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syoddeye · 6 months

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useless, part three

Part three (and the finale!) of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. I finally used my third prompt.

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

66. Price or Reader is auctioned off for a date as part of a fundraiser

cw: one pregnancy mention (Reader does not get pregnant, has never been pregnant)

Read Part One, Part Two. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~4.2k words, Price x f!Reader. This is the most self-indulgent shit I've written in awhile. Please enjoy.

It's past midnight when you limp through the front door of your flat, dropping belongings and articles of clothing alike, shedding both the weight of personhood and your eighteen-hour day. You set your keys down on the end of the counter, ignoring the thin folder for the umpteenth time. James will undoubtedly text about it in the morning, his patronizing messages more reliable than any alarm clock. A half-hour commute home, and you didn't even glance at your phone in fear of accidentally seeing another email from his lawyer. Solicitor. Whatever.

Hamhock slinks out from his lair beneath the bed, weaving between your ankles when you drag yourself into the bathroom.

"Hello Hammy," You whisper, eyeing the newer crop of gray hairs near your roots with a weary neutrality. Definitely the fundraiser's fault. Your hair started to change long before this year's planning began, but this is the longest period you've gone without dyeing it. One thing to thank James for. Not only did his departure give you a crystal clear focus, it freed you from his ridiculous expectations. He'd've commented the moment he spotted the wisps of silver, then casually worked something like anti-aging cream into the conversation.

The prick poisoned the well, and now the only man in the world for you currently lies at your feet. How it should've been from the start, really.

After checking the orange menace's automatic feeder, you slip into bed, allow him to assume his nocturnal throne—your armpit—and plug your phone in one-handed. Your eyes glaze over at the sight of notifications, thumb swiping by muscle memory, and set an alarm. With two weeks left until the big day and more than a hundred unsold tickets, you need every moment you can get. You sigh, counting the tasks of the day ahead instead of sheep.

You'll sign the divorce papers tomorrow.

Naomi practically forces the granola bar into your hands. The assistant stage manager and the props lead—the younger woman is the glue to your glue. A newer fixture at the Bramble Theatre, she was you to an extent, maybe a decade ago: fresh-faced, eager, and optimistic.

"I didn't like how you were looking at the wax fruit."

"We should swap the oranges for plums. Or pears."

"We've been through this. The oranges fit the palette, from the paintings to Dotty's–oh, quit pulling my leg."

You grin, then jut your chin at the stack of slips in her hand. "Are those the waivers? Did all the volunteers sign?"

"Yes, I can post headshots today on socials, so that should boost sales."

"Good. That's one fire extinguished," Rubbing your temple, you lean back in your chair. "I feel gross about it, though. I mean, we run shows that are hundreds of years old, but a date auction? Why don't we raise a guillotine out front and sacrifice effigies to raise money?"

Naomi blinks and whips out her phone. "...Okay, one, I'm noting the effigy idea for next year, but two, the auction won the vote, and everyone participating volunteered."

You grimace. "I know, it's just–"

The sudden opening of the door to your shoebox office interrupts. Theodore, business manager, director, and occasional movement coach, bursts in. Everybody's a multi-hyphenate.

"Terrible news!"

Wonderful. A new fire. You squint, chewing, and watch Naomi try to stifle a laugh valiantly. "Whatever could this be about?"

The older man slams his palms onto your desk, his layered pendants tinkling. "I've punched the numbers, including a best scenario, stars aligning–"

"Teddy. Out with it."

"–we're going to be £40,000 short. Even if we sell out, even if we raffle off the company like cattle, we are circling the drain!"

The tired amusement leaves your body, and in its wake sits a five-digit number and the distant idea to schedule a salon appointment.

The annual fundraiser for the theater, your hard-won home, is a dramatic, demanding, and near-disastrous event every year. The theater has continuously operated a hair above the red, but the laundry list of expenses from the last year cannot be ignored. The new light rig, the stage flooring replacement, the curtain repairs—they never stop. Sponsors and grants only go so far.

Originally, you took this job for its laughable but slightly higher pay and because running around like a madwoman between four gigs at a time wasn't as thrilling or charmingly bohemian as it was in your twenties. Your livelihood depends on the playhouse's success. And the economy. And the general public's attitude toward the arts. All wildly variable. It made you resourceful, and already, you were composing a mental list of people to politely bully for pledges promised in years past. You need time and a phone charger.

"Teddy," you set the half-eaten granola bar down. "Go get ready for afternoon rehearsal. Naomi, cover for me today?"

"'Course."

Theodore swipes his spindly fingers over his brow, nodding fervently at your resolve. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. Do tell if there is anything yours truly can do." With a flourish, the director departs your office, but Naomi lingers.

"You know if it's donations we need…"

You shake your head, immediately knowing what she intends to suggest. "Out of the question."

"But think of her–"

"I'd rather debase myself and resort to dinner theatre."

"I'm just saying–"

"Naomi," You stress. "I am not calling my mother."

She frowns. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Are you really so proud you wouldn't leverage your family's connections to save the Bramble?"

It makes you pause. As usual, she's right. Irritatingly so. You could take another salary cut, but you'd need to find a flatshare, a humiliating idea. Hammy wouldn't survive it, the sensitive thing. You sigh and dismiss her with a wave.

"Fine I won't rule it out. But I'm going to shake down half the city first."

An hour later, you've managed to secure a percentage. Not too shabby, but far from the goal. You take a break to read James's team's latest, vaguely threatening missives and entertain the idea of withholding your signature until he makes a donation. What's a little extortion in the name of art?

You know it's wrong to delay this ugly process. How close relief is should you simply sign the papers. But it's another failure, another black spot in your life's ledger. Another dream crushed beneath the boot of reality. With a wave of bitterness, you type out a curt reply, ensuring you will sign the papers and ask them to arrange for a courier tomorrow.

Naomi's suggestion takes advantage of your mind's lethargy, testing the strength of your will and stubbornness. The last time you phoned your mother was months ago, on the anniversary of dad's death. The old man took his last bow five years back, and it destroyed the last bridge between you and your formidable mother. In retirement, she still holds court with major political players stateside…and across the pond.

Before you let your loathing catch up, you pull up her contact card and dial. It's after noon in D.C., the middle of the week. You might get lucky and reach her voice–

"Is everything alright? You're not in the hospital, are you?" Her donnish, sharp voice hurtles you through time and space to your teenage years.

"No," You answer with gritted teeth. A headache waits in the wings. "No, I'm fine, mom."

"Then why are you calling?"

This is why dad handled conversations. You stand, swiftly shutting the door to your office and locking it. "Can't I just call my mom?"

"Of course. Historically, you do not," There's a low murmur of chatter in the background. She's at a luncheon or at the club. "So I assume there is a reason."

Having an ex-ambassador for a mother is a joke. All that practised charm for everyone else in the world, none of it reserved for you. "Okay, yes, there is a reason."

