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[sophieguo]

Shoe Upper Lining Friction Color Fastness Testing Machine: Ensuring Durable and High-Quality Footwear

The Importance of Color Fastness in Footwear Manufacturing In the competitive world of footwear manufacturing, quality and durability are key factors that consumers look for. One of the most important characteristics of high-quality footwear is its ability to maintain its appearance, especially when it comes to color. Whether it’s a high-end leather boot or a stylish synthetic shoe, maintaining…

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter Nine

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, mild angst, mild fluff

Word Count: 6k

The mandate becomes clearer. You start your first day at the archive. Ghost shares information.

Chapter Eight // Chapter Ten

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter (UN Mandate I)

Pillar I: Genetic Continuity: All citizens capable of reproduction must contribute to the gene pool unless medically exempt.

Pillar II: Historical Memory: Each Safe Zone and its civilians must preserve human history, language, and art, ensuring no generation forgets humanity’s origins.

Pillar III: Weapons Compact: All Safe Zones are forbidden from producing, obtaining, or trading weapons of mass destruction without prior UN Council approval. Military force may be used only under UN mandate to prevent genocide or extinction-level threats. The production or attainment of firearms, explosives, projectiles, blades, or any instrument of war by civilians is prohibited.

Pillar IV: Bioethics: Non-consensual testing on humans is prohibited. Artificial intelligence, cloning, and biotechnology is outlawed unless authorized by UN Council and must prioritize long-term human well-being.

Pillar V: Reintegration: No persons may be denied sanctuary in a Safe Zone on the basis of origin, gender, or religious belief. All survivors have the right to seek safety and sustenance.

Pillar VI: Equity of Resources: Vital resources, such as water, food, medicine, and power, must be shared across Safe Zones under UN allocation protocols, and redistributed in times of shortage.

Pillar VII: Rewilding: Each Safe Zone and the citizens therein must preserve or restore a percentage of surrounding ecosystems to maintain biodiversity and prevent ecological collapse.

Pillar VIII: Cultural Sovereignty: Safe Zones and the citizens therein retain cultural autonomy, as long as that autonomy does not propagate ideologies that promote extinction, discrimination, or historical erasure. Minority cultures, languages, and traditions must be legally protected.

Pillar IX: Equal Dignity: All individuals, regardless of origin, ethnicity, religious belief, sexual orientation, or country of birth, are equal under the law and entitled to equal protection and opportunity.

Pillar X: Anti-Extremism: All Safe Zones and the citizens therein must report, identify, or otherwise notify the respective authoritative bodies of any organizations, groups, collectives, or movements advocating genocide, supremacy, or systemic subjugation.

You close the pamphlet, shutting out what you didn’t want to know but need to understand. The Preservation of Humanity Charter. Mandate I. Specific and yet entirely vague—open to interpretation. On the surface, nothing appears nefarious, yet you detect hypocrisy in it, that as you dig deeper and ask more questions, fractures will appear.

Your gaze shifts to the collection of reading materials the transitional advisor and family planner handed you when you departed. They stare back, mocking. With a sigh, you set the pamphlet down and reach for another. This one is black with white lettering. “Bill of Rights” is embossed on the front near the top of the thin booklet. In the middle is the emblem of the United Nations.

Opening it, you scan the introduction.

In recognition of the fragility of civilization and the enduring worth of all persons, the United Nations affirms the following rights and protections as universal and mandatory for all Safe Zones, Neutral Zones, governing bodies, and military authorities. These rights are preserved under The United Nations Preservation of Humanity Charter, Mandate III, in alliance with the global standards set forth by the United Nations Continuity Council.

You pause in your reading, mind drifting toward all that’s been lost. There was so much chaos when the structures in place began to collapse—when everything destabilized and devolved. No one believed that any of this would happen. When world leaders threatened one another and preached for isolationism, nothing seemed to come of it. People went to work, lived their lives, spent time with their friends and families.

Then came the trade wars, the tariffs, and sanctions. Even then, people only complained about rising prices and the cost of living. Land and border disputes followed. More empty threats where nothing happened, and the news cycle carried on. But one country put boots on the ground. Another did the same in retaliation. Like a faucet being slowly turned on, the droplets became a stream and then a current.

Article I – Right to Existence and Liberty.

All citizens have the right to life, dignity, liberty, and autonomy. No persons shall be subject to enslavement, forced labor, or arbitrary detention.

All “citizens.” You’re not a citizen—not yet. Where does that leave you? Will they grant you full status when probation is lifted?

Article II – Equality Under Law.

A loud, repeated thudding fills the room, coming from the front door. Clutching the thin black booklet, you head for the door, yanking it open, only to find Lieutenant Riley on the other side holding a cardboard box.

“You’re here early,” you blurt.

“Brought you something,” he replies, voice raspy but gentle.

Behind the balaclava, all you can see are his gorgeous brown eyes. There is no crease in his brow—nothing that indicates any emotion. Yet his shoulders are a tad slumped, almost as if he’s exhausted and would rather be in bed.

You step to the side, holding the door open enough for Lieutenant Riley to enter. Shutting the door, you follow behind him as he makes his way into the bedroom. Placing the cardboard box on the bed, Lieutenant Riley rests his hands atop it, silently observing you as you approach the box.

“You brought me something?” you ask with a hint of excitement.

Neutrality becomes softness. A flush of pink blooms at the edges of the balaclava. Ghost taps the top of the box and takes a step back, extending an arm in open invitation.

“Go on,” he urges.

Placing the thin, black booklet on the bed, you reach for the box with eager, itching fingers. Anticipation flowers in your stomach. Only days ago, Lieutenant Riley dumped you out of his lap and left, hardly giving you a glance as he walked out the door. Now, here he is, bringing you a gift.

You open the box and find an array of colors.

“Is this…” you trail off, reaching into the box, fingers gliding along soft fabric.

Lifting it from its home, you unfurl it. A sweater. Deep maroon by the color. The fit looks almost perfect. Holding the sweater off to the side, you peer down into the box.

“Have you brought me clothes?” you ask, almost choking on your words.

On your release from quarantine, you were given a single outfit. You’ve been rotating through two shirts and two pants the last two weeks. Placing the sweater on the bed, you start removing more items. There are tank tops, dress pants, and cardigans. There’s even a sundress. A wave of joy washes over you, drowning you in rapt glee as you retrieve more clothing items out of the cardboard box.

“I guessed on your size,” says Ghost as a mountain of clothes begins to form on the thin duvet. “Wasn’t sure about color. Or style.”

While the clothes are clearly second-hand, all of it is in good condition. You’ll have more than two shirts to wear. More than two pants. Ghost has brought you an entire wardrobe.

Gratitude explodes within you, bringing you to the brink of tears.

“I can exchange what you don’t like,” he continues, rambling on like he’s suddenly nervous. “If something is too big, can always have it resized.”

“Lieutenant,” you whisper, clutching a pair of black slacks to your chest.

“Do you like it?” he asks, taking a step toward you.

He sounds so eager—so hopeful.

Words form and then promptly leave your head, escaping into the air. So, you don’t speak. You walk around the corner of the bed, and push into Lieutenant Riley’s space. Placing your hand on his arm for support, you go up on your toes, pressing your lips to his balaclava-covered cheek.

“Thank you,” you murmur, squeezing his arm. “For thinking of me.”

Lieutenant Riley’s brow is soft and delicate. He leans in your direction, pure affection in his gaze. It’s startling, sending a rush of heat up your neck and a little flip of your stomach. You quickly drop your hand, backing up.

“You start at the archive today,” states Ghost that soft gaze following your every step.

“I do,” you exhale, smiling in his direction as you delicately fold a pair of jeans. “I’m excited to be around books again.”

“Should pick something out,” nods Ghost. “Look your best for the big day.”

“You’re right,” you grin. “I should.”

After a long deliberation and several spins for Lieutenant Riley’s viewing pleasure, you select a simple black dress with a forest green cardigan. It’s plain and comfortable but professional.

Ghost lightly tugs on the hem of the cardigan. “Fit all right?”

“It’s lovely,” you beam, shying away from how intensely Lieutenant Riley watches you.

It’s hunger but not lecherous in nature. Like dark water, you cannot see into his depths—you cannot begin to guess what he might be thinking. Yet you like the attention, and whatever animosity that lingered between the two of you from the other night is gone. Lieutenant Riley’s body language is relaxed and intimate. The man is in a good mood, and that contentment only heightens your own happiness.

You should enjoy this day. It’s a fresh start. A new beginning in the face of all that you’ve lost.

Ghost releases the cardigan, his arm returning to his side. “Ready?”

You nod. “Ready.”

Out on the street, Ghost escorts you toward a black SUV.

You come to a dead stop. “Is this yours?” you ask in disbelief. “People own cars?”

Ghost opens the front passenger door. “No,” he answers, stepping to the side to indicate that you should get in.

“No this isn’t yours? Or no people don’t own cars?”

“Yes.”

You poke him in the chest, but you’re grinning. “Don’t you dare,” you laugh.

��Dare what?” he replies in mock confusion.

You shake your head good-naturedly, sliding into the passenger seat. Ghost shuts the door, circling around the front of the vehicle to hop into the driver side.

You arch an eyebrow. “Why are you taking me to work in a non-military vehicle?”

“How do you know that?” counters Ghost, draping his arm across the steering wheel.

“So it’s a civilian vehicle?”

“Didn’t say that,” he says casually, leaning back in the seat, reaching into his pocket as he digs around for something.

You open your mouth. Shut it. Ghost chuckles, and you playfully smack his bicep with the back of your hand. Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, Ghost sets both in the middle console. The SUV roars to life, the floor gently rattling beneath your feet. Ghost checks the side mirror and shifts gears. The vehicle rolls forward, cruising slowly down the street.

Two weeks behind the wall and all you’ve seen is the inside of your temporary apartment, and a few surrounding streets. This is furtherment—a consolidation of what was and the exploration of possibilities. Home is behind you, though it dwells in your heart, and for now, you must make peace with your new reality. You must navigate this to your advantage, happiness, and well-being.

That is the core of survival after all. To carry on.

“Where is the archive?” you ask, peering upward through the windshield at the towering buildings.

“It’s inside the library,” answers Ghost, turning on his blinker as he rolls up to a stop sign. “In the civilian zone.”

“We’re going to the civilian zone?” Your voice is laced with excitement.

All you’ve known is grim-faced men and a militarized looming presence. This might just be your first real sense of normalcy in almost a month.

“We are,” replies Ghost.

You can’t sit still as the SUV shepherds the two of you along. Beneath your skin is a buzzing adrenaline. It pushes you to twist and turn, to try and absorb everything around you. The neutral greyness of the militarized zone starts to change, shifting toward greenery. Where there were only sidewalk, road, and buildings, trees and plants begin to appear at even intervals, adding a touch of color.

Ghost slows the vehicle at a small guard gate. The barrier lifts, and a guard waves the SUV through. The transition to the civilian zone is almost instantaneous—a whiplash. While there are several vehicles on the road, the majority are buses, and beside those in designated lanes are bicyclists and motorized scooters. No one walks around in uniform. It’s so…ordinary, and yet so strange, like you’ve been transported back to a time before the collapse or shoved into a parallel reality.

There is a communal quality to the way people move in groups or pairs. No one appears to be any hurry. Lieutenant Riley turns, and you nearly tell him to stop the car. You press your face to the glass, mouth agape as he drives by an open market.

As he takes another turn, you whirl around in your seat. “What was that? Can we stop there?”

Behind the balaclava, the skin around Lieutenant Riley’s eyes wrinkle, hinting at a hidden smile. “Another time,” he murmurs. “Promise. Don’t want to be late on your first day.”

You press yourself against the seat, head tilted in the direction of the window. While everything appears clean—utopian even—there is an underlying rawness, a wear and tear that can only come from age and lack of sufficient resources. Questions fire off in your head. There is so much you want to ask Ghost. If he weren’t so goddamn stubborn, you’d talk his ear off for hours. Instead, you sit still, toying with the hem of your dress as Lieutenant Riley guides the vehicle along.

