussexes will look like when it comes.

The divorce rumors are strong, but we're all ignoring the other two couples being accused of being in straits. Have you all seen the articles coming out recently of how Catherine and William are strained, that Charles and Camilla are strained?

I read an article yesterday saying that Charles and Camilla almost separated in 2018, but there was a deal met. Funny, everyone says MM&H are the next Edward and Wallace, but it would seem that C&C are if you read some of these American papers.

Same with William and Catherine. My source says that people would really be shocked if they got to look behind the curtain and see these people in their element when they're not on camera. All of them. I kind of see it, too.

HI, SOURCE! LOVE YOU!!

[windowcleaningsupplies]

Enhancing Clarity: A Comprehensive Guide to Window Cleaning Tools

Windows serve as the portals to our homes and offices, allowing natural light to flood our spaces and offering views of the world beyond. However, maintaining their cleanliness is essential not only for aesthetic appeal but also for ensuring a healthy living or working environment. In the arsenal of tools available for this task, there exists a plethora of options tailored to different needs and preferences. In this guide, we delve into the world of window cleaning tools, exploring their functionalities, advantages, and how they contribute to achieving sparkling, streak-free glass surfaces.window cleaning supplies

Squeegees:

Squeegees are perhaps the quintessential tool for achieving streak-free windows. Consisting of a rubber blade attached to a handle, they efficiently remove water and cleaning solutions from glass surfaces. Their design allows for swift, uniform strokes, making them ideal for both residential and commercial applications. Squeegees come in various sizes to accommodate different window dimensions, and some models feature adjustable handles for added convenience.

Microfiber Cloths:

Microfiber cloths have revolutionized the way we clean windows, offering superior absorbency and trapping capabilities compared to traditional cotton cloths. These ultra-fine fibers capture dirt, dust, and grime with ease, leaving windows spotless and lint-free. When paired with a cleaning solution, microfiber cloths excel at polishing glass surfaces to a brilliant shine without leaving behind residue or streaks. They are reusable and machine washable, making them an eco-friendly option for sustainable cleaning practices.

Extension Poles:

For windows located in high or hard-to-reach areas, extension poles are indispensable tools that enhance accessibility and safety. These telescopic rods can be attached to squeegees, scrubbers, or other cleaning implements, allowing users to reach windows situated on upper floors or in narrow spaces without the need for ladders or scaffolding. Extension poles come in various lengths, with some models featuring twist-lock mechanisms for secure attachment and adjustable angles for versatile use.

Scrubbers:

Stubborn dirt and grime often require a bit of elbow grease to eradicate, and scrubbers are designed precisely for this purpose. These abrasive pads or brushes feature durable bristles or abrasive surfaces that effectively loosen and dislodge dirt from glass surfaces. When paired with a cleaning solution, scrubbers provide thorough cleaning power, preparing the glass for a streak-free finish when used in conjunction with a squeegee or microfiber cloth. Some scrubbers feature pivoting heads or swivel mechanisms for enhanced maneuverability, ensuring thorough cleaning even in tight spaces.

Window Cleaning Solution:

Choosing the right cleaning solution is crucial for achieving optimal results when cleaning windows. While commercial glass cleaners are readily available, many opt for homemade solutions using ingredients such as vinegar, dish soap, or rubbing alcohol. These DIY solutions are often more cost-effective and environmentally friendly, providing effective cleaning power without harsh chemicals or fumes. Regardless of whether you choose a commercial or homemade solution, be sure to use a spray bottle for even application and minimal waste.

Water-fed Pole Systems:

Water-fed pole systems offer a streamlined approach to window cleaning, particularly for large-scale or multi-story buildings. These systems consist of telescopic poles equipped with water jets and soft bristle brushes at the tip. Purified water is pumped through the pole and sprayed onto the window surface, loosening dirt and debris. The brushes agitate the dirt, while the continuous flow of water rinses it away, leaving behind a clean, streak-free surface. Water-fed pole systems are highly efficient and reduce the need for chemical cleaners, making them an eco-friendly option for commercial window cleaning operations.

Conclusion:

Maintaining clean and clear windows enhances the overall appearance and ambiance of any space while promoting a healthy indoor environment. With the myriad of window cleaning tools available, from squeegees and microfiber cloths to extension poles and water-fed pole systems, achieving sparkling, streak-free windows has never been easier. By investing in the right tools and techniques, you can keep your windows looking their best year-round, allowing natural light to illuminate your surroundings and providing unobstructed views of the world beyond.