"Thought so. Well, darling, what is it? Is it James? Don't tell me you're pregnant."

You return to your desk and eye the bottle of bourbon on the corner. "No. James and I are divorcing, remember? This is about my work."

There is no acknowledgement of the separation. Instead, your mother pulls the phone away from her mouth, excuses herself from wherever she is, and the background noise dissipates.

"Your work."

"Yes, the Bramble? Look, we're two weeks out from our big annual fundraiser, and–"

"Oh, you need me to write a check." The clicking of her heels halts abruptly, and if you didn't know any better, she wilts. "Fine. How much do you want?"

Your face heats with a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "I am not asking for money. If you would stop interrupting me…Ugh, mom, I need help contacting some of your old friends here. If there's anyone you know looking for tax deductions or a pet project to brag about, the Bramble is in a bad spot financially."

In the past, whenever the theatre and, by extension, your chosen profession came up, your mother took the opportunity to lecture. She reminded you of the wasted opportunities she afforded you. She brought up your old schoolmates and their current positions. And most insulting of all, she always, always compared you to a certain soldier. Bracing yourself for her monologuing, you reached for the bottle.

"Why didn't you open with that, darling?"

Your fingers close around empty air, and you nearly pitch out of your seat in surprise. "What?"

"Send me the information. I've been meaning to reconnect with some old friends. When is the fundraiser?"

"In two weeks," You repeat, scrambling to pull up your email on the ancient desktop. "Tickets are–"

"Email it. I'll book my flights today and let you know when I'm getting in."

Your hands hover over the keyboard, and your neck protests the angle it bends to keep your phone lodged between ear and shoulder. "Oh, no, mom, you don't need to come."

"Nonsense. I'll, of course, make my own donation, and as a donor, I ought to see where my money is going."

Christ. For the Bramble, you remind yourself and exhale. "Okay. You do that. Listen, I have to get going…but mom?" It kills you to say it. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Oh, this will be so much fun. I haven't visited since before your father. You know, on the topic of reconnecting, I happened get an email from the Prices the other day, and John–"

There it is. You kick into fourth gear, rattling off your exit. "I've really got to run. Thanks again mom, send me your flight info. Love you. Bye!"

You feel like you've run a marathon and dodged a bullet. And yet, as you send the email and file the waivers, your mind snags on your mother's words. On a name. His name. It's not the first time your unhelpful brain's waylaid you with a trip down memory lane. Admittedly, it's happened more since James asked for the divorce. Most nights, if it isn't life's stresses hounding you, it's an endless parade of what-ifs behind your eyelids.

What if you studied economics instead? What if you stayed in America? What if you hadn't gone to that stupid New Year's party? What if you hadn't kissed John? If you didn't get on the train?

The people in your circle frequently speak about living life without regrets. It's a romantic notion and a highly unrealistic one.

Your phone buzzes—Naomi. You're needed. Pushing the past where it belongs, back on a dark shelf, and head out to put out another fire.

Three days before the fundraiser, your mother lands in London and hosts you at her hotel for dinner. Playing catch-up is a professional sport with a whirlwind of names you barely remember and memories you remember very differently.

You pick at dessert, listening to another story.

"–and he was so insistent that that school of yours was a breeding ground for monsters, and I told him, isn't that what's needed in today's society? People need thick skin in politics and business. You'll be happy to know, though, he bought four tickets to the fundraiser."

You don't remember who you're talking about but smile and nod. It's a tough pill to swallow, your mother's success at rallying old friends with deep pockets. Teddy's practically in love with her despite having never met her, popping his bald head into your office to sing her praises whenever another pledge arrives.

Your response is rote. "That's wonderful, mom. Thank you."

She prattles on for another half hour before you decide it's time to return home to Hamhock and burn the midnight oil on the fundraiser's date auction. You asked the company for fifty-word bios and actors, bless them, struggle to contain their self-praises. When she finally pauses to take a sip of wine, you rise. "I should head home, lots to do–"

Ignoring you outright, her head turns, and she grins. "There you are!"

Following her gaze, your brow lowers in confusion until you clap eyes on a trio headed in your direction in the company of a server. Very briefly, you consider the melodramatics of matricide. You've been set up.

Mr. and Mrs. Price look well for their age, puttering toward your mother. They are greyer and a little shorter, but the warmth is there.

John, however…

The universe is intent on humbling you.

The hair is the first thing you notice. Short, kempt, and annoyingly a dark shade of brown. It's crept southward onto his face in a beard of a choice style. There is comfort in the finer details that clarify as he nears. He hasn't escaped time's passing with a face marked by crow's feet, frown lines, and forehead furrows. Beneath his shirt, there's a slight suggestion of a belly, though, with his thick arms and the narrowing of his waist, he's clearly a wall of muscle.

The worst part is how infuriatingly kind his smile looks. It's the beard. Softens him. Once an arrogant prick, always an arrogant prick.

John rumbles your name in a whisper, reeling you in for a polite peck on the cheek. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

You're years beyond fifteen and twenty-five, but how swiftly the impulse to snark resurfaces is alarming. Maturity tempers you. "You look good, too."

After a few minutes of greetings, the two of you are tasked with heading to the bar to fetch drinks. Wholly unnecessary what with a server, but it's a clear command to let the 'adults' talk for a spell. Nevermind being shy of forty. John's quick to try conversation when the order's in.

"You haven't changed a bit," He observes, leaning against the bar beside you.

"Now there's something a woman wants to hear after a decade." You huff, casting your eyes across the restaurant, finding it difficult to look at him. The dark blue of his sweater makes his eyes pop.

"Fourteen years, actually," He corrects. "Drinking martinis, actin'…"

You snort. "You're half right. The Martini half."

His elbow gently knocks into yours atop the bar. "Apologies. My mother told me you'd been in My Fair Lady last summer."

That draws your attention. "No. The theater put it on, but I'm the stage manager. I haven't been on stage in ages." Your eyes flicker to the table, then back to him. Heat crawls up your collar. What other information has your mother passed along? Glancing down at your bare ring finger, you turn the conversation. "Not so different from a Captain, I reckon. How's that going?"

John squints a little, and his mouth pulls into a familiar smirk, tugging at old strings in your stomach. "Can't complain."

"Riveting stuff," He chuckles at that, a deep rasping sound, and you find yourself grinning. "Don't suppose that bit of clandestine, secret agent-type shit your mom's talked about?"

"Secret agent?"

"Yeah. Mentioned it in a Christmas card maybe three years ago?" You smile triumphantly into your glass. Seems both your mothers have a penchant for dressing up the truth.

His jaw works a tick, and something heavy passes behind his eyes. "Well, 'm not. Not exactly."

"Let me guess. If you told me, you'd have to kill me?"

He refocuses some, and a short laugh leaves him. "Something like that."

It's all painfully familiar, but it feels different with a little more life under your belt. His mere presence keeps you on your toes, yet you haven't felt this comfortable in months. For all the history and tension, talking to him is easy. A silence passes, the drinks arrive, and you ferry them to the table.