A few more turns, and then you’re solidified, staring up in shock at the building before you.

“Oh my God,” you say aloud.

Lieutenant Riley snorts at your outburst.

The library’s front façade are book spines in various colors and titles. This is not a structure built in the collapse but from the time before, when libraries were receiving adequate funding, the government cared about knowledge, and learning was publicly free institution. The very center of the building, where the stone stairs meet the entrance doors, is a wall of glass, splitting the book spines into two sections.

“This is—This is amazing,” you gasp.

Ghost grunts in what must be an agreement. Either way, you don’t particularly care. This is a library, a place you never thought you’d see in all its glory again.

“Are you crying?” asks Lieutenant Riley, reaching across the center counsel to place his hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you hiccup, wiping away a wayward tear.

“What’s upset you?” He sounds genuinely worried, and that only makes you cry harder.

“I’m happy. I promise,” you say through a shaky breath.

The crease in the middle of Lieutenant Riley’s brow doesn’t abate. “Need to take a minute?”

You nod, sniffling, using the sleeve of the cardigan to absorb the remaining tears. “Just a bit overwhelmed.” Ghost nods but remains the quiet companion as you gather your composure. “I’m ready,” you murmur after a minute.

Lieutenant Riley leans away from you, fingers pressing against the door lock buttons. You hear the audible transition of the locks disengaging. Reaching for the handle, you take a deep breath, readying yourself for what’s to come.

The car door opens. Crisp, cool air rushes in. You inhale sharply, slipping from the seat, landing on solid ground. Glancing over your shoulder, you lock gazes with Lieutenant Riley. He gives a little nod, an encouraging inclination to go.

You raise your hand in the smallest goodbye, slamming the SUV door. Through the window tint, you watch him watching you. Backward step. A turn of your heel. Forward step by forward step. Stairs.

At the top, just before the glass doors, you turn one last time. Ghost is still parked at the curb. Waiting. This is a different version of him, a patient and caring Lieutenant Riley you haven’t seen before. He’s certainly flirted, found ways to comfort you, but there has always been distance—a separation. You consider this change as you enter the library, questioning whether Lieutenant Riley’s motivations are pure.

Who did they assign to you?

Why does it matter?

It matters to me.

The bit of joy that’s made a nest in you fractures. Small cracks. Tiny fissures. Not enough to notice but just wide enough to allow bitterness in.

I was offended they didn’t make me an offer.

Perhaps Lieutenant Riley’s motivations aren’t pure. It’s clear that he wants you to himself, but why? Why you when he could probably have anyone?

As you enter the library, you’re greeted by a warmly lit space, the interior all dark wood and polished stone. Overhead, you notice a balcony of a second story. All you can see of it are the tops of the shelves, but that isn’t what captures your attention. As you approach the front desk, you notice the lack of books on the shelves. Some are completely empty, others full. Most are partially stocked with sections of barren shelving, dust collecting in the corners.

You give your name at the desk, and the receptionist smiles.

“Follow me,” she says, voice soft and lyrical.

As the two of you head toward the back of the building, your awe becomes worry. Most of the lights are turned off back here. The bit of light it does receive comes from the main windows up front and a few skylights that cut through the middle of the second-story ceiling. Rope barricades close off endless rows of empty shelves. Destruction has not touched them. They are simply empty. Bones and broken skulls that once held neural gore.

“Through this door, dear,” says the receptionist, indicating a door that says, “Archival Department” and below that “Employees Only.”

“Thank you,” you reply, but she’s already off, shoes clacking against the marble.

You press your hand to the door, standing there in the muted shadows. Instinct is rising, whispering to run, to seek shelter in more familiar places. But there is nowhere for you to go. Even if you were to walk out the front door, Lieutenant Riley might not be out front, and you don’t know how to return to your apartment.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to the door with the other hand on the handle. “Fuck.”

You have to do this.

You have to do this.

You have to—

Turning the handle, you shove it open, barreling through without looking where you’re going. You nearly take a tumble, righting yourself at the last moment. The door slam shuts behind you, and three pairs of eyes stare back.

“That’s certainly an entrance,” comes a masculine voice with a thick Irish accent.

A tall, lanky man with wire-thin glasses sits behind a plain wood desk covered in stacks of paper and various office supplies. His auburn hair has a touch of grey in it—messy too like he’s only just rolled out of bed. In his hand is a white mug with black lettering that says Yes, I really do need all these books.

“Hi,” you manage, raising your hand in greeting.

When he smiles, there is a fatherly touch to it. You instantly gravitate toward it. “I’m Arthur,” he says, rising from his chair and circling around the front of his desk, arm extended, hand offered in a handshake.

You give your own name, clasping his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You’re me new archivist.”

“I am,” you nod.

Arthur beams. “Welcome.” He turns to the other two people in the room. Both are women around your age give or take a year or two. “This is Hannah.” He nods toward a blonde with a head of tight curls. “And that is Eloise.”

“Hello,” they greet in unison, all smiles.

The room itself is a quaint office space. Along the far wall are large windows that let in natural light. There are four desks in total, three clearly belong to Arthur, Hannah, and Eloise. The fourth sits empty and must be yours. Beneath your shoes is worn, dark wood and the walls are an off beige with one accent wall in dark green. Pushed up against the three walls without windows are rows and rows of shelving, all of it packed and overflowing. A few of the wood shelves sag inward, threatening to collapse at any moment.

“Charles mentioned your experience,” says Arthur. He takes a drink from his mug. “We’re happy to have you. Too much work for three.” He chuckles. “Not that four will be much better.”

“I noticed all the empty shelves,” you reply, taking a leap in what he might be referring to.

He nods solemnly. “This library services the entire Safe Zone. You’d think they’d assign more staff.” Arthur shakes his head. “We can’t process all this material fast enough. Demand is high but we’re only three.” He lifts his coffee mug in your direction. “Four.”

“Staying busy sounds nice,” you reply, because it’s true. You need out of your fucking head. You need to be away from Ghost and from that apartment for a bit. “And books make me happy.”

Arthur nods. “Hopefully you’ll still love them as time goes on.” He clears his throat. “Now, about the job.”

An endless sea of information rushes at you. Eloise and Hannah float about the office, the two of them chatting in French as they rifle through paperwork. Arthur leaves them to it, taking you on a full tour of the office space and then into the library itself. You stay politely silent through most of it, asking questions when there are lulls. Meandering through the library, Arthur circles back to the office, bringing you to another door.

“Behind here,” he begins. “Is everything we have yet to duplicate.”

While walking through the library, Arthur explained the only books on the shelves were ones they already had duplicates of. There are plenty more where there are only singular copies. Some in pristine condition, others needing a reprint. But it’s not all physical. There are digital versions too that are sitting, waiting to be processed.

“It’s a maze in there.”

“I’m ready,” you smile.

Arthur opens the door, the two of you stepping inside. The quality of the air is immediately different. On the wall next to the door are several panels indicating temperature, air quality, and humidity. It’s all being monitored. But that’s not what shocks you.

Arthur wasn’t joking. The place is a fucking maze.

“What—what is all this?” you ask, turning toward him, gesturing at what can only be called a mess.

Arthur sighs, adjusting his glasses. “That is too much work for four people.”

There is no organization. To order in the chaos. It’s just rows of shelving, stacks of cardboard boxes and storage bins. There are even stacked books pressed up against the wall. A home was found, even that means home is on the goddamn floor.

“No kidding,” you whisper.

Just as Arthur opens his mouth, the door swings open.

“It’s lunch,” says Hannah.

Arthur checks his watch. “Look at that.”

“And someone is here for you,” adds Hannah, smiling in your direction.

“Me?” You point at yourself as if there might be another of you lurking in the stacks.

Hannah’s smile shifts, becoming a knowing smirk like she’s holding on to a little secret.

Arthur claps and pats his stomach. “Lunch is an hour. A full hour.” He winks. “We take that seriously around here.”

At the library reception desk, you find an unexpected visitor.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, approaching Ghost slowly. “Are we leaving?”

You don’t want to go. Only a few hours in and you’re eager to stay, to idle amongst the shelves.

In one hand, Ghost carries a soft-sided insulated cooler bag. Tucked under that arm is large blanket. The receptionists gaze lingers on the two of you, observing with abject curiosity. Ghost is in his all-black fatigues and balaclava.

“Thought I’d bring lunch,” he states.

“That’s kind of you,” you murmur, reaching for the blanket.

Ghost surrenders it without protest. “There’s a park across the street.”

You nod, clutching the blanket to your chest. “I’d like that.”

A few minutes later and you’re sitting on the blanket, soaking up the sun as Lieutenant Riley opens the cooler bag. He retrieves a glass bottle of water along with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and some cut raw veggies.

“Eat as much as you want,” sighs Ghost as he settles onto his back, arms tucked behind his head.

Unwrapping one of the sandwiches, you take a bite, chewing slowly. “Thank you.”

Lieutenant Riley glances at you. “You didn’t pack a lunch. Knew you’d be hungry.”

“Looking after me?” you tease.

“That’s my job.”

You snort and take another bite. As you chew, you pour yourself some water. It’s cold and crisp. Refreshing. “Didn’t work today?” you venture to ask.

“Work every day,” sighs Ghost. “Price doesn’t mind if I slip away for an hour or two.”

“Must be nice,” you murmur.

“First day treating you well?”

You nod, still chewing. Swallowing, you answer him. “It’s a good fit. Keep me busy.”

“Good.”

“Arthur is the Lead Archivist. And Irish. Hannah and Eloise speak French, but their accents are different.” You take another bite. “Pretty sure Hannah’s Canadian and Eloise is from France,” you muse. After a few seconds of silence, you continue. “Is that normal for all the Safe Zones?”

Ghost adjusts, stretching. “Is what normal?”

“Is it normal for people from different countries to all live in a Safe Zone together?”

Lieutenant Riley stares up into the sky. “It’s on purpose.” You start to formulate a follow-up question, but he carries on. “To dispel supremacy movements. Can’t gather support if the remaining population is scattered across hundreds of Safe Zones.”

“There are hundreds of Safe Zones?” Ghost nods but doesn’t elaborate. “How many exactly?” you probe.

“Just over two hundred.”

Two hundred? There aren’t even two hundred countries. You recall the map in Commander Graves’ office, of the different colored stars that dotted the unlabeled land masses. Of the stars, there were eight different colors, but now that you consider it, they easily could have been two hundred of them on it.

“Are they all large like this one?”

“No,” snorts Lieutenant Riley. “Most are small. Only a few dozen are the size of this one. Ten that are even larger.”

This is the most information Ghost has given you. He appears more open than before. Relaxed. You take another bite of your sandwich, knowing that you need to take advantage of this opportunity.

“Is that why the country flags are black on your uniforms?”

Like a sudden breeze that chills the bones, Lieutenant Riley’s demeanor shifts to a somber note. “Partially,” he answers, voice raspy. “Black flags used to mean something different. Now it’s a statement of grief and remembrance.”

“I don’t entirely understand,” you say softly, shifting closer to him. “There’s so much I don’t know. And no one is willing to talk to me about it. They just…stare at me like I’m dumb.”

You recall Commander Graves’ disgusted expression, and the aloofness you received from Charles. Joann didn’t acknowledge your lack of understanding either.

Ghost still stares into the sky. “Countries exist by law and not land. Borders don’t bloody matter when half a continent is devasted by warfare.”

A sourness blooms in your stomach, the food sitting heavy. “What about your home?”

“Habitable. But destroyed. The infrastructure is gone. All the major cities are craters.”

You reach out, placing your hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

Lieutenant Riley finally looks at you, a sadness settling in his brow. “I’ll be fine, dove. Everyone I care about is here.”

You give his arm a little squeeze before retreating, fiddling with the paper wrapper your sandwich sits in. While you’d like more answers, it’s clear that this topic upsets him. Lieutenant Riley’s home is gone—obliterated. It’s not a pleasant topic for idle conversation.