The night passes better than you expected when you first saw the Prices. They express belated condolences over your father, you chat about the fundraiser, and John politely navigates questions about his work. It frightens you when he briefly mentions Piccadilly to know he'd been there in the carnage. Part and parcel of military life, you guess.

"John, be a gentleman and walk her to the station," His mother chides as the five of you congregate in the hotel lobby.

"He doesn't need to do that," You hastily say. Not again.

"'Course."

There is something dreadfully giddy to how your parents wish you both goodnight.

At least you do not need to take his arm this time. Still, there is no way John isn't thinking about that night. Not when that look of quiet desperation he wore is seared within your memory. It's silly, but you peeked at his hands earlier, and like yours, they're naked.

You break the silence to fish. "How long are you on leave?"

"A week. Got in yesterday."

"Do you normally visit your parents?"

"Often."

Doesn't mean there isn't a woman in his life. 'Often' is not 'always'.

"Visit anyone else? Friends?"

He chuckles. "Sometimes."

You roll your eyes. "You know, you haven't changed much either. Aside from the beard and smoker's lung. Still a stunning conversationalist."

John smirks down at you. "Picked it up in the army."

Oh, yes. He remembers.

The conversation lulls, and the walk is short. You figure John's keen on a repeat when he wordlessly escorts you to the platform. But today's not a holiday, and the station is reasonably busy. He watches like a hawk, nonetheless, when you check the time.

"Brings back memories," He quietly comments.

Nodding, your thumb rubs where your wedding band used to rest. "Sure does." You respond and meet his gaze.

You studied theater, moved back to London, went to the party, and kissed John. You didn't regret those choices—only one.

The invitation flies out of you as your train emerges from the tunnel.

"Do you want to meet Hamhock?"

"He's…certainly orange."

"Don't rush to spend all your compliments at once," You glare, arms full of Ham, then coo at the cat. "John's jealous because he's going grey in the beard."

"I am not."

"Saw them on the Tube. Can't those from me," You tease and set the cat down, giving your kitchen a quick glance. A silver lining of work eating up your schedule is that you last cleaned two weeks ago, and it's held.

"What're those on your head then?" He gestures with a finger and toes off his shoes.

"Details of a person ageing gracefully." You play it confidently, but part of you holds a breath.

He hums and sidesteps Hamhock. "Suits you. It's pretty."

Maybe inviting him over is a mistake. The bolt that runs through you from the compliment pokes at something you thought buried. "What a gentleman," You try to inject as much sarcasm as possible, but your voice quivers. "I'll be right back. Sit tight?"

You leave John in the kitchen to retreat to the bathroom to regroup. Come on, you scold yourself over the basin for getting worked up. It's just John.

And yet, what remains of your confidence perches on a cliffside at the sight of John pointedly staring at the folder of your copies of the divorce papers on the counter. Fantastic.

His small smile is genuinely sympathetic. It's enraging.

"Y'know, I knew you were married…When I didn't see a ring at the hotel, though, I wondered."

Your chest tightens, and you shove the folder into a bookshelf. "Yep. Finalized the divorce two-ish weeks ago."

You're not in the mood to be reminded of your failures.

"Sorry it didn't work out," John murmurs.

"That's life. That's how it works sometimes," You exhale, then force a smile. "Want a drink? Bourbon? Wine?"

He lets you change the subject, and you let him have a glass of whiskey.

You sit on opposite ends of your short couch, Hamhock acting as a gentlemanly barrier. The conversation rekindles itself after a few fingers of liquor, and eventually, John migrates to the floor, idly playing with the cat. You confide in him about your worries about the event and whether the funds raised will be enough, and he listens. There is no condescension, no bulldozing. Not a trace of smugness at all when he makes suggestions. You don't realize how you've slipped into an old, practically ancient formation until he peers back, eyes creasing from laughter. You're fifteen again, and it is useless to deny it – you are regrettably in love with John Price.

"Can I confess something?" He suddenly asks as your cat waddles off with a catnip toy in his mouth.

Your heart lurches. "If it's a crime, I'm a terrible conspirator."

"No. Nothin' like that, but I lied earlier." He chuckles, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. "My mother didn't tell me about My Fair Lady."

"What do you mean?"

John turns sheepish. "I came an' saw it when I was on leave last summer. Thought I'd surprise you, but I got to the theater and lost my nerve."

Instantly, you pick through scraps of memories from the production. There is no way you would have known he was in attendance, not with how hellishly busy you are.

"You, Captain John Price, lost your nerve?"

Color blooms high on his cheeks, and he turns on the floor, rubbing his neck. "I knew you're not acting but I didn't know how to mention it without soundin' like a prick." His eyes look soft. Different from how they looked that night in his parent's garden. Steady, unwavering, but soft. "I know I'm not good with words. I seem to have a talent for making you angry. But I really am happy to see you. Didn't think I'd get another chance after how I bungled it all those years ago at the train–"

At your grown ages, the angle of the kiss is inadvisable. The two of you fix it without parting, and his hands cup your face when you're finally standing toe-to-toe.

He touches your foreheads together when breathing becomes necessary. "Change anything?"

You don't answer. You lead him to your bedroom and exile the cat.

The fundraiser goes off with a predictable amount of hitches. The caterer is an hour late and forgets half the hors d'oeuvres. The bar runs out of red wine early. Two actors from the children's company slap-fight on stage. Nothing you, Naomi, and Teddy can't fix with elbow grease and stage magic. The caterers re-course. Naomi calls in a favor from her bartender girlfriend. And the children forget their quarrel when they're called upon to defeat Captain Hook.

What you are not prepared for is one of the actors calling out sick, leaving you one date short for the auction. You waste an hour trying to convince one of your fellow techies to step in.

Naomi corners you when you stress-eat a comically tiny piece of toast swiped from a tray.

"You know, if one person is all we need…"

"Your girlfriend won't be mad?"

"Ha-ha, don't get cheeky. C'mon, isn't it time you got back out there?"

You suppress a smug smile. Naomi has no idea. Nobody does. You've gotten back out there and then some.

"Did I not tell you I was grossed out by the auction?"

She's relentless. "Are you really so proud you wouldn't debase yourself a little for the Bramble?"

"Absolutely not."

You'd said it with such conviction, so it's a puzzle when you find yourself waiting in the stage wing, makeup hurriedly refreshed. It takes all your courage and grace not to stumble to Teddy's side when he calls your name. He improvises an introduction on the fly, and you nearly laugh when you realize this is the first time you've been on the stage, under a spotlight, in years.

The bidding opens, and you hold your breath, letting it go when a few unfamiliar voices call out numbers. A humbling embarrassment clutches you by the throat. But then a paddle raises more confidently in the front row. The light is bright, but you know whose hand hoists it high.

He collects you at the end of the night as you lock up.

"There's my prize."

You can't stop the grin that splits your face. "It's just a date, John."

"Yeah, doin' things a bit out of order, aren't we?" A glimmer of his younger, puffed-up self shines through, and his hand envelops yours.

As you walk, your elbow digs into his ribs, "What will our mothers say?"

"That a big deal to you?"

"To some people."

"Well, love, you're not 'some people'."

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #cw alcohol #i love love #i love corny shit #i needed to write something soft okay?#lightly edited bc i don't think i'll have time to write tomorrow and the deadline is tomorrow!

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 8 months

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Bleach Headcanons: Skincare

Who’s the skincare expert and who uses just soap and water?

Jushiro Ukitake:

He doesn’t believe in flashy skincare, thinking it needs to be convenient, gentle and affordable. Think of brands like Cerave, Cetaphil, and La Roche Posay. He’ll probably have a trusted cleanser he’s been using for years (centuries?), a reliable serum, maybe retinoid based (gotta use something anti-aging at this stage) and a good, hydrating moisturizer (illness makes his skin dry and he hates looking that way).

Byakuya Kuchiki:

Can and will only buy the best of the best. A skincare snob. Even if there’s an amazing drugstore brand, he refuses to use it. SK II, Tatcha, and La Mer are all you’ll find in his bathroom cabinet. Of course he follows the 7 step Korean skincare routine. Cleanse twice, toner, essence, serum, moisturizer eye cream. Adds a sunscreen if he plans on going out. He will not compromise his routine for anything, so be prepared to wait for him as he goes through this process everyday, twice.

Renji Abarai:

He’ll pretend like he doesn’t do any skincare but he has his little stash of items he uses for self-indulgence. He enjoys wearing face masks (thanks to Rukia), which he applies after using a cleanser that’s trending, like from Tula or Drunk Elephant. The man somehow has balanced skin so he’ll use an everyday moisturizer like the Clinique Moisture Surge.

Kensei Muguruma:

He uses his body wash as face wash, and whatever body moisturizer he has on hand he uses on his face too. What’s the point after all? It’s skin. As long as it’s clean and not cracking, there isn’t a problem.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi:

He creates his own skincare but it’s kind of questionable. He claims his skin can tolerate quite a lot, so his skincare always has heavy amounts of acids in it; glycolic acid, salicylic acid, ascorbic acid. Top this off with a heavy dosage retinol. Does it work? We may never know from all the makeup he uses on his face. At least he removes all of it before sleeping (?).

Kisuke Urahara:

He also makes his own concoctions, but in a much less dramatic way than Mayuri. Grows his own ingredients, like oranges for vitamin C, mint for salicylic acid, and carrots for retinol. Think of his products like a clean, organic skincare line that he wouldn’t sell to anyone unless he’s happy with it himself. He rarely buys commercially available products but the one thing he will spend his money on is sheet masks, they’re convenient and he honestly finds them tedious to make on his own.

Shinji Hirako:

He may not show it, but this man is very self conscious about his appearance. He has a mix of both popular and indie skin care brands. Think Belif, Youth to the People and Drunk Elephant. He probably regularly cleanses and uses a moisturizer, maybe something with vitamin C in it, since he can’t have people seeing the dark circles under his eyes.

Ichigo Kurosaki:

Essence? Toner? Serums? Isn’t a cleanser just soap? Give him some bar soap and a CeraVe moisturizer. He doesn’t have time to figure this shit out. There’s people that need to be saved and stuff.

Rose Otoribashi:

Yes, he knows the difference between a toner and an essence. He also thinks essences are a gimmick. Give him a balancing cleanser for his oily skin, and a toner with some salicylic acid in it to further help the oil. Add a vitamin C serum and a lightweight moisturizer and he’s ready to rock.

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teenfamedr · 1 year

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Real Skincare Guide

Level 1: breakouts, non-painful, a little scarring

Minimize your skincare routine, all you need is an oil cleanser (if you wear a lot of makeup) than a good foam cleanser, moisturizer, and sunscreen. Repeat the same routine before bed just without the sunscreen.

Wear sunscreen everyday!!!

Always apply more moisturizer than you think you need.

Drink a lot of water (2-3LT)

Get consistent sleep

Take a multi vitamins to balance your hormones. I recommend the One-A-Day Woman’s Vitamins (get a real pill cause the gummies don’t have enough iron)

Work on your stress (breathe work, meditate, journal, yoga, walks, going out with friends, therapy, etc)

Look at what body oils/shampoo/conditioner you are using. Could be your akin reacting poorly to something in there.

Level 2: consistant breakouts, acne, scarring

All the stuff for Level 1 apply.

Minimize your skincare routine and than slowly add back in stuff like hydrochloric acid and retinol. Having an elaborate skincare will just make your skin worse. First, focus on healing your skin barrier.

If you are a teenager, it just might be your hormones/growing pains. It will go away eventually.

Pimple Patches work and are especially good if you are trying to stop touching your face.

Wash your pillow cases every 1-2 weeks.

Try to sleep on your back.

If you pop a pimple than apply an antibiotic ointment.

No point in using anti-aging products if you are under the age of 25. It just won’t do anything for you.

Note that if you take in a lot of nicotine you will breakout. If you smoke and you have bad skin, it probably won’t improve unless you quit or lessen the dosage.

Level 3: painful consistent breakouts/acne/scars, redness, irritability, hurts,

Go see a dermatologist!

Acne is can be a real problem. If your acne is painful seek professional help.

If Accutane is recommended, than I would do it. Based only on the experiences of my friends, I have seen great results after a couple months. There are side effects and it is not for everyone but if a professional says you should than I might consider it.

No topical treatment is going to make those scars go away. You are going to need to laser resurfacing which is like this secret treatment rich people do to clear up their skin. It is expensive but really works. Beauty brands want you to think that the right cream can clear up your skin but if you have bad scarring you are only going to see real results with laser treatments

All of the above recommendations still apply

Your acne does not take away from your beauty or your worth as a human being. Remember that acne is normal and social media is fake.

Product Recommandations:

Disclaimer: Not every product will work for every skin type. Do your research for what will be beat for you!