“With the school attached, I might be asked to lead a writing or reading class. Maybe sub if someone is sick. Arthur mentioned that they try to go there once a week to help those students who are behind reading level.”

It’s an attempt to turn the conversation around, to divert Lieutenant Riley’s thoughts elsewhere. He takes it, some of that sadness receding.

“You interested in that?” he inquires.

You incline your head. “Yes. Did it all the time in my previous community.” Taking another bite of your sandwich, you chew thoughtfully. “But I wouldn’t call what we had a ‘school.’ Did our best though.”

Lieutenant Riley’s gaze is soft. There is a lightness to it, an affectionate edge that reminds you of this morning. You fluster under that stare, staring down at your lap.

“You’ll be brilliant,” he states with such confidence that you believe it too. A smile forms on your lips, spreading wide until your cheeks hurt. Lieutenant Riley rolls onto his side. “Can I kiss you?”

Startled, you blink rapidly. “I—” You giggle. “Yes.”

As you lean toward him, Ghost reaches out, grasping the back of your neck to draw you closer. With one hand on his chest, and the other pushing up his balaclava to reveal his lips, you don’t care if anyone is watching. The sweet connection is instant sunshine—a flowering of a season. Low in your core, a heat stirs.

Soft and slow, Ghost restrains himself, and that only fuels the desire swirling inside you. This is the Lieutenant Riley you like. The one you want to know. Even though you’ve been ripped from your home, you could make a new one here, with him, if only it were always like this.

“Dove,” he breathes against your lips.

That name he calls you. An endearment. You pretend to hate it, but the way he always says it with a husky tone sends you over the edge every time. It drives into your skull. Burrows in your bone.

“Need to take you back,” he whispers, nuzzling your cheek. You linger here, eyes closing as his thumb traces the underside of your bottom lip.

The walk back is silent but not awkward. You stand close to him, arms occasionally brushing against each other with the sway of your body. The urge to hold his hand is suffocating, but you resist. There is no relationship here—only a terrible back-and-forth that you cannot wrap your head around.

The rest of your workday is a blur. It’s combing the library catalog and organizing stacks of paperwork Eloise places on your desk. There is no clear organization. Most of the paperwork are inquiries from other Safe Zones, wanting to know if they have extra copies of certain materials. You do not touch anything in the storage room, but neither do Arthur, Hannah, or Eloise. It dawns on you then, that the work happening requires far more people than what’s been staffed.

When Lieutenant Riley comes to pick you up, you’re almost thankful. Exhaustion settles over you, and you don’t realize you’ve fallen asleep in the passenger seat until Ghost awakens you. Every step is a drag, and all you want is your bed.

With a groan, you flop onto the duvet. Beside you, the bed dips as Ghost sits.

“Are you staying?” you ask into the bedding.

“No.” Silence. Then, “I have to take you to the family planner at the end of the week.”

Your eyes pop open, the tiredness vanishing. Pushing up, you turn toward Lieutenant Riley. “Did they say why?”

He shakes his head. “Just that they want to see you.”

This is it.

The push.

“You’re being pushy.”

“I’m sorry if I’m coming across that way.” Joann folds her hands in front of her on the desk. She has this superior look about her, as if to say, I know more than you. “I’m simply thinking ahead. Better to start the search now than wait until you’re ready.”

“I’m not ready,” you scoff, still in complete belief at Joann’s audacity to hurl this at you. “I haven’t even been assigned my new home after probation. I just started my job a few days ago.” You shake your head. “This is all very sudden.”

Joann puts on an air of false sympathy. “I completely understand. It’s a difficult transition. But if you put this off, you’ll find yourself rushing later.”

I fucking doubt that, you think even as the words threaten to leave your mouth.

She raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t think of it in the way you’re thinking. You don’t need to make a decision tomorrow.” Joann shrugs. “Think of it as shopping.”

“You’re asking me to shop around for a potential spouse?”

“Or sperm donor,” interjects Joann. “We are inclusive here.”

You wince, wanting to be done with this conversation. It’s not as easy as saying no and moving on. Joann isn’t here speaking with you just for you to throw a no in her face. Not that she gave you the option. I put you down for single’s social, she had said with a bright smile, as if that’s something you wanted to hear today.

“Do I need to wear anything specific?” you ask. “Is this a casual event? Or…”

“It’s casual, but I’d recommend something that compliments you.” She laughs. “No one is going to be in a suit if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Didn’t know those still existed,” you mutter.

Joann ignores your comment. “Look at this as an opportunity. I’ve already received a few inquiries about your eligibility.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “You’ve received what?”

Joann continues like she didn’t hear you. “All of them will be there. And I’ll likely receive more after you attend.” She sighs dreamily. “Especially from those military boys. They see what they want and go after it.”

No. Fucking no.

“This will overwhelm me,” you chuckle nervously. “I shouldn’t go.”

Joann blinks. “Course you should. It’ll do you good to get out. Talk with people other than Lieutenant Riley. I know he’s mysterious and has a bit of a bad boy reputation, but he’s not the only option.” She smooths her hand over the small stack of papers in front of her. “It’s also an excellent opportunity to make some connections. Maybe find friends.”

You could use some friends, but your coworkers are starting to fill that gap. Eloise brought you some croissants she made, and Hannah presented you with your very own coffee mug with “Book Sniffer” on it because she caught you smelling a particularly beautiful copy of War & Peace.

Gathering up the papers, Joann gently taps them against the top of the table. “Lieutenant Riley will be there but I recommend you branch out. I know that he’s probably a place of safety for you right now but lingering at his side all night isn’t the best idea.”

“Why is that?” you snap.

While you’re genuinely interested in knowing, you’re also a bit pissed off that Joann called you out. Ghost is your safety net, and if he’s attending, why would you leave his side to speak with anyone else.

“It’s not fair to others,” answers Joann simply. “Stick by Lieutenant Riley’s side during the whole social and people will think you’re spoken for. They’ll complain.” She looks at you pointedly. “And we don’t want that.”

Fuck.

Causing problems. It’s the exact thing you don’t want to do while you’re on your probationary period. Once you’re past it, things might be different. Charles hasn’t discussed what comes after. He didn’t say whether or not you receive immediate citizenship or if there’s an additional process.

No one is giving you clear direction. No one wants to fully explain. It’s expected submission, to look down and follow along. Pushing back or questioning too much seems to aggravate everyone.

“No,” you agree. “We don’t want that.”

Joann’s face lights up, and you immediately want to slap it off her face. “Brilliant,” she sighs. “Here’s the information. Can’t wait to hear all about it when I see you next.”

Fucking doubtful.

With a half-hearted smile, you make your exit, meeting Ghost in the lobby of the building. When he notices you, he immediately turns in your direction, walking toward you with purpose in every step.

“Everything good?” he asks, grasping your arm to pull you in.

You hand him the information instead of speaking. Ghost takes it, gaze roaming over the piece of paper rapidly.

“You’re fucking joking,” he growls.

[bird-in-the-space]

Humble Bar Musician Being Friends With Soundwave, Jazz, And Blaster

(Author's note: I felt inspired to write this. So, here you go. )

Warnings: some mentions of the incident with the higher-class bot, Soundwave, and his minicons being a bit protective, Jazz being a social butterfly, and nothing else much.

--------------------------------------------------

Soundwave 

- I feel like you and Soundwave became friends after you started working at the bar. He was one of the regulars, and you two hit it off when you revealed yourself as a musician.

- Music was generally rare in the lower-class districts, so I think you and Soundwave, both being music enthusiasts, would have made great friends.

- His taste in music was that of a DJ, but he found enjoyment in your music, especially when it was something unusual yet calming. He also admired how you practiced a wide range of musical genres.

- He would help you find parts when you were trying to make new instruments from Earth, knowing exactly what you needed and tracking them down, especially when they were difficult for you to acquire. You appreciated this immensely, and he became your go-to guy for the right materials.

- As a fellow music enthusiast, he would let you listen to some Cybertronian music from his personal collection—pieces usually guarded from the lower-class bots by the higher class. This gave you new inspiration and allowed you to remake those songs with your instruments, giving the lower-class bots access to their own lost music.

- You got along wonderfully with his minicons. Sometimes, you let Frenzy and Rumble test out your ongoing instruments, like maracas and other easy-to-handle ones, teaching them how to play with rhythm.

- Ravage, however, did not enjoy the newfound energy the two possessed for making offbeat noise. It was one of the few things he despised you for—but he still enjoyed your music nonetheless.

- Due to your humble and non-confrontational nature, Soundwave and his minicons were a bit protective of you. The lower-class districts were occasionally dangerous, and some higher-class bots took advantage of the less fortunate—like the one who offered you a job opportunity but then sent bots to attack you when you turned them down.

- After the incident, you would often find Laserbeak or Buzzsaw keeping an eye on you from a distance. You were even sometimes accompanied by Ravage, who was quick and observant. Soundwave himself, having a fearsome reputation as a skilled combatant, also offered you some unspoken protection, as many were afraid of him.

- You didn’t mind their protectiveness; living on Cybertron as a lower-class bot was tough, and anything could happen.

- Though he had a tough exterior, Soundwave was one of your most trustworthy friends.

Jazz

-Jazz was one of the curious visitors when you first started playing at the bar. After hearing your music, he struck up a conversation and soon became one of your friends.

-His taste in music leaned toward pop, so he especially enjoyed your more upbeat, party-like songs.

-As a friend, he never failed to make you laugh and was sometimes even flirtatious with you. He considered you a rare gem in the lower class for playing great music for free.

-His enthusiasm and optimism motivated you to try recreating jazz music. When you indirectly told him the name of the genre, Jazz became smug about it—clearly enjoying the connection.

-He might have even developed a taste for classy jazz music.

-He indirectly helped the bar’s business grow by bringing many of his friends over for drinks and to see you play. Through this, you met many of his friends and befriended some of them as well.

-Your boss was very pleased with this and encouraged you to make more connections.

-Despite his outgoing and sometimes flirty nature, Jazz was always respectful of your boundaries and backed off if you felt uncomfortable. He also didn’t tolerate disrespect toward you and would stand up for you in difficult situations. He became someone you could rely on when you needed support.

-Whenever you felt uninspired or unmotivated, Jazz would invite you to explore Cybertron and experience events that lower-class bots didn’t often get to see. Thanks to him, you felt less anxious about visiting these places, and through these outings, you gained fresh inspiration to continue making music.

-Jazz was the extrovert in your friendship, but you didn’t mind—it was sometimes nice to have someone bring you out to see the world.

Blaster

(I'm not very familiar with Blaster, so I wrote based on what I read on his wiki page.)

-You most likely met through Jazz, as he had a habit of bringing many of his friends to the bar to either grab a drink or listen to you play.

-Blaster didn’t believe Jazz at first when he claimed there was someone playing music for free in the lower-class district. Music was rare, but when Blaster came to the bar and heard your songs, he quickly became a fan.

-Your music was vastly different from Cybertronian music, and he was even more impressed to learn that you had an extensive repertoire of different genres. He became particularly drawn to music with strong beats.

-You didn’t mind his enthusiasm, especially since he showed genuine interest in hearing your other songs. While he enjoyed them all, he seemed to gravitate most toward your rock ‘n’ roll-style pieces.

-He soon became a regular, never wanting to miss out on your performances. His enthusiasm inspired you to experiment with recreating Earth’s rock ‘n’ roll music.

-Before you knew it, he had become your personal hype man—always cheering you on whenever you lacked energy or motivation.

-Jazz found Blaster’s excitement amusing and felt smug about introducing him to you, much to Blaster’s embarrassment.

-Although Blaster thrived on high-energy beats, he also enjoyed your calming songs, as they helped soothe his nerves whenever he got worked up.

-He probably saw you as some kind of music master—someone uniquely skilled in creating and performing such a wide variety of music.

Tags: @martinys-world

[cebfilm]

double CPR during gyno surgery

Pre-Op Visit

Maria entered the clinic, her heart fluttering slightly as she signed in at the reception desk. The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint scent of antiseptic filled the air. At 23, she had grown accustomed to regular gynecological appointments for her polycystic ovarian syndrome, but today’s visit felt different. She couldn’t quite place why—perhaps it was the note she had tucked into her medical file.