Korean skincare! It is reliable to buy from yesstyle or Olive young. Don’t buy on amazon. (Japanese skincare is good too)

AESTURA Atobarrier 365 Cream

Ma:nyo Pure Cleansing Oil

Ma:nyo Bifida Biome Conplex Ampoule

Beauty of Joseon (sunscreen, eye cream, and serum)

Round Lab 1025 Dokdo Cleanser and Round Lab Birch Juice Sunscreen

Torriden Serum

KAHI Multi Balm

Anything from The Ordinary

CeraVe Daily Moisturizer

CeraVe SA Face Wash Cleanser

CeraVe Acne Foam Cleanser

CeraVe Resurfacing Retinol Face Serum

La Roche Posay spot treatment and soothing balm

EltaMD sunscreen

Soon Jung brand

Laniege Toner

Royal Honey propolis Essence

Aware Lip and Eye remover

TIRTIR- Centella Foam Cleanser

KAHI wrinkle bounce collagen mist

Real Calendula Toner Hyaluronic Toner Pads

Abeille Royale double R renew and repair serum

Tom Ford Lip Balm

Rovectin activating treatment lotion

LA MER moisturizer

PanOxyl Acne Foaming wash

#beauty #books #fashion #kate moss #lily rose depp #makeup #self love #skincare #tiktok #workout #kpop #korean #beauty tips #skincare tips #moisturizer #product recommendations

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theteasetwrites · 2 years

Text

The Wrinkle

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9/10 Interim (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: very vaguely sexual if you squint (just some kissing and a butt grab) ❧ Word Count: 1.3k

❧ Summary: Aging is a natural part of life, but when you notice a wrinkle, it's hard not to be a little sad. Your husband, however, reminds you that you're still just as beautiful, and so is your wrinkle.

❧ A/N: Another oneshot that takes place in the same universe as my series because I am procrastinating writing the last chapters 😀 (but tbh this fic also works as a standalone piece because I didn't really reference anything that happens in the series). I just want to keep writing for them forever, you know? Anywho, I was inspired by all the anti-aging talk on social media I've been seeing lately. People have always been obsessed with looking young, and skincare companies often profit off that insecurity, which is something I've been thinking about a lot. I haven't seen anything where the Reader is a little insecure about her aging, so why not write a comfort fic about that? Aging is beautiful, btw. 💕

Honey, olive oil, aloe, oats…

You’d tried everything, every natural ingredient you could get your hands on. Every moisturizer you made seemed to work on some level—your skin was always soft, at least. The dryness was quenched, and, most importantly, you were happy with your face, for perhaps the first time in your life.

Happy, until one night, you saw it.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, leaning over the bathroom sink as you rubbed in your moisturizer just the same way you did every night. Tonight, though, was different. By the light of the lantern you’d placed on the shelf beneath the mirror, you saw the smallest sliver of a… You couldn’t even bear to think of the word.

It was a line, near the outer corner of your eye. It curved downwards slightly, representing the movement of your cheek when you smiled. Only now, you weren’t smiling. You were frowning in disappointment at the image in the mirror. How could you be getting crow’s feet at this age? You were still young, weren’t you? Aren’t I?

“Everythin’ okay in there?” Daryl’s voice called out from the bedroom, just beyond the door. “Been in there a while, hon.”

“Fine.” Not fine. “Just moisturizing.” Lots of good it does.

“Well, hurry up, woman,” he teased. “I gotta take a piss.”

You scoffed, turning the copper knob of the door with a slippery, oily hand. “Come in,” you sighed. “I’m almost done anyway.” You turned back to face the mirror, dabbing another few fingertips worth of moisturizing cream.

He shook his head as he watched you meticulously massaging the concoction until it was completely absorbed by your skin. It was always a fascinating sight. He never understood it completely, but just as you allowed him to engage in his interests, he allowed you yours. Still, he couldn’t help but think sometimes you cared too much about looking pretty, when to him, you didn’t need to put any effort in at all.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, placing a rather drawn out kiss upon your shoulder, where the skin was exposed by your thin strapped nightie. His hand rubbed your other shoulder, taking his opportunity to feel how naturally soft you were, even without moisturizer.

You offered a reluctant smile as you looked back at him in the mirror. “Thank you… I don’t feel like it.”

Now that baffled him. You’d never been very confident in yourself, he knew that. You were alike in that way. It was tiresome for him, though. He knew your beauty better than anyone, and for you to not see it was heartbreaking. Then again, you felt the same way when he refused to accept his beauty. You were both much too humble for your own good.

Still behind you, he swept back a handful of your hair, revealing the supple flesh of your neck. “Why not?” he asked, then gave himself the pleasure of tasting your neck with his gentle, slightly ticklish lips. That always made you feel better. Usually.

“I—I… just found a wrinkle.”

Detaching his lips, he looked up at you to furrow his brow. As he searched your face, each curve and line so familiar to him, he couldn’t see anything had changed.

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, girl?”

You reached over to turn up the flame in the lantern, brightening the small bathroom. “Look.” You pointed to the spot just at the corner of your eye. “A little wrinkle, right by my eye.”

Squinting didn’t help. He leaned forward, still trying to see what the hell you were so worried about. Finally, he pinpointed the vague, shallow line, almost more like a little shadow that stood on its own. It was hardly anything to him.

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “That ain’t a wrinkle.” He ran his hand through the hair on his scalp to pull back his bangs, putting his face completely on display for you. “You wanna see wrinkles? Looky here.”

Only Daryl could make you snort when you felt like feeling sorry for yourself. “Stop,” you laughed. “You hardly have any wrinkles. Besides, you’re older than me anyway. I’m only thirty-two.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And you got no damn wrinkles. Even if ya did, you’d still be a stone cold fox, so just believe me when I say you’re the most beautiful damn woman in the world, okay?”

Though you were sure you’d never believe that, it did feel terribly good to know Daryl still found you attractive. It was ingrained in you to want, to need, approval from men, and it took you a long time to get out of that mindset. Hell, it was still there to an extent, but Daryl was the only man whose approval you cared about now, only because you knew he’d never break your heart or take advantage of that trust you put in him.

“Daryl,” you laughed, your cheeks filled with a hot blush at his words. “Thank you, but—”

When his hands cupped your cheeks, his gaze softened, as if to make sure you knew what he was doing. Of course, you did. He kissed you, his lips enjoying the taste of your natural moisturizer. A small whimper from you melted into his mouth like candy on his tongue, while your arms tangled loosely around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you.

You always loved the feeling of his warm, strong hands upon your hips, gently squeezing the soft flesh there. He’d often lower his right hand, using it to squeeze your bottom, always making you squeak softly against his lips.

“Oh!” you laughed. He was so predictable. “Stop it!” You playfully slapped at his bare chest, with little to no strength in your flimsy hands. Because he knew you weren’t serious, he squeezed a little more, causing you to stand on your tippy toes and gasp a little more. If anyone could distract you from your little insecurities, it was Daryl.

His lips poked at every little spot of skin on your face, which was scrunched up in faux annoyance. Your laugh, and your wide, toothy grin, were proof enough that his wild, impromptu kisses and less than innocent bottom-squeezes were working like a charm.

“What am I gonna do with you, angel?” he asked, his lips becoming tired and his mouth beginning to downturn in a sudden expression of seriousness. His weather-worn fingers lifted your hair from your face, pinning it back behind your ears. There was an unmistakable hurt in his eyes. Only you knew the extent of his sensitivity, his ability to feel what you felt. When you told him that you don’t feel beautiful, it killed him. “What do I gotta do to make ya see how perfect you are?”

You sighed as you watched your own hands absentmindedly rub his broad shoulders, the smattering of freckles all over them always a comfort to you. Many nights you’d lay in his arms, just counting them as his low, gravelly voice lulled you into a deep, warm sleep.

“Just hold me,” you said. “That makes me feel beautiful, being close to you.”

That smile of his always melted you, had you like putty in his hands. It was small and a little lopsided, and you could only see a sliver of his wide, slightly jagged teeth, but it was like your life force. Seeing him smile, seeing him happy, for just one minute, meant everything to you. Of all people you’d ever met, he deserved, more than anyone, to be happy. That was your job.

“All right, pretty girl.” He pulled you close once again to press a small kiss to your forehead. “I’ll hold ya.” Just like he did every night. Still, you could never get enough of it.

“But first,” he added, letting go of you, “I gotta take a piss.”

He was always so romantic.

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fic #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #norman reedus #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #norman reedus x reader #the beginning series #theteasetwrites oneshot #theteasetwrites fanfiction

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rist-ix · 11 months

Note

I have a question for you what do you think of the quote unquote age gap between Bloom and Valtor?

I had to do alot of research to understand Bloom age when I started to like this ship better than Mr cheater. So here's a brief information dump:

Bloom is 16 in the first episode and its confirm her bday is December 10 (we don't know the the exact year when each girl was born only the fact Stella is the oldest by that logic Bloom is the second youngest out of the group) when we get to season 3 it is confirmed that the girls is in their 3rd semester so that makes Bloom 19 at point. Valtor's age we do not know however I'm going to say at most early 20s from what we know Valtor working with a younger Griffin before he got Popsicled.

Here comes the tricky part. In s4 the girls just finished their semester and graduated making them 20-21. Up until s5 where Nicklodeon had to reboot their age making them 16 again. Flashforward to s8 and that makes Bloom age 19 if you are following the reboot or 23 if you do not follow the reboot. Since we don't know how long Valtor been frozen his mental age is up for debate.

For me personally I don't see Sparxshipping as an Edward and Bella situation as Edward was aging naturally during his years while Valtor was frozen and couldn't age naturally but only mentally.

Okay okay first of all! Your Bloom math checks out and I just realized that I for some reason always thought Bloom is 18 in s3. Which is still possible, I think, I just dont know why I assumed that. Actually no, it works, if she is 16 in s1 she is 17 in s2 and 18 in s3, but we dont know a lot about how the school years work in Magix so I'm gonna jot her down as 18-19 for the remainder of this post.

Still dont know how I passed math btw.

Anyway. Valtor's age is where the real mystery is at. We've got two possibilities in my opinion.

1. He's pulling the ageless immortal card.

My personal go-to for fics and discussions. Love me some 300 year old mommy issues. He has too much practice being a messy bitch, there's no fixing this man folks.

Evidence: There's a flashback showing him with Griffin as a tween: she looks MUCH younger, he looks exactly the same. Unless he also stole the secret magic of the world's most potent anti aging cream, or Griffin's proximity to Faragonda just aged her by three more decades, he does not age.

2. He is the age he looks.

Which, in my humble opinion, would not put him anywhere near twenty. That is a grown man. He's not college age, unless you count college professors under that word. Even if I were good at guessing ages the very stylized art style would throw me for a loop, but im gonna say 40s, give or take. Look at Avalon, look at Codatorta, look at King Radius if u must. That is the age range we're looking at.

Evidence: I dont have any. We're ballin'. I guess it's never explicitly stated he's immortal, which you'd think would be big enough of a deal to mention. If u got something feel free to let me know.

That being said, the Winx Club Wiki page for the canon timeline (ha, good one) puts the time of Valtor's creation in a rough time frame from "Over 17 years before season 1" to "Under 100 years before season 6". So he could technically be anywhere from 17-97, though I'm not sure the upper limit is as reliable as the lower one, given the check-list format of the website. So make of that what you will.

Now that we've got the question of age out of the way, lets get to the age gap. I have no idea what the situation in twilight was to be honest, so I cant compare that.

Realistically, there's at least a decade between Bloom and Valtor. Possibly two decades and change. And that is just from visible age, we can add a few centuries on top of that if we're sticking with the immortal bit. I'm gonna be gonest, I dont think being frozen for 17 years will make a whole lot of difference here.

If you find that icky, which is fair, you can always change that for fics tho! Either turn him into a twenty year old or put Bloom in her milf-era, the options are endless. Personally, I think the age difference is half the fun though, and also the least of their issues. When you're off making out with the objectively worst person in history, wether he's too old for her isnt gonna rank very high on people's list of concerns.

#asks #sparxshipping #winx bloom #winx valtor #i think their very obvious gap in knowledge and experience is very intrinsic to their canon dynamic #Bloom being the underdog while Valtor is VERY convinced of his superiority kind of defines the ship for me #and it makes it so much more satisfying when Bloom does put him on his ass

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fisheito · 5 months

Note

for the question thing!!! do you have any silly hcs about the clan boys (+ the familiars/eito)? can be as wild as u want

sorry in advance if i don't have any HCs for ur beloveds bc i can only offer what my brain chooses to fixate on.... but let's see........

i like to imagine clan members enjoying fun little hobby hours

i pretend they're not busy adults with their own obligations and schedules.... so they just get together like a bunch of retirees and partake in shared hobbies whenever they want 🤗

e.g.,

book club: oli, blade, yaku, garu

horny book club: eiden, morv, blade, edmond if he works up the courage to discuss his fave BDSM PwP short novel with the 3 most shameless creatures ever ... honestly oli could join as well but i'm gonna excuse him from ONE book club so he can get some sleep. maybe he'll alternate days between the two 😆

sewing and knitting together like a couple of serene grandmas: yakuoli. eiden joins sometimes (all serenity is lost when he does)

TARGET PRACTICE! NEW ACTIVITIES!!! DARTS!! ! PIN THE TAIL ON THE EDMOND! sorry idk this is just my way of saying that after the cowboy event, i want to imagine edmond/dante/garu all playing target striking games and it becomes a contest of how split one dart can be down the middle (you can't all be perfect aimers ok aster can't keep buying new darts can u PLEASE throw them anywhere but dead centre).

i know blade could join as well but would it take the competition aspect out of it? he's kind of calibrated to never miss right?? it's not a game anymore. it's just superior blade and pissed off dante and garu cheering (he's just happy to be there) and edmond trying to be civil about letting everyone participate

they are out in the garden. touching grass: yaku is gardening. blade is collecting bugs. garu is digging holes. kuya is bewitching plants at random to spew sex pollen into someone's face (i feel like this is his superpower in SEVERAL fics and i am not complaining). quincy is trying to nap

.but .

he chose the worst place to do it. in the middle of nature's playground (aster's garden)?

garu's kicking up dust into his face. blade is shoving random insects into his face and asking identification questions. yaku screams when he inevitably falls to the kuya traps. kuya can't resist watching the little ones (yakugaru) play with dirt. WHY would you choose to sleep here.