Dr. Carter greeted her warmly, his voice steady and professional. “Maria, it’s good to see you again. Let’s take a closer look and discuss any changes you’ve been experiencing,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him into the examination room.

Maria settled onto the examination table, her legs resting in the stirrups, the cool sheet draped over her lap offering some modesty. She took a deep breath as Dr. Carter explained the steps of the examination, his tone calm and reassuring.

The moment felt tangible as he reached for a pair of latex-free gloves, snapping each one on with deliberate care. The faint rustle of the material was accompanied by the smooth stretch over his fingers, a prelude to the thorough examination ahead. “These will ensure everything remains sterile,” he said, flexing his hands briefly to ensure the fit was snug yet comfortable.

“We’ll start with a visual inspection of the external area,” he continued. He gently separated the labia, examining the vulva for any signs of redness, swelling, or abnormalities. “Everything looks healthy so far,” he said with a reassuring smile.

Next, he prepared a speculum, the gleaming metal instrument lubricated with a water-based gel. “I’m going to insert the speculum now. You might feel a bit of pressure, but let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” he said. Slowly and carefully, he guided the speculum into her vaginal canal, angling it to minimize discomfort.

Maria inhaled sharply at the cool sensation but relaxed as he spoke to her. “You’re doing great,” he assured her. Once the speculum was in place, he gently opened it to visualize her vaginal walls and cervix. A soft light illuminated the area as he examined the tissue for any irregularities.

“Your cervix looks healthy,” he noted. “I’m going to collect a sample for testing now. You may feel a slight pinch.” Using a small brush, he took a quick sample for a Pap smear before carefully removing the speculum.

Moving on, Dr. Carter explained the next step. “Now we’ll do a bimanual examination to check your uterus and ovaries.” He slipped on a new pair of gloves, inserting two fingers into her vagina while pressing gently on her lower abdomen with his other hand.

“This helps me assess the size, shape, and position of your uterus,” he said, his hands working methodically. “Let me know if anything feels tender.”

Maria nodded, wincing slightly as he applied pressure to one side. “There’s some sensitivity here,” she said.

“Noted,” Dr. Carter replied. “That’s consistent with your polycystic ovarian syndrome. It’s one of the reasons I recommend the upcoming procedure—to get a clearer understanding and provide relief.”

As he removed his gloves and helped her sit up, Dr. Carter maintained his professional demeanor. “You did great, Maria. I’ll explain what to expect during the surgery, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable every step of the way.”

Maria nodded, her nerves easing slightly as his calm and methodical approach reassured her.

The Procedure

The operating room was cool and sterile, with bright overhead lights casting a stark glow on Maria as she lay motionless under anesthesia. The steady beep of the heart monitor punctuated the quiet efficiency of the medical team.

Dr. Carter stood at the head of the team, reviewing Maria’s pre-op notes one last time before they began. “We’ll be performing a laparoscopic procedure to address the ovarian cysts,” he explained to the team. Instruments were laid out meticulously on the tray beside him.

After making the initial incisions, the surgical assistant inserted the laparoscope, the camera transmitting a clear view of Maria’s internal structures to the monitor. Dr. Carter carefully navigated the tool to locate the cysts.

“There’s some scarring here, likely from previous ruptured cysts,” he noted. “Let’s excise the current ones to alleviate her symptoms and preserve as much ovarian tissue as possible.”

The procedure progressed smoothly as Dr. Carter worked with precision, excising the cysts and cauterizing any bleeding tissue. The team maintained a rhythm, their movements synchronized and deliberate.

Then, without warning, the heart monitor emitted a rapid, irregular beeping.

“She’s in ventricular fibrillation!” the anesthesiologist called out.

Dr. Carter immediately stepped back. “Stop the procedure. We need to stabilize her. Call for the crash cart.”

The surgical team acted quickly, tilting the operating table flat and removing the laparoscope. A nurse began chest compressions, her hands pressing firmly on Maria’s chest. “One, two, three…” she counted, maintaining a steady rhythm.

Dr. Carter took charge. “Prep the defibrillator and administer one milligram of epinephrine,” he ordered.

The defibrillator pads were placed on Maria’s bare chest. “Charging to 200 joules. Clear!” The shock caused her body to jerk, but the monitor still showed erratic activity.

“Continue CPR,” Dr. Carter instructed. Another nurse stepped in to take over compressions, her hands pressing down in precise, rhythmic movements.

“Administer another dose of epinephrine,” Dr. Carter said. “Charge to 300. Clear!”

Maria’s body arched again as the second shock was delivered, but the ventricular fibrillation persisted. Sweat formed on the team’s brows as the resuscitation efforts continued.

Sab’s Collapse

Meanwhile, in the observation area, Sab watched in horror through the glass. The sight of Maria’s lifeless body being shocked and compressed was too much to bear. Her breath quickened, her chest tightened, and before she could cry out, she collapsed to the floor.

A nurse rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse. “She’s fainted, but her pulse is weak!” the nurse shouted. Sab was quickly transferred to a nearby stretcher.

“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” another nurse exclaimed.

“Start CPR!” a second team sprang into action. One nurse tilted Sab’s head back and began giving rescue breaths while another began compressions. “One, two, three…”

Sab’s chest rose and fell with the breaths, but her heart remained unresponsive. The defibrillator was quickly wheeled over.

“Pads on. Charging to 200. Clear!” The first shock jolted her body, but the monitor still showed asystole.

“Epinephrine, now!” the nurse ordered. Another round of CPR followed, compressions deep and steady, interspersed with breaths.

“Charge to 300. Clear!” Sab’s body arched as another shock coursed through her. Her heart finally showed a faint rhythm, but her condition remained critical.

Dual Resuscitation

Dr. Carter, now splitting his attention between Maria and Sab, directed the teams. “We’re not losing either of them,” he said with determination.

Maria’s chest compressions continued relentlessly. A nurse alternated between compressions and rescue breaths, sweat dripping as she counted aloud. “One, two, three…come on, Maria.”

“Charging to 400 joules. Clear!” The defibrillator delivered another shock to Maria, and this time, the monitor flickered—a faint pulse began to appear.

“She’s back! We’ve got a rhythm,” Dr. Carter announced, but his relief was short-lived as he turned his attention to Sab.

Sab’s compressions continued as another nurse prepared a dose of amiodarone. “Administer the antiarrhythmic,” the nurse instructed, injecting the medication into Sab’s IV line.

“Charge to 400. Clear!” Sab’s body jolted again, and after a tense moment, her heart monitor showed a weak but steady rhythm.

“She’s back!” the team exclaimed.

ICU Recovery

The sterile, rhythmic beeping of heart monitors filled the dimly lit ICU. Maria’s eyelids fluttered open, the bright fluorescent lights stinging her eyes. She blinked slowly, her body heavy, her chest aching with every breath. The sterile scent of antiseptic surrounded her, and it took a moment for the fog to clear from her mind.

“Maria,” a soft voice murmured nearby.

She turned her head slowly to see Sab lying in the adjacent bed, tubes and wires attached to her as well. Sab’s face was pale but alive, her chest rising and falling steadily.

“Sab…” Maria whispered, her voice raspy and weak. Her hand, though weighed down by IV lines, reached out shakily across the gap between their beds.

Sab’s eyes met hers, brimming with tears. She stretched her hand toward Maria, their fingers brushing lightly. “You’re okay,” Sab whispered, her voice cracking with relief. “We’re okay.”

A nurse entered the room quietly, adjusting the machines and checking their vitals. “You gave us quite the scare,” she said gently, her gaze kind. “But you’re both stable now. Rest—you’re in good hands.”

As the nurse left, Maria and Sab turned their attention back to one another. Their hands stayed clasped, their breathing syncing as they lay side by side, tethered by their shared ordeal. Though the ICU around them was cold and clinical, the warmth of their connection filled the space.

They didn’t need words. Their intertwined hands said everything: relief, gratitude, and love. The soft hum of the monitors became a comforting rhythm—a reminder that their hearts were still beating, together.

[blueiscoool]

1,100-Year-Old Sealed Amphora Found in Shipwreck off Turkey

An extraordinary discovery has been made in the crystal-clear waters off the Kas district in Antalya, Türkiye. Archaeologists conducting underwater excavations with the help of robotic technology have recovered a 1,100-year-old sealed amphora, igniting excitement in the world of archaeology.

Led by Associate Professor Hakan Oniz, Chair of the Department of Conservation and Restoration of Cultural Heritage at Akdeniz University’s Faculty of Fine Arts, a 20-person dive team has been working meticulously on this groundbreaking project.

The excavation is carried out under the “Heritage for the Future Project” by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, on behalf of the Antalya Museum.

Excavating the depths with robotic precision

Focusing their efforts near Besmi Island off the coast of Kas, the team utilized advanced underwater robots to conduct excavations several meters below the surface. At depths of approximately 45-50 meters, the divers successfully retrieved a sealed amphora from the wreckage of an ancient ship, a moment described as thrilling by the team.

Rather than being brought directly ashore, the amphora underwent an initial conservation process before being transported to the Akdeniz University Underwater Archaeology Laboratory in Kemer. Using microscopes and specialized magnifying tools, experts carefully examined the artifact. Then, specialists from the Antalya Regional Conservation Council and laboratory restorers meticulously opened the sealed amphora for an hour, employing chisels, hammers, and delicate instruments.

A glimpse into the past, locked away for over a millennium

As the ancient seal was broken, archaeologists eagerly examined the texture, content, and even scent of the material inside the amphora to determine its nature. Samples have been collected, and detailed scientific analyses are now underway to identify the contents with certainty.

The opening of the amphora and the preliminary examination of its contents were exclusively documented by Anadolu Agency.

Ancient trade routes revealed

Speaking to Anadolu Agency, excavation leader Associate Professor Hakan Oniz shared that the merchant vessel likely originated from the Gaza coast in Palestine and sank during a violent storm in the Mediterranean around 1100 years ago.

At that time, Gaza was a major exporter of olive oil, and it is believed that wine was shipped from the region of Sarkoy-Gazikoy in Tekirdag as well.

“This was a trading ship that visited multiple ports during the ninth and 10th centuries, a period dominated by Abbasid rule. Although amphoras thought to have carried wine were found onboard, it is unlikely that the local Palestinian population consumed wine at that time. Instead, it may have been intended as gifts for Christian pilgrims or travelers visiting Jerusalem,” Oniz elaborated.

‘A unique find that defies time’

Oniz emphasized the rarity of the find, stating, “It is incredibly rare to discover an amphora whose seal remained intact for more than a millennium. It could contain olive pits, olive oil, wine, or even fish sauce—but it might also be something entirely unexpected. Opening the amphora was thrilling, but awaiting the final analysis is even more exciting.”

Long road ahead for scientific analysis

Professor Meltem Asilturk Ersoy from Akdeniz University’s Department of Materials Science and Engineering noted that this was her first time studying the preserved contents of a sealed amphora.

Describing the interior contents as “muddy samples,” Ersoy added, “We aim to understand what has happened inside over 1,100 years of exposure to underwater pressure and temperature variations.”

“A single test is not sufficient. We need multiple analyses to corroborate our findings, so this process will be lengthy. By combining the analysis results with historical knowledge from the era, we aim to offer significant insights to the world of science and archaeology,” Ersoy said.

Meanwhile, Rabia Nur Akyuz, the restorer-conservator who handled the desalination and opening of the amphora, highlighted the delicate nature of the process. “We had to ensure that the artifact remained wet at all times to prevent the external deposits from drying out,” she explained.