(Topper is nibbling all the edible plants in the garden while skillfully avoiding all the porn plot traps with his superior Toppinstincts)

now for 3 ! single character HCs.......

kuya: wanders the marketplace, and often sees those anti-aging creams with LOFTY claims to their power... he always mocks them and insults the intelligence of all the vain people clamouring to buy the stock. later that day you will see kuya at home, trying those very same creams (procured illegally, of course, because why pay for anything ever) and pretending like he's zero percent interested in the results

rei: in the same situation will just as quickly mock the creams but unlike kuya he'll mean it and will NOT be caught applying the gloop all over his face later. "lmao it's just sunscreen who even believes this shit"

yakumo: i like to give him sneczema sometimes. i know it's implied that everyone in gay gacha has perfect skin forever *waves hand dismissively* BUT

imagine that he loves working with his hands but the sneczema can flare up if he's too rough on em, so he compromises by wearing his gloves. protect that vulnerable skin, yaku!! [insert pun about scaly skin]

His SR clothing material seems soft. Aesthetic reason: slippery smooth like the idea of snek. Practical reason: coarse textures can aggravate skin 😔 only the silkiest coverings for a scaly boy...

i mean. yaku prefers the wet cave environment so we gotta keep an eye on his humidity. too dry and he'l'l turn into a wafer (like in Solaria that One Time)

is this just an excuse for me to mist him with a spray bottle ? at random times because it just seems like fun? perhaps. spritzspritz

#i wanted to only respond to this ask when i had the biggest most brain blastingest thorough intrIGUING headcanons but #i. i don't think we're gonna reach that point.#whatever's floating in my brain is as good as we're gonna get haha #and you've waited long enough... probably? i've lost track of days #can't...t hink... of a specific theme of headcanon.... encompassing every clan member..... *furrows brow in concentration*#sighs. you know how you could have a bunch of ideas but they're all swimming around rapidspeed and you can't actually collect them #until someone prompts you with a VERY SPECIFIC casting line and oh! suddenly! access to thoughts unlocked!!!!#if u just ask me what i think about generally it's. fluff. fluff and food. brain simple #but if u ever wanna try and target my cortex with a specific prompt #throw it at me 😁😁#feesh answer

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rakubalka · 19 days

Text

Shortly after being accepted into the Black Bulls Asta gets put as the stand on medic for his squad by himself .

Late on he gets put as the actual main madic for his squad because Grordon the only other person who knows any sufficient amount of medicine can't heal properly because of his poison element . When people find out he is an actual doctor that is , the with years of practice are a bonus .

One of the first things he does is teach everyone especially Vanessa how to sew wounds . He also starts to give medication to however needs it and overall tries to keep them in good health .

They mainly consist of the following :

Yami :

Immediately got banned from smoking

Would complain from the lack of smoke if he wasn't testing the medical drugs Asta is trying to feed him to detirmen what works best

As a result there are moments he has some of the worst headaches in his life and moments of absolute bliss of no longer having to feel peoples magic at all

Also as a side effects suffers from stomach and/or digestive problems partially because of medication partially because of just genetics

I wanted to keep the gag while giving an explanation and it was either this or making Yami lactose intolerant

Maybe both

Later on got given TheTalk™ from Asta

Finral :

Has mostly normal check-ups

Gets checked regularly for any poison attempt's by both Asta and Gordon

None have worked so far

Absolutely willing to either help or just directly supply any and all medical plants Asta wants

Was the first person to get TheTalk™ from Asta

Nacht :

The moment Asta finally gets his hand on him Nacht is going to pray to every God out there for help

Jokes on him

Asta has WAY more connections than him

He isn't going to like the vaccination

Neither will he like being put before a mind healing specialist doctor but he doesn't have a choice

Because displeasing Asta in the Medic™ mood is going to get all the fear he needs for a lifetime put in him in a few minutes so he shuts up and listens carefully

Nacht doesn't know what he is more - impressed , absolutely terrified or romantically interested in a never before seen by himself way

Apparently he has a type and that is a kind hearted and compasioned very competent absolutely terrifying people

He has no idea how to deal with those feelings especially for people who are half his age

He thought Asta was bad enough on his own and then he met Rebecca

And started to even more seriously question his taste

He didn't start to romantically pursue either of them before they're in their 20's however because he does have standards and one of them is not dating a child or grooming said child

Gordon :

Finally has a doctor who can help him heal without his mana going hare wire

Started to receive both medical cream and better medical make up from Asta to help with his skin condition

He and Asta gave the recipes to his family as the skin condition runs in it

Both of them along with Zora and however knows enough rune magic are trying to make a magical instrument to amplify sound so in a dire situations he can scream for help or to help get peoples attention for something important

Because he has an old scar/wound on his vocal cords making him unable to speak barely above a whisper he carries a notebook to communicate

Gray :

After getting Gray the check up they immediately got to TheTalk™

Both Asta and Gray come to the conclusion that with Gray experiencing very little if any gender dysphoria when constantly transformed might mean they are nonbinary , gender fluid , agender or something else they don't know at the moment

The only thing Asta recommends is more moving and to eat more

Also starts Gray on taking anti anxiety medications

Later after Gray Gordon and Gauche started dating in a trouple he gives them the longer more detailed version of TheTalk™

Gauche :

Asta immediately got up to speed by Mother Theresa(the nun) , Captain Yami and Finral as to their plan to get through Gauche tick skull that he finally has a proper support system and needs to stop being so co-dependent on his sister as it's not healthy for either of them

Asta also starts to search for a mage that can finally properly and more importantly permanently heal the wound in Gauche's nose that causes him to get a nose bleed any time he fell even a speck to much of love , be it platonic or romantic

The wound in question is almost as old as Marie and that and never healed properly

He is in love with his sister PLATONICALLY , not romantically cause that would be nasty

He is practically her parent figure and I don't think I need to explain how fucked it would be for your parent figure to be romantically interested in you , and while I want to point just how desperately he needs help because of all the mental problems he has that line I am not crossong

Also at some point also gets Gauche to start seeing a mind healer regularly because he desperately needs it

Vanessa :

Got banned from drinking permanently

Got started on both anti depression and anti mana overstimulation drugs because she definitely needs it

Charmy :

At first Asta though she had problems

Then later on found out she is just a human-dwarf hybrid and was like "that explains it"

Other than that she is in perfect health

But they both had to re-organize the menu and what ingredients are allowed because the only reason no one is having mana induced cancer is because of Henry taking the extra mana

Fun fact for this - the way we see Charmy is purely stylistic to us to everyone else she looks like a normal young lady around Asta's height when in her dwarf form , in her human form however she is actually taller than Julius

Zara :

The moment Asta finds he is a member he gets the vaccines and the long overdue check up

Also any and all insects he presents to Asta are either getting a) made into medicine , b) given to Charmy to cook or c) eaten raw

Needless to say Zora is both terrified and impressed of Asta

And when he learns Asta full name and does a double take . Because this is the older of the Winter Brothers™ of Hage village !?!