[drjae69]

SENSITIVITY PROGRAM

It was one thing to go to medical school it was another to be the test case for them . Due to bombing the entrance exam and material instead of sending you on your way they decided to give you a chance at a satellite program of their said it would pay well and would be a hands-on experience . You said why not drove yourself to the facility once arriving there it appeared to be a clinic inside. You would inform the front desk that you came for the program and the masked nurse would check you in and take your bags for you while another one would show you around the facility and where you would be staying on campus . Your dormitory also appeared to be a one-to-one copy of a hospital room with a TV and bed and nightstands . You would get acquainted with your room wearing the customary head cap and mask before being asked to handover your phone for the time being and follow the nurse to an examination . There you were instructed to lay down as you were examined checking your vitals and reaction time . The nurses marking down certain aspects of you before you can ask if they were finished you would feel a quick jab seeing the nurse had hit you with a mild sedative as you trying to get up, you were pushed right. back down onto the bed as a slowly faded to nothingness unable to gather strength .

Later you were awake in a daze now wrapped to a bed collared and gags . Too weak you saw a female surgical garb doctor physically examining your now naked body. then it started, she would place electrodes on your Vulva and Vagina before starting inserting her fingers and then hand along with medical instruments in you while applying electrical charge and stimulation . She wants slowly up first before rapidly speeding up increasing the charge as she went before a loud moon emanated from you as you orgasm . Satisfied with that test, she continued increasing the charge and frequency as she went and after each consecutive round the orgasms becoming more and more intense . It went on for hours as she tested the charge and intensity grew evermore intense and visceral . Once satisfied, you were put back under and awoke restrained to your bed the next morning . As you lay shocked at what had become of you realized instead of the nursing program you had wanted you were in an unwilling participant in a Sensitivity Program and had no way out from it .

[erbiumspectrum]

19 October 2024

The amount of stuff I have to learn for the instrumental analysis test on Tuesday is pretty terrifying tbh. I definitely should've started studying earlier - and I definitely would have, but I had a bad headache almost all week 🥲 Damn you, weather sensitivity. I'll make it though! I read the whole chapter today and made sure I understood everything, now I just have to keep coming back to it so that all this information actually stays in my brain. I even managed to solve some exercises for my molecular driving forces class.

Instrumental analysis is going to be particularly tough, and probably the main source of stress for me this semester. We have these big tests every single week which is a brand new experience, not to mention the material isn't exactly easy. But I'm feeling resilient. I'm organized and a fast learner, I got this ✨

[depressed-bitch-80]

Not So Secret Anymore

Chapter 4

Word count: 1,174

Pairing: BBC!Sherlock x Reader

Summary: John is trying to enjoy a peaceful day at 221B when a mystery woman shows up and says she’s Sherlock’s wife.

Warnings: Cursing, Injury, Blood.

A/N: AAAHH sorry for this taking so long, I’ve been dealing with health issues and everything moved a lot slower than I would’ve liked. We are still setting up the story but we will have some major Sherlock fluff coming up in future chapters.

AO3 Link, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5

(Y/N) woke the next morning to dark curly hair tickling her nose. She very carefully looked down to see Sherlock still blissfully asleep with one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and his head tucked securely in the crook of her neck. Whoever said Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a cuddler was a goddamn liar.

As much as she wanted to stay there with him, she hadn’t eaten since she got back and she could use some freshening up for the sake of everyone around her. With the utmost caution, she untangled herself from the spindly mass of limbs and crept out of the room.

Once she was in the bathroom she could see just how bad of a state she was in. Bruises mottled her chest and abdomen, a rather large gauze pad that was covering her lacerations was now soaked through with blood, and her shoulder was swollen and tender. All of this the product of a mission gone awry when she had tried to take down a target on top of a vehicle going rather fast and she fell off—not her finest moment.

She splashed water on her face and made her way to the kitchen to try to find the first aid kit that should (hopefully) still be stashed under the sink. To her surprise John was sitting at the table slowly drinking a tea, seemingly nursing a hangover. With a very awkward smile, she passed him and rummaged under the sink to find the aforementioned kit.

“Are you trying to find the first aid kit?” John asked, wincing at the volume of his voice.

“Yeah I think I popped a stitch, I need some more bandages” (Y/N) replied with her head still half under the sink.

“I think Sherlock got into it a couple weeks ago. Something about testing the effectiveness of household antiseptic on fungus.” John chuckled as he took another sip of his tea. “If you want my opinion I think he was bored. He tends to tear the flat up when he’s like that.”

“Trust me I’m well aware.” (Y/N) said, abandoning her fruitless search. She very timidly walked over and sat at the table with John.

“Right, I guess you are.” John said, putting his tea down. “Would you like for me to take a look at it? I have some emergency supplies stashed in the loo, mainly for Sherlock.”

“Sure. Just warning you though, it is a mess.” She said, pulling up her slightly bloodstained shirt to reveal the true extent of her injuries. John looked at her with worry but quietly retreated to the bathroom to grab his things.

John returned with what looked to be a small village's worth of medical supplies. He always wanted to be prepared, he never knew when he was going to have to be patching up an uncooperative detective. With the instruments all laid out on the table he donned gloves and started a further examination.

“This is really nasty. Are you sure you shouldn’t be in hospital?” John asked, removing the blood soaked bandages and examining her abdomen, now turned a mix of purple and blue with the bruising.

“It’s not worse than anything I’ve had before. Give me a few days and I’ll walk it off.” (Y/N) replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. John shot her a glare as he prepared the suture materials.

“Right, now this is going to hurt. I don’t have any anesthetic to numb the area, best I can offer you is left over scotch.” John said, gesturing to the almost empty bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. (Y/N) grabbed it and took one long swig, bracing herself.

“Go ahead doc.” She said, leaning back in her chair. John bent over and started to pull the needle through for the first stitch. (Y/N) winced involuntarily but quickly regained composure. “I’m ok it’s just a little tender that's all.”

John made quick work of the stitches, as to be expected from the army doctor. Just as he was finishing up with the bandages, a very bleary eyed Sherlock emerged from the hallway. He made his way over to (Y/N), leaning down to kiss her on the forehead.

“Everything alright darling?” Sherlock asked, taking in the evidence that everything had not been alright.

“I’m better now. I just had a stitch pop while I was sleeping but our lovely doctor fixed me up. Can we keep him?” (Y/N) asked. The request brought a chuckle from Sherlock and John.

“He can stay as long as he likes.” Sherlock said brushing a few stray hairs out of (Y/N’s) face. “Would you like breakfast?”

“Yes please, I’m starving.” She groaned.

“Wait, can you even cook Sherlock? I’ve never seen you use anything more than a microwave and that was for eyeballs.” John wondered. Sherlock gave him a look of disbelief.

“Of course I can cook, John. It just suits our partnership better if you’re the one doing the domesticities.” Sherlock stated.

“Do I still have to ‘do the domesticities’ now that your wife is here?” John asked. He didn’t oppose cleaning the flat or cooking for the both of them, he was just wondering what his role was now that a new player had been added. He was wondering if they were even going to let him stay at all, maybe they wanted their peace and quiet now that she was back.

John didn’t know what he’d do if they decided to boot him. This was the first place he actually felt alive since he had gotten out of the army. Being here with Sherlock healed him, mentally and physically. He didn’t know if he was ready to let that go just yet.

“Yes please continue to do the housework, I hate that shit.” (Y/N) said. She got up and leaned on the counter beside Sherlock, who was now cooking what was hopefully bacon. He leaned over and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Does that mean you’re going to keep me?” John asked a little hesitantly.

“Don’t be absurd John, why would I throw out my blogger?” Sherlock questioned, looking softly at John.

“Maybe because you have someone else now, someone who can do things and help you in ways I can’t.” John stated, his eyes fixed to the floor.

“Me being here doesn’t change anything, John. You and Sherlock do great work together, I’m not going to come in between that.” (Y/N) reassured.

John simply nodded and moved to sit in his armchair. He picked up one of the many books on the side table to take in some light reading before he had to get ready for the day. It was about ten minutes later when he smelled the unmistakable smell of burnt food and heard Sherlock fighting with the stove.

“Ah so you can’t cook?” John remarked.

“No.” They replied in unison.

“Want me to order in?” John asked, hearing Sherlock cursing the ruined breakfast.

“Yes” Sherlock said, defeated.

[silent-stories]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: After years of building your band’s reputation as one of the most influential in the metal scene, you and your bandmates move to Los Angeles. What you don't expect, however, is that your new neighbors are none other than Bad Omens, and that Noah is a huge fan of your band.

Series masterlist

The moment you walked into the music store, the scent of wood, metal, and leather hit you, immediately transporting you to memories from your childhood. The sound of strings being tuned, the hum of drums being tested, and the rhythmic tapping of keys filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

It was like stepping into a sanctuary, the kind of place you’d lost yourself in for hours when you were younger. Back then, you used to wander between the rows of guitars, basses, drums, and amps, feeling like the world outside could wait. It was always easier to breathe in a music store. The chaos of the world seemed so much quieter when surrounded by instruments.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the atmosphere. The walls were lined with guitars—some old and worn, others gleaming with fresh paint. Amps of all sizes were stacked along one side of the store, while the percussion section was neatly organized just ahead. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia.

Noah, walking in beside you, caught your eye with a grin. “Looks like you enjoy this place,” he said, his voice light, but there was an understanding in his tone.

“Yeah,” you replied, running your fingers over the smooth surface of a guitar, “it takes me back."

Noah nodded, a quiet smile on his lips.

"I'm sure I'm gonna come back here often." You added.

“Well, I’m glad we’re doing this today,” Noah said, looking around. “Let’s find that drum head and those sticks, yeah?”

You nodded, already feeling that familiar thrill of being surrounded by equipment you had no real need for but wanted anyway. You led him toward the percussion section, where you found a display of drum heads. They were all neatly stacked, with each one bearing different designs, sizes, and materials.

“Okay, so Jake mentioned he needed a new drum head,” you said, scanning the selection. “And he loves his gear to look good, so we need something that'll catch his eye. He’s really into the red and black combo these days. Literally, his entire wardrobe is those colors."

Noah’s eyes lit up when he saw the perfect one. It was a deep red with a black snake designed on it. “This one. This is perfect for him. It’s bold, but not too much. And the red and black thing? It’s spot on. I don't really know him but this thing screams Jake.”

"Oh, I like this one."

“I’ve been around Folio long enough to know what looks cool,” Noah said with a shrug, grabbing the drum head off the display and holding it up in front of you. “This one’s definitely the vibe.”

He handed it to you, and as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity shot through your hand, making your pulse quicken. You smiled as if nothing had happened, your mind already working on what else you needed. “Now we need the sticks.”

You walked a few feet to the stick display, where a wall of different brands and styles greeted you. You picked up a few pairs, testing their balance in your hands, feeling the weight of them.

“Red and black?” Noah asked, still standing by the drum head section.

“Yeah,” you said, tossing a pair of black sticks back onto the shelf and picking up a set with a bright red finish. “These could work.”

Noah walked over, inspecting them as he grabbed a matching pair. “They feel good. Solid grip, and the weight’s pretty spot on. They’re not too light, but not too heavy either.”

"Since when are you also a drummer?"

"Trust me, you don't want to see me play. I only know a few things."

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “I hope he's gonna like these.”

You walked to the counter, briefly talking with the cashier and then you both made your way out of the store. The late afternoon sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a soft golden hue over everything as you stepped back into the parking lot.

As you climbed into Noah’s car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. There was something about being in a music store that always grounded you, and today, with Noah by your side, it felt even more meaningful.

He slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the keys onto the dashboard.

“Thanks for helping me pick this stuff out, Noah.”

“No problem,” Noah said, “It’s always good to help a friend."

The drive back from the record store was relaxed, the warm glow of the setting sun stretching across the road as you and Noah talked. Music hummed softly in the background, a low rhythm filling the spaces between easy conversation. The city rolled by outside the car window, but you barely noticed, too caught up in glancing at Noah from time to time.

At one point, as the playlist shifted to something slower, Noah glanced over at you, his expression curious. “You play guitar, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the question but not by the certainty in his voice—like he already knew. He was a fan, after all.

“Kind of,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Alex tried to teach me a bunch of times. He was really patient about it, but…” You grinned, “He never got far with me. I’m not exactly a natural. I'm probably better with a microphone.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You frowned, genuinely curious. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking briefly to the road before returning to you. “I’ve seen you play. Acoustic sets. You did that version of Ghost a few times.”

You felt a sudden, warm flush creep up your neck. “That barely counts,” you said with a laugh. “It’s just one song. And I stopped playing it a couple of years ago.”

Noah shook his head, smirking. “Doesn’t matter. You still did it. And you didn’t look half bad doing it, either.”

You scoffed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, well, I’d love to actually know what I’m doing someday.”

He didn’t reply, but his smile lingered, as if he knew something you didn’t. The music shifted again, the notes matching the golden haze outside, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

"Friend." That word kept echoing in his mind. He had said it so casually, without thinking twice. But now, it lingered with him.

It felt too much and not enough at the same time.

He had known you for just a little over a week, yet it felt like he had known you for years. And in some ways, maybe he had. But now that he was seeing you in person, talking and joking, everything felt so easy, so natural. It was effortless, like the two of you just fit. Like this was something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He loved the way you sang that song with him so much that he almost thought about taking a wrong turn to make the journey last longer. That song that in one way or another described you a little and that he knew he would never listen to in the same way again.

The front door creaked open, and Noah stepped inside his house, glancing around as he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack.

“Hey, already back from your date?” Nicholas asked from the couch, his legs stretched out lazily. He was lounging next to Matt, who was looking at his phone, but as soon as Noah closed the door behing him, his attention was on Noah.

Noah ran a hand through his hair, feeling the warmth rush to his cheeks. “It wasn’t a date,” he replied, trying to brush it off as casually as possible.

“Right, it wasn’t a date,” Matt chimed in “But you sure would’ve liked it to be.”

Noah shot him a quick glare, but his heart beat just a little faster at the idea. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“We’re just friends,” he said firmly, hoping that would put an end to the conversation. But his voice faltered slightly.

“Yeah, you’re just friends…” Nicholas smirked, “But you sure as hell want it to be more than that, don’t you?”

Noah exhaled sharply, his brow furrowing as he leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a little cornered by their teasing.  “Hey, you two. Did you just team up against me or something?”

Nick chuckled softly. “I’m just saying,” he said, his tone light but laced with amusement, “you don’t come home with a smile on your face like that after spending time with a girl unless you’re really feeling something. And this hasn't happened in a long time.”

Noah paused. He knew what they were saying was true. He did feel something. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. It was too early for him to even figure it out, but there was no denying the way his pulse quickened whenever you laughed, the way his thoughts lingered on every conversation you had. The way he’d caught himself smiling after the drive back even if none of you was speaking.

But there was also the fact that you’d only just moved to LA. You were still getting settled, still figuring things out. He couldn’t assume anything, especially not after just one week. Besides, you had been nothing but kind to him, offering your company, your time—just as a friend. You didn’t give any indication that you felt the same way.

“She just moved here, you know? She’s probably just being nice, trying to make some friends. I don’t want to mess that up.”

As Noah moved toward the kitchen, he heard Nicholas mumble, “Dumbass,” under his breath, and Noah couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t ready to admit anything, not even to himself—and for now, he’d take it slow.

You took a deep breath as you climbed the stairs, still holding the bags in your hands. You entered your room and set the items down on your bed. First, you carefully unpacked the drum head, the red snake design standing out vividly against the plain brown wrapping paper. It was perfect for Jake, and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

You set it aside before moving on to the sticks. They felt solid, the red finish a nice complement to the rest of the gift. You placed them neatly next to the drum head, the items now ready to be wrapped.

Once everything was in order, you headed downstairs, hoping to get some rest before you had to start working on the shirt designs again. As you entered the living room, you spotted Alex lounging on the couch, his usual smirk in place as he glanced up from his phone.

"So," he started, his voice teasing, "What did you do today? Besides, you know, buying gifts for our lovely drummer?"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you took a seat on the armrest of the couch. "I just went out with Noah," you said, trying to keep your tone casual. "We went to a music store to pick up some things for Jake's birthday."

Alex’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you and Noah spent the day together, huh?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "Was it a… fun outing?" He dragged the words out, clearly enjoying how the situation sounded.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "It was just a trip to the store, Alex," you said, trying to play it off as no big deal. "He was just being kind, helping me pick out the right stuff for Jake."

Alex’s grin widened, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh, sure. Just 'helping' you out. Look at you, getting all cozy with the neighbor." He leaned back against the couch, still smirking.

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "It’s not like that," you insisted. "We’re just friends. He’s just a nice guy, and I needed help picking out some gifts. That's all."

Alex raised an eyebrow, his teasing tone never faltering. "Friends, huh?" he said, dragging out the word.

You shot him a playful glare, not willing to admit anything. "I swear, you’re impossible," you said, standing up from the couch. "It’s literally nothing. We just went out to get some stuff for Jake’s birthday. End of story. I don't like him that way."

Alex chuckled softly, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Sure, sure. If you say so."

"Alright, enough," you said, rolling your eyes. "Now that I’ve dealt with your teasing, I’m gonna work on the merch. In my room. Alone."

You heard the blonde's laughter follow you until you closed the door behind you.

In the following days, things passed by in a calm, pleasant rhythm. You spent a few afternoons wandering around Los Angeles with Sam, Jake and William, exploring the city in ways that felt both casual and exciting. One afternoon, you strolled through Melrose Avenue, checking out the cool, vintage stores that lined the street.

There was this one shop, Wasteland, that had the most amazing collection of secondhand leather jackets and band tees from decades past. You spent a good chunk of time browsing through the racks, finding the occasional gem, and laughing at some of the ridiculous fashion choices from the ‘80s that seemed to make their way back in style.

Another day, you went to The Last Bookstore in downtown LA. The towering shelves of books, the hidden nooks, and the whimsical vibe of the place were exactly the kind of escape you craved when the city felt a little overwhelming. Sam had picked up a graphic novel while William flipped through a music history book, but you found yourself drawn to the vinyl section, running your fingers over the old records with a soft smile. It was a little treasure trove, tucked away in the heart of the city, and you found a kind of peace there among the pages and music.

As you walked through these different parts of the city, you were starting to notice something. More and more often, people would recognize you—fans of the band, or sometimes just music lovers who happened to spot you. It wasn’t something you had ever been used to, but it was happening now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill every time someone would call out your name.

It would start with a hesitant wave, and then someone would ask, “Hey, are you Y/N from Dark Waves?” Or “Are you a singer?” And before you knew it, you’d end up posing for a selfie, or signing a quick autograph, exchanging a few words with a fan. It was always brief, always pleasant, but it made you feel something inside, like you were on the right path.

It was a little surreal, honestly. Growing up, you never really expected to be recognized in places like this—walking through crowded streets, sitting in cafes, or shopping in quirky stores. Yet there you were, in LA, where it seemed like everyone had a chance to run into someone they admired. Each time someone approached you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. It reminded you of how far you’d come, of the countless hours spent working on music and building your career, and most importantly, it reminded you of the people who had helped get you to where you were now—your fans.

They were the reason you were living this life, the reason you had the privilege of playing music for a living. They were the ones who had supported Dark Waves through everything, and now, it was starting to feel real. You weren’t just in the band anymore—you were part of something much bigger, something that had a life of its own.

You had continued your routine of leaving food for the stray cat, just outside your garden. Every morning, without fail, the food would be gone, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing the cat was eating. There was something comforting about it, even though you didn’t know much about the cat or its life. You just hoped that, at least for a while, it could count on the food you left out.

One night, as you sat on the couch, flipping through your phone, you heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, just a soft rustling, but it was enough to catch your attention. You froze, listening, and then the sound came again—louder this time. It was as if something had knocked into something else. Curious, you stood up, slipping into your comfortable hoodie to shield yourself from the chill of the night air, and made your way toward the door.

You stepped outside, the darkness of the night surrounding you. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant car or the rustling of leaves in the wind. Your garden was still, and the only thing that seemed out of place was a small vase that had been knocked over by something. Your gaze darted toward it, and that’s when you saw him.

The orange cat, the one Noah had talked about, was there, darting away from the mess it had caused. His fur was a bit scruffy, and he looked thin—almost gaunt, as though he hadn’t been eating enough. There were patches of dirt on his fur, and his eyes darted nervously, as if he were expecting someone to chase him away. He was hungry. You could tell. And he looked like he hadn’t had an easy time of it.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, calling out softly to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here.” You crouched down, hoping to show him you meant no harm, that you just wanted to help. But before you could even take another step, the cat whipped around and bolted, darting across your yard toward the fence that separated your garden from the next.

“Hey!” you called after him, instinctively trying to catch up. “It’s okay, come back.” But your words fell on deaf ears. In the blink of an eye, the orange cat had jumped up and over the low brick wall separating your yard from the neighboring house—the one you’d started calling "Omens house". You watched helplessly as he disappeared behind a little brick wall in the corner of their garden.

Just as you were about to turn back toward your house, a low creak behind you made you jump. You spun around, heart thudding, to see the door of the Omens house opening slightly. Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, was Noah. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, his voice thick with sleep as he drawled, “Are you trying to break in and rob us, or…?”

His long hair was a tousled mess, falling in loose waves over his shoulders, and his t-shirt hung rumpled, like he had been asleep minutes ago. His eyes, heavy with sleep but laced with amusement, regarded you with a sleepy kind of curiosity. The sight of him—barefoot except for a pair of ridiculous flip-flops with fake green grass covering the soles—almost made you burst out laughing.

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No, no robbery plans tonight, I swear.” You gestured behind you toward the wall. “The cat—the orange one you told me about. He was in my yard, knocked over a vase, and when I tried to calm him down, he jumped into your garden.”

Noah chuckled, stepping closer until only the iron bars of the gate separated you. He squinted toward the wall you pointed at, as if expecting the cat to appear just because he was looking. “Yeah, he does that. Skittish little guy. He’ll come out when he’s ready. He always does.”

His calm certainty made you smile, but your eyes drifted down. You couldn’t resist. You pointed to his feet, your lips twitching. “I'm sorry. Are you seriously wearing those? And you call me 'weirdo'?”

Noah followed your gaze, then shrugged unapologetically, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. “Hey, these are genius. Every day is a walk in the park. Literally.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, but it didn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, pointing at his flip-flops like they were proof of a crime. “Who even buys those?”

“I do,” he said, unfazed. He stepped back, making a grand show of spinning around like he was modeling high fashion. “Jealous? Don’t lie. You wish you had a pair.”

“Yeah, sure,” you managed, shaking your head.

His grin lingered as he rested his arms on the top of the gate, leaning slightly closer. “But about the cat, you’re doing good leaving food out. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

“I hope so,” you murmured, your voice quieter now. “He looked so hungry tonight. I just…” You trailed off, unsure how to put the thought into words.

Noah’s expression softened, his voice warm. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Dark Waves had a soft heart?”

You shot him a look, a grin tugging at your lips. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Bad Omens walks around in grass flip-flops?”

His smile broke wide, laughter rich and easy. “Touché.”

For a moment, you stood there, the silence between you comfortable. The night pressed darkly around you, but the small pool of light from the porch seemed to hold you both in a world of your own. His hair framed his face in messy locks, and even though he was standing there in grass flip-flops with sleepy eyes, you couldn’t help noticing how pretty he was. It was ridiculous, really, but undeniable—effortless in a way that made your breath catch.

He yawned, a soft, lazy grin still lingering. “Well, goodnight, weirdo.”

You smiled back, feeling lighter. “Goodnight, nerd. Try not to trip on your lawn shoes.”

He blinked, a laugh bubbling up again. “Nerd?"

“If you keep calling me weirdo, I’m going to keep calling you nerd. Those are the rules.”

“Those aren’t real rules.”

“They are now,” you said with a satisfied shrug.

"Alright," He let out one more laugh, and as you turned away, the warmth of his voice lingered long after you reached your door. In the dark, even with the ridiculous flip-flops, he looked unfairly pretty.