He is honestly surprised he didn't get jumped by the other one

Not that he didn't get death treats stares from Yuno mind you he just didn't realize that Yuno is fully ready to kill him and take care of the body by himself

He is terrified

He also gets bullied by Asta to wear sunscream

Henry :

Gets his check up regularly

Is on a very strict dietary and exorcise plan made by Asta so he is in good health

Also started to get documented by Asta as while there have been people with this curse/sickness in history they are still pretty rare

Nero :

First started getting check ups not by Asta but by a veterinarian

Later it came out she has a human form

Asta has no idea how the Deal™ would have affected Nero so he tries to monitor her health a lot so that he can understand what is healthy for her

Also while looking like a young adult she is very much a grandma at heart , she does mother hen people into seeing Asta

Luck :

Immediately gets started on anti mana overstimulation drugs

Also tried anti anxiety medications, it did not work and if anything it made tings worse

Got permanently put with a mind healer similar to Gauche

Magna :

Got a plan to up his mana capacity by Asta and Charmy

Also got to a mind healer because of self worth issues

Still batshit insane and yet one if not the sanest member of his squad

Noelle :

Asta saw the family issues and mana problems a mile away

And decided she is one of his now effective immediately

She can't go to a mind healer other than Mark because of security reasons but that doesn't stop her family from being a supporting environment

And while therapy is out the table at the moment

She still starts to take medical drugs from Asta like everyone with high mana

Vanessa's and Captain Yami instructions and advices as to how to better her control are very informative and useful

Later on also gets tutored by Klaus on how to move metal mana or just heavier and denser mana

Libei :

Asta is banging his head at the wall but mark his word he will make sure everyone he cares about is safe , healthy and happy and Libei is in that group of people

Asta(himself) :

Has a visit to the doctor around two time a moth

Can actually get given directly to the newbie to use healing as Asta's body will react positive to any healing other than the one using one own mana to do it

Any and all questions are welcome

Might later on also add the future members

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drelldreams · 10 months

Text

Mass Effect Lore: Common technologies in the 2180‘s (Part 2)

This post is both a collection of canon technologies in the Mass Effect universe, and personal headcanon which may be borrowing common concepts from sci fi.

Infrastructure:

Autonomous public transportation vessels of all sorts. As seen with the tram on Noveria. Trains, buses and cabs are also autonomous. Rude bus drivers, trains and buses being cancelled or too late are problems of the past.

Some of those buses and cabs drive on land; others are flying vessels that travel through the sky.

Trains travel at immense speed, with most trains being able to travel at least 1000km/h. Low pressure tunnels allow for this level of speed.

Suspension railways are a common means of public transportation and are widely featured all across the galaxy on various space station, colonies and in most Earth countries. This also includes maglevs (magnetic levitation trains).

Cities commonly not only feature terminals providing rentable e-bikes, e-scooters or even e-rollerblade, but also rent flying hoverboards.

Medicine & Health:

Needles have become obsolete. Technologies akin to Star Trek's hypospray have replaced them. (This contradicts with Mordin's line in ME3: „Fear of needles. Common phobia." I know.)

Genetic therapy has advanced so far as to being able to cure almost any genetic disease. (Book canon).

Cybernetics can fix deafness and blindness. (Canon implied, I believe?)

Advancement in technology and medicine have slowed down human aging significantly. Women can have healthy children in their sixties. (Book canon). Anti aging therapies and cybernetics can allow humans to reach ages of up to 250 years.

Education:

Paper and pens being used in schools is a thing of the past. Students use tablets (which are made of ultra-light also foldable) with either keyboards or tablet pens for handwritten notes. (Book canon implied - Gillian uses a computer to work on her assignments in Mass Effect: Ascension).

Some teachers and students would prefer to have their textbooks in form of super light datapads (like e books) rather than have them all digitally stored on their computer.

Learning programs are highly advanced and VI‘s provide students with custom tailored, individualized exercises and study plans and games.

Food:

Liquid food drinks, nutrient pastes and bars that replace entire meals are available just about everywhere. With biotics burning huge amount of calories, the asari have perfected such products. Being cheaper than freshly cooked take out meals and coming in all sorts of flavors and textures, such nutrient pastes proved to be a saving grace for poorer individuals. Some poor people nearly only eat 3D printed nutrient paste, which does not have the same feeling as eating real meals, but nutrient paste in Mass Effect is of such high quality that it provides the body with all nutrients it needs while being free of unhealthy ingredients.

People-prepared foods (by humans/aliens) are still appreciated, but many foods available in grocery stores are 3D printed. Cafés tend to feature feature people-prepared foods. A café selling 3D printed cakes for instance would be looked down upon.

Synthetic flavors have been perfected. While technology has been advanced to the point where you could grow strawberries on Omega without issues (using environmental control systems in a hydroponic bay), the ultimate cheapest way to replicate the flavor is using synthetic ingredients. This way, you can find foods of any flavor, no matter what exotic fruit from Palaven or Khar'Shan it might be, anywhere.

Sugar free snacks and candy are as common as the sugar variants. Ice cream cates feature sugar free ice cream options. Sugar free chocolate or cookies are available at any grocery store. Various synthetic ingredients are used to replace sugar.

Lab grown meat is incredibly common (canon) and meat from Earth animals found on space stations is grown from animal stem cells.

Home:

Significantly less time is spent on chores due to robots doing most of the work. With floor wiping and vacuum robots being affordable for middle class people in the 21st century, in the 22nd, the majority of cleaning is done by robots in a middle class household. Advanced kitchen aid machines are found in most households and make cooking less time consuming and complicated for most people.

Blinds, curtains, light, air filtration systems, thermal regulation systems (air conditioning or heating systems) and television are typically navigated via a voice command (for example, „Light on“ or „Television off).

Holographic home ambiences like in Cyberpunk 2077 are common. Windows can be made to look like they‘re displaying a galaxy full of stars via holographic projections. Some people use those home ambience holographs to create the appearance of a luxurious club lounge, or to project beautiful landscapes into a corner of their room.

Personal Care:

Like in Star Trek, sonic showers can be used to clean the body effectively. Ultrasonic vibrations remove dirt, bacteria, excess oil and dead skin cells without requiring soap or water. While more expensive than typical showers, the use of sonic showers saves water. This sort of technology is found within quarian environmental suits. Drell with Kepral's Syndrome generally use sonic showers rather than water showers.

In addition to having an inbuild shower function, quarian environmental suits are equipped with a dental hygiene program that cleans the teeth and mouth of the wearer effectively using ultrasonic vibrations.

Certain suit upgrades can even use nanobots to moisturize the body.

Toothbrushes are also generally sonic toothbrushes that use the same technology as showers do; ultrasonic vibrations.

Clothes are typically self-cleaning with nanoparticles that kill bacteria and prevent the build up of odor.

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