The late afternoon sun was dipping low as you walked with Jake to the familiar front door of Noah's house.

You found the gate ajar and Jake didn't even hesitate when he pushed it open, entering their garden.

"This is the right time they report us for invasion of private property." You muttered, following him.

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Jolly. His tall frame filled the doorway, and his eyes flicked between you and Jake with mild curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, offering a polite, if subdued, smile. "Hey guys."

Jake grinned. "Hey, man. We came over to invite you guys to something. Got a minute?"

Before Jolly could reply, footsteps sounded behind him, and then Noah appeared in the doorway. His eyes landed on you, and for a second, it was like there was just the two of you. He leaned against the frame, his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His gaze was soft as he took you in.

“Hi,” he said simply, his voice low, almost intimate.

“Hey,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips.

Jake’s eyes darted between the two of you, a slow, exaggerated sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Anyway,” he said loudly, breaking the moment, “I’m having a thing at our place Wednesday night. My birthday. Nothing big, just drinks and hanging out. You guys should come by.”

Jolly exchanged a glance with Noah, then nodded. “Sounds good.”

“You don’t need to bring anything,” Jake added. “Just yourselves. And Folio. You have to bring Folio. It’s just for fun, get to know each other, have a few drinks.”

Noah’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “We’ll let the others know. But yeah, I’m in.”

Jolly nodded. “Same here.”

“Awesome,” Jake said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be good to chill.”

The conversation lingered just a moment longer and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel Noah’s gaze follow you until the door finally shut behind him.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog

WTMS Tags: @rumoured-whispers @klutzy-kay24 @concretejunglefm @thecoyotescry @kenjipepsi1 @amelia-acero @xxkittenkissesxx @moostress19 @respectfulrebel @super-btstrash-posts

[city-of-ladies]

"I learn that the orphanage was created in part because illegitimate babies were being drowned in the Venetian canals. I learn that the girls of the the Ospedale della Pietà were allowed to play instruments usually reserved for men; that they earned money for their performances and rubbed shoulders with kings and queens. “What makes the Pietà so famous,” wrote the Prince of Saxony, Frederick Christian, after seeing them play in 1704, “is not just that all of the instrumentalists are truly excellent musicians, but … that all of the instruments are being played by females without any males in the ensemble at all.”

I discover that Vivaldi spent almost his entire career working at the Pietà and composed most of his pieces while there. But of the hundreds of girls and women who studied there, one name keeps rising to the surface: Anna Maria della Pietà. A prodigy violinist, she was Vivaldi’s favourite student. He composed many pieces just for her. It was in this experimental environment, with a plethora of talented female musicians to test ideas with, and Anna Maria by his side, that Vivaldi was able to perfect a whole new form of music: the concerto, most famously realised in his Four Seasons. 

I learn that several of the orphans at the Pietà were composers in their own right, in addition to many being copyists. In the study Women and Music, researchers Yves Bessieres and Patricia Niedzwiecki describe the Pietà as a “nursery for the virtuosos who provided Vivaldi with his ‘musical material’”. They cite a letter from a Pietà student called Lavinia and write, “[Lavinia’s] cantatas, concertos and various works had to be composed in secret and in imitation of Vivaldi’s style.” But Lavinia wanted to compose her own pieces too. “The music of others is like words addressed to me; I must answer and hear the sound of my own voice,” Lavinia wrote. “And the more I hear that voice, the more I realise that the songs and sounds which are mine are different … Woe betide me should they find out.”

I speak with another scholar, Vanessa Tonelli, a leading expert on the female musicians of Venice. Is it possible that these girls helped Vivaldi compose his works? “Anna Maria certainly designed her own solo cadenzas for Vivaldi’s concertos,” she tells me. She explains that some partbooks that belonged to the girl musicians still exist, and that there are examples within these of notes and solo lines scribbled into the margins. “Musicians often improvised cadenzas, ornamentations, and other solo lines, and they occasionally jotted down their ideas for these improvisations.”"

[aabluedragon]

Wherein the Knight Errant relates the tale of many a tongue in the City

I’d like to think that Don Quixote is at least literate in every major language of the City given that her most recent posters are mere decades out of date so just about every Association we’re familiar with should have been established and received coverage in the language of their name. Bari travels far and wide, would it not be prudent of her to broaden Don Quixote’s horizons just the same? Though given Bari’s vetting of her reading material, there may be blind spots in her vocabulary regarding methods of the Shi Association for example.

Imagine that one day, Don Quixote’s mysterious courier delivers a hand-crank radio with a written list of frequencies to tune into. Verily, she turns the handle just so— aha! For the first time in forever (has it been so long?) she hears the voice of another, of music, of laughter. It fades mere seconds after she loses concentration and stops her turning. So, she begins again. Again and again, she turns the handle. Each crank grants her a few moments more with that connection to Somewhere from her island in space. She cannot leave — it’s impossible — but she can listen. With this instrument in hand, a fragment of the universe may greet her halfway.

Imagine, that in a distant mirror world, Don Quixote fiddles with the dial just so— aha! Laughter from a time long past floats into her ear. She is aware that this overtly tinny quality to the voice is associated with works considered “vintage” or trying to emulate the former. What a treat, to stumble across so merry of a station in her humble days. She listens to the flamboyant announcer describe a land of dreams, where “Bloodfiends” and Humans coexist peacefully. That can’t be right, can it? Yet a second, calmer voice invites her to traverse a gloomy mansion in a test of courage. Courage? Mutual commiseration? To what end, when so vicious of a hunger gnaws at her and them? This is merely a ploy to garner donations of blood, yet… could that be so wrong? Blood willingly given… can it be so? Another voice cuts through her thoughts, causing her to yelp.

Ah…?

She listens again, repeats the words on her own tongue: “La Manchaland of dreams.” Indeed, that voice is her own, coming through the radio.

[hexjulia]

I love when I have a idea ("what if there was a playable version of this common instrument that was made of ceramics?") that seems very hard/labour intensive to actually try and then it turns out someone has already done. And it even looks nice, far nicer than what I could have made.

http://www.ceramicsguitars.com/

"Sometimes in my job I need to leave the usual schemes. To create and to paint plates, vases, amphorae is certainly gratifying, but may become monotonous. For many years I have been playing the guitar and, the wish of getting one with some paintings I adore, has led me in 2003 to start this paticular adventure, that after various study and tests, I managed to create an electric guitar with its body wholly made by ceramics. This it has been possible because I am ceramist, and i know how to build an electric guitar.

That is not pottery cover to be glued to the wood, but i mean a body fully made by clay, (just in the pickups zone, I have inserted a little wood part, but just for the sound). After having been baked one first time to the temperature of about 1000 degrees celsius/centigrad (1832 degrees fahrenheit), it has been covered whit a silicious glaze and generally oxside of pond (used to opacify the glaze) and painted with metallic oxides and, than it has been baked one second time to the temperature of 920 degrees celsius/centigrad (1688 degrees fahrenheit); this is an essential process to fix both the glaze and the colours just mentioned.

It's my intention to emphasize that this is a handwork, without to use special ceramics, glace fiber or ceramics fiber, that are born in XX century and are not included in my work plane, because my creations are inspired like kind of work and material (clay, glaze and colours) to the reinaissance time, using the same process people used during XVI and XVII century for creating vases, plates, hamphorae, jugs, ecc. Even paintings on the guitars are inspired from plates, vases and others ceramics created in Deruta during the XVI and XVII century. Probably somebody doesn' t know that, since 1200, Deruta has been and it' s still one of the most important italian towns for creation of ceramics. Differently from as one may think, also the ceramics guitar weight is not excessive, in fact it' s about lbs 8,9 (kg 4). It's an object that succeeds in blending together ancient history (ceramics) and modern history (electric guitar). The ceramics guitars that I made, are the first exsisting models in the world, created by this type of process."

[music4lifebycc]

Melodies and Bass Patterns: Foundations of My New Pieces, 17 June 2025

Today, I spent several hours improvising and developing new musical ideas for my second piece.

I began by exploring different chord progressions, melodies, and bass patterns through improvisation. This phase lasted around three hours and allowed me to freely test ideas without any pressure to commit to a specific direction. I recorded and labelled the bass line experiments, which are shown in the attached screenshot. These names helped me keep track of each idea, as everything was improvised live during the recording process.

After the initial round of experimentation, I spent a further four hours working with the ideas I had created. I explored how the melodies and bass lines could fit together more cohesively. In particular, I was drawn to a broken chords bass line that emerged from the earlier ostinato material. I also developed a descending ostinato bass line during the session, which evolved naturally alongside the drone bass. Both ideas stood out to me as strong options.

As a result, I have decided to use the musical ideas highlighted in yellow, particularly the broken chords bass pattern and the descending ostinato bass pattern, for my second and third pieces respectively.

I ended today’s session with a finalised draft of how I would like my second piece to sound, as well as a separate finalised draft for my third piece, both marked in pink. Over the coming days, I will begin working on creating the full piano arrangement for the second piece. This provides a clear starting point for the next phase. Once the piano arrangement and instrumentation phases for my second piece are complete, I will move on to developing the third piece using the other musical idea marked in pink.

####### Side Note #######

Today, I spent seven hours improvising and refining musical material. I finalised the bass line direction for both my second and third pieces, and prepared a rough draft of the structure for my second piece, ready to begin arrangement work in the next phase.

####### End of Side Note #######

Thank you for your support and stay tuned!

[seasaltmemories]

Top AMVs of 2024 - 10-1

A more in-depth breakdown of what I am doing can be found here, as well as the past entries here. Today’s entries are as follows:

10. Maybe the Real Friends Were the Dungeons We Ate Along the Way by Moonpie AMVs

Audio: Friends by Flight of the Concords

Visuals: Dungeon Meshi

Considering our hobby is all about timing visuals with music, I am surprised that when it comes to comedy amvs, I don’t see many discussions about comedic timing. And well if you were wanting a cool breakdown of how the two work, I can’t really give it either, but Moonpie’s work here might be just as good teacher.

In comparison to other comedy amvs I have discussed, this one isn’t really going for big laugh out loud moments as opposed to a generally goofy and lighthearted atmosphere. But considering the breezy pace of the song, it really works to keep the jokes coming and the actual flow not to get bogged down as well. Reaction shots like at 0:51 and 1:24 do a lot to help sell punchlines/add to the humor without worrying about getting in the weeds of literal lyric sync, and overall by the end it is still able to sell you on the sweetness of the group’s friendship, all shenanigans aside. And while I don’t read/watch the series, it is really nice to get reminded that these guys like each other.

9: He’s a Zombie by TheLazyDaze

Audio: Good Grief by Bastille

Visuals: When Sato-kun Died

And here we get to the last summer mmv exchange vid, the gift I personally received. If you forgot this list wasn’t extremely biased, now is a good reminder, but even if Daze wasn’t editing with one of my “titular dead bf” mangas, there is a lot to love.

She’s always been an excellent mmv editor, but this vid in particular is packed with so many great details. The foot sliding into the panel at 0:23, the hand animation at 1:08, the undressing animation at 1:29. I could list more, but you’re probably just better off reading my original youtube comment.

Funny enough I wasn’t a big fan of this song before this vid (although I generally like Bastille). But in the end it is such a great match for the series blend of slice of life and drama. There’s lingering sadness over the fact that he really *is* a zombie, but more time is spent showing what will be missed and enjoying the good memories they do have.

8. The Amazon by PieandBeer (CW: Gore & Nudity)

Audio: Brazil by Declan Mckenna

Visuals: Devilman Crybaby

The first time I watched this vid, I was certain it wasn’t going to work. The breezy guitars are tonally far from what I associate with Devilman Crybaby; however as I got past the instrumental opening, I found the visual rhythm of the vid too intentional not to get into. The vid was less dissonant than I anticipated, but instead contained a surprising amount of resonance.

This might be one of the more obtuse vids on this list. Even with knowledge of the source material and a full read-through of the lyrics on Genius, it is hard to summarize this vid down to one pithy sentence. As disillusioned as the lyrics are and and as intense as the violence is on screen, whenever we cut back to just the two leads, their tenderness is so sweet it hurts. It feels like a bit of a ink blot test where how you interpret it has more to do with what you bring to it, and for me it just invokes this feeling where you know the relationship with someone is done, yet you can’t help but keep reaching out to them. If you like your vids moody and introspective like me, I think there is a lot to enjoy unpacking here.

7. DO YOU WANT TO FUCK A GOOSE OR NOT? by keiichiface

Audio: My Brother My Brother and Me

Visuals: Princess Tutu, Lucky Star

Listen I ship the dude and the “goose” of Princess Tutu so I was gonna be a fan regardless but keiichiface went above and beyond to elevate the audio. Just combining the two sources already adds a lot. By going literal with a talk show totally outside the world of this man and his love affair with a water fowl, there is a expressive lip sync and that meta element to play with. And even when she is working with Princess Tutu footage itself, keiichiface keeps finding creative things to do. I especially love when the concept art gets brought hastily masked in for some ultra specific lyric sync. The rough edges only add to the charm, giving it a quirky vibe without detaching from the more impressive technical elements.

All types of art deserved to be celebrated. Even if there’s isn’t a lot meaningful or deep I can extrapolate about goosefucking in particular, there’s no denying that when it comes to shitposts, keiichiface is a master of the craft.

6. Our Neighborhood Has Changed by Obsidian Zero

Audio: Souvenir by The Midnight

Visuals: Kimba the White Lion

As much I love my sad stories, I am rarely the type to cry over something fictional. So out of all the vids I expected to work past my defenses, I didn’t expect it to be a Kimba vid. Still Obsidian Zero finds incredible emotional material by soundtracking a story of pouching and ecological destruction with nostalgic yearning for a past that cannot be returned to.

There’s a specific element of powerlessness this amv taps into that is really palpable. Similar to ctrl alt delete, we end on a moment of denied catharsis. It’s not a matter of mourning and moving on from one death or loss, but grief by a thousand paper cuts and loneliness that’s much more difficult to process. Add that in with great moments like Kimba swimming to the opening guitar riffs and or the impeccable gun sync, and you got a little lion that leaves a large impact.

5. Catch and Release by BecauseImBored1

Audio: Houdini by Dua Lipa

Visuals: Saint Tail

This is the platonic ideal of a lot of what I look for in amvs tbh. I will always love it when an editor takes a song I might have heard but not given much thought to, pairs it with a combo that, in retrospect, feels like it was made for, and then wraps up the entire package with tight flow and clever sync. The trick is more difficult to pull off then I make it sound, but BecauseImBored is honestly a pro at this exact thing.

If I had to describe this vid in one word I’d go with “bouncy.” There’s a lot of attention given to the specific vocal inflections of Dua Lipa’s voice for a lot of fun moments of sync. And thanks to that tight control of the vid’s flow from scene to scene, it is easy to get swept up in the excitement and miss some of the subtle overlays and masked transitions BecauseImBored1 has under her sleeve. All in all, just every shot of this is delightfully paced to the point you’re left satisified by the end of the vid and yet are still itching to press replay again.

4. AND YOU CAN’T COME by Troubleclef (CW: Sexual Grooming)

Audio: Harder to Kill by Carter Vail

Visuals: Chainsaw man

Juggling multiple tones in a video is a tricky task. Most songs aren’t full stories and are more snapshots of one idea. And even when you get in the 5 minute + range, that is still not that much time in the grand scheme of things to establish set up, payoff and then repeat the process all over again when you pivot to a new topic.

1:33-1:46 alone is an amazing sequence, condensing a lot of harsh and heavy storytelling down to just enough implication to make out what it is happening in between shots. I consider it to be this vid’s best part but what makes it such an effective bridge is what it is sandwiched between. The first half of the vid is light-hearted and boyish, concerned just as much with heartbreak as it is food and fun. But even after the turn, we’re still left with this grasping incomplete understanding of the situation. As Denji whirls around from building to building and we cut between grasping hands and looming eyes, it feels as if he is trying to put the pieces together, but can only get so far. The final section of the song, where the vid gets its title from is equally childish, but it fully captures this inability to fully process the horrors you are currently going through, even as you are feeling the full effects of it.

3. The Keeper by Elixir

Audio: The Keeper by Kai Wachi

Visuals: Jujutsu Kaisen

I had a friend who was curious why more vids didn’t use rap. And while I had my personal theories from my corner about how much was due to only looking in certain corners of the community and how much was other facts, this vid is probably the best argument for what the rest of us might be missing out on.

Going back to my “sum up a vid into one word” challenge, the one I would use here is intense. Not only does Elixir lean into the horror-influenced elements of JJK, but the song itself is full of all sorts of unnerving musical motifs that adds to the oppressive atmosphere. By the end of my first viewing, I had to take a deep breath just to release all he tension that had been building up. However even on a less visceral rewatch, there are so many great moments. Elixir uses a lot of fun internal sync for the standout sounds like the drill noise or screams. I love the focus on close-combat when the flow switches up at 1:36.

Overall the vid is like a great horror movie. Even when you know what jump-scares are coming, everything is set-up and executed so well you can appreciate them on both an emotional and intellectual level.

2: Disco Expansion: Infinite Rizz by Ileia

Audio: Feels Like by Outasight

Visuals: Jujutsu Kaisen

And now for something completely different. To steal a joke from someone much funnier than me.

This vid dropped early in the year, but after seeing it I was already convinced this was gonna be one of my faves for 2024. Ileia’s flow is consistently slick and engaging, no matter the genre or subject matter, but centering a vid around Gojo’s new and invented disco powers gave her a lot more opportunities to get flashy with her tech work. All the overlays are great, my fave being the sound wave lengths at 0:28 and 0:31, but the transitions at 1:22 and 1:28 are no slouches either.

In contrast to The Keeper, here the horror elements are used cheekily. Some of the scene selection feels handpicked to cause physic damage to fans of the series, but even without context, it is hard to miss the punchline of heads rolling perfectly on beat. My fave moment has to be when Toji comes up and starts to sing along/fight. It just encapsulates how this vid keeps the perfect amount of goofy energy going without sacrificing a lick of its explosive momentum.

1: Velodrome by sandelwoodbox

Audio: Veldrome by Dessa

Visuals: Silo

My love for amvs and art as a whole tends to come from a love for character and narrative, the idea of narrowing a focus down to something direct and intentional. Even when I know there is no way for an outsider to get what is going on, I always strive to at least include some level of internal logic and progression for myself. Which is why I find myself to a certain degree to be even more drawn to vids that go in the opposite direction, that not only embrace that wider broad focus, but still maintain thematic cohesion.

More than any one character, Velodrome profiles an entire alternative society. While familiar faces pop up several times, no one voice or perspective stands out. Instead the lives of scientists, blue collar laborers, and children all weave together to paint a picture of place as beautiful as it is horrifying. The stairs that boys and girls slide down are the same stairs men fall to their death (a striking motif that syncs with nature fall of the singer’s inflection.) Most dystopian art focus on their attention on the injustice, the evil that consumes a place, but sandelwoodbox takes the time to show that a deeply wrong world can be one that still contains so much joy. And furthermore this fact only heightens why the injustice is so perverse in the first place. Even under amidst suffering, people continue to live, fight, and love. The editing carries that same restless energy, never truly coming to a still until the final shot.

As much as I love art, I don’t like acting like my tastes have to mean something. But if I have to wrap this up with a bow, Velodrome embodies both the sum of any work’s parts and the parts itself deserve equal love and attention.

~

Thanks for sticking around through my list and going on this new venture with me. A playlist containing all this vids, from number 1 to my honorable mentions can be found here. Looking forward to another year of great amvs!

[whumplump]

Experiment

Despite my lack of motivation, I suddenly had a burst of ideas that led me to write this.

CW: medical whump, surgeon whumper, knives, blood, testing, torture, vivisection

Information may not be medically accurate.

Whumpee woke up to a bright light. Their eyelids were heavy, making it difficult for their eyes to open, and even when they opened, their vision was blurred. Whumpee wasted a few seconds until they saw a silhouette of someone wearing a surgical mask and gloves positioning a large white lamp over their body. Their eyes wandered more, bringing more information to their disoriented head. Their arms and legs, tied to a hard and uncomfortable stretcher, but rigorously clean.

The entire room was dull and uninteresting in color, like a hospital usually is. Whumpee tried to speak and finally realized they were gagged. Their eyes returned to the person they had seen before, who now stood in front of a small table with some metal trays that displayed some materials and tools.

Whumper pressed a button on a small recorder.

“Test log, section 32. This time, the procedure will rely on a live specimen."

He took a rolled-up piece of paper and held it out in front of him to get a better look. The position in which Whumper lifted the paper allowed Whumpee to peek at the contents. It was blue paper with several frighteningly detailed drawings of human organs. There were post-its with notes written in different colored pens.

Whumpee got scared and started struggling, trying to free themselves. Whumper seemed to have heard but ignored it.

"I will carry out the test paying attention to signs of previous results. The steps will be the same."

Whumpee stopped squirming and paid attention.

"First, an opening of three cuts is made, from the belly to the chest of the specimen."

Whumpee's eyes widened.

"Then, the layers of flesh lower down are cut and the edges are pulled back, exposing the organs."

Whumpee saw the experiment drawings on the paper and began to struggle again. Their gag-muffled screams reached vaguely on the voice recorder as background music for the diary.

“Then, extraction begins. First, the kidneys. Then, the liver... And so on. With the specimen alive, I can collect more results regarding pain resistance and lifespan. There will be no anesthesia. I'm looking forward to the experiment unfolding."

He rolled up the paper and set it aside on the table. He picked up a small scalpel and a handful of gauze and turned around, approaching Whumpee. The "specimen" became even more desperate, trying so hard to free themselves from the restraints that their wrists and ankles were getting bruised.

Whumper looked into the eyes of his living experiment. Whumpee looked back with teary eyes. They prayed that Whumper would be sympathetic and give up, or kill them outright. They prayed that they would receive empathy. However, Whumper maintained his neutral expression and said:

"A skittish and nervous specimen. The accelerated heart rate will promote blood circulation, facilitating the procedure."

Whumpee helplessly watched the scalpel approach their body.

"Starting incisions.”

Whumper began by cutting Whumpee's belly horizontally, holding the scalpel with his hand at a slight angle, letting the instrument slide beneath the surface of the skin, breaking through a layer of flesh. Whumpee screamed as loud as they could under the gag. Whumper proceeded with the cut hellishly slowly, holding the piece of gauze with his other hand, stopping the excess blood from leaking from the wound. When he was finished, Whumpee could breathe for a few seconds, albeit with difficulty.

“The specimen's blood is slightly darkened. I'm still waiting for the results of the blood samples I collected, but I believe the specimen has some disease. The skin sits comfortably on the bones, and the flesh is as soft and fragile as paper. Anyway." Continuing incision.”

He began a vertical slash at the same agonizing speed. After a while, Whumpee lost the strength to scream. It was already difficult to breathe with all the pain and anxiety, and the gag made their situation even worse.

Whumper stopped the second cut halfway and took a look at Whumpee. He set the scalpel and gauze aside and took a small flashlight from the instrument tray.

"Relapse. Paleness, heavy breathing." He held Whumpee's eyelids and flashed the light directly into their eyes, one at a time. "Dilated pupils. The specimen is not very resistant. It may not hold until the end of the tests. I will suture the incisions already made and stop this section at that. I will place the specimen in a saline supplement and give it a few days to recover briefly.”

Whumpee lost their strength and passed out. Whumper returned to the table and replaced the lantern. He took off his gloves and mask, letting out a long sigh.

He pressed another button on the voice recorder.

"Section 32, summary. The specimen has a low tolerance for pain and blood loss. I will focus on strengthening it until the results of the blood tests arrive and finally proceed with the main experiment. End of recording."

He turned back to Whumpee. He ran his hand through the victim's dehydrated hair.

“You're the best test subject I've ever had.”