#water and wheels service and repair

[asapautomobile25]

mobile wheel bearing replacement in San Jose

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#wheel bearing replacement in San Jose #Car Wheel Bearing in San Jose #Wheel Bearing in San Jose #mobile wheel bearing replacement in San Jose #auto repair in san jose #car cooling system repair in san jose #car repair in san jose #timing belt replacement in san jose #knock sensor replacement in san jose #brake pads and rotors replacement in san jose #knock sensor repair in san jose #car timing belt replacement in san jose #car water pump repair in san jose #water pump repair service in san jose

[artificial-transmutations]

The road trip

College was finally over! Randy and Danny, who had spent the last four years living in the same dorm room, were celebrating their graduation with a dream they had nurtured for the past few months: A road trip across the country! They would travel together, spend the time driving and the nights in motels, and finally visit some famous places along the way.

Both of them had the money for it and the time to spare. Danny, of course, who was the more reliable of the duo, was the one who had planned out the whole trip in advance. He had the maps, the motels and the sights all written down, and now they were driving through the countryside to the west.

All went according to plan and the two friends were already a few days on the road, when the accident happened. Randy, who didn't get much sleep the night before was driving while Danny was taking a nap in the seat next to him. The monotonous sight of the country road was not helping much, and Danny found it more and more difficult to stay awake. In hindsight, the sensible choice of action would have been to park the car and take a nap as well. But Randy wasn't the type for sensible choices. He just kept driving and driving until...

*BANG!*

Randy's car hit something, a rock, a stone, a tree. Danny woke up with a jolt and looked around. Everything had happened so fast. The front window was broken, and the airbag had exploded.

Danny couldn't see because of the airbag and tried to open the door. Luckily, it wasn't jammed, and he could work himself out of the car just in time to see Randy crawl out on the driver's side as well.

"Randy! Are you hurt? What happened?"

"No, I'm okay, but the car... "

Danny, who had managed to stand up by now, took a look at the front of the car. They had collided with a large rock next to the road. Even without any mechanical expertise, Danny recognized that the car was wrecked, damaged beyond repair. Next to one of the car's wheels, he spotted something on the ground. When he picked it up, however, it was just some old coin that he quickly pocketed.

"Fuck." was all Danny remarked. It was unlike him to swear, but the situation called for it.

Randy was still looking at the wreck of his car in disbelief. A thousand thoughts spun around in his head, ranging from "my dad's gonna kill me" to "I should really have been more careful". He finally decided on:

"How are we going to get back to civilization?"

"I'm not sure, but we'll figure something out. We should really get the rest of our luggage and call for help."

The two former students did as suggested and collected their luggage from the car. Luckily, everything that had been in the trunk was more or less intact. Calling for help, however, was a bigger problem than anticipated.

"No reception." Randy stated and Danny nodded, adding only another "Fuck.".

"Perhaps, there's some sort of service station nearby. We should probably walk in the direction we were driving." Danny said after a short consideration.

Neither of them knew how far it was going to be - but surely, at some point, they would be able to use their phones.

After walking for about twenty minutes in the blazing heat, Danny suddenly stopped.

"What's the matter?", Randy asked.

"It's fucking hot, that's what it is", Danny answered. His voice sounded scruff, but that was probably just because of the lack of water. After a short bit of hesitation, he pulled his white t-shirt over his head and used it to wipe away his sweat before dropping it to the ground.

"Better." he mumbled, but it didn't take long for the sweat to return.

Randy, who had also stopped when Danny did, looked at him and his surprisingly well defined torso, glistening in the sun. He had known Danny for a long time, and had seen him shirtless more than once, but his friends exposed chest was way more impressive than he remembered.

"Aren't you hot?"

Randy was interrupted in his thoughts by the question.

"No, actually... I'm not sweating one bit." he answered truthfully. That earned him a strange look from Danny, but no further comment.

Danny was hot, really hot. His mind was clouded, and it was difficult for him to think straight. After another short while, he cursed again.

"Fuck this shit! We're not getting anywhere like that."

Absentmindedly, he scratched his chest, which showed a coating of fine dark hairs now. Randy was pretty sure they weren't there some moments ago. What was going on?! Randy really didn't want to stare, but there were some not-so-subtle changed in his friend. The chest, the hair, the sudden change in behavior... and was that a tattoo on his shoulder? Randy was very, very certain that Danny didn't have any tattoos and yet, here was one. It looked like a crest or something, perhaps a military motive? That was impossible, of course, Danny was a gentle pacifist.

It didn't look bad on him, though. Randy found his eyes glued to his friends body, taking everything in, the muscles, the tattoo, the hair, the... bulge.

"Are you enjoying the view?" the question was snarky, almost aggressive, and definitely not what Randy was used to.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to-" Randy began, but Danny had already closed the distance between them and closed his hand (Randy could swear it was bigger and rougher than before) around Randy's crotch. Only now that it had been touched, Randy realized that he had grown hard.

"Don't act innocent, you little fag", Danny growled. "You're enjoying the view."

"Yes." Randy breathed. The whole situation was weird, and definitely not good, but his friend's hand on his cock felt so incredibly good. Of course, Randy wasn't gay... was he?

When he looked up, he saw Danny grinning a superior grin, despite his harsh words. He had grown significantly, Randy noticed. Not taller, but broader, with big, strong muscles. More tattoos had appeared on his other arm as well, and his chin was covered in bristly stubble now.

Most importantly, though, Danny, too was obviously hard in his pants. The bulge was big, way bigger than what Randy would have expected, even though he had never seen Danny's member hard before. The sight was mouth-watering.

Danny laughed and pressed his groin into Randy's, letting him feel the hardness.

"Yeah, I know what you want."

He opened his pants with his free hand and dropped them, revealing a huge member.

"Do you like what you see?"

Randy couldn't do much else than nod. The sight was just mesmerizing. He was still vaguely aware that they were open in public, on a road, but he couldn't help but stare at his friend's huge cock.

"Come on, give it a kiss."

Randy did as he was told and started to kneel down in front of his friend, but he was interrupted again by Danny's big hand that stopped him.

"But first...", Danny's voice sounded lower, more manly now, as he reached into Randy's pants and underpants and closed his hand around Randy's very stiff dick before he continued:

"I'll take this."

With that, he suddenly *yanked* at Randy's cock and balls, who was expecting the pain of a lifetime. Surprisingly enough, it didn't feel too bad. There was an odd pulling sensation for a moment, but it passed quickly. Even as Danny had retracted his arm, Randy could still feel his firm hand gripping his cock and balls - and he could *see* them, too: Danny was still holding them in his hand, detached from Randy's body.

"Ah, a perfect toy. This should keep you busy while I make use of your mouth."

The realization of what had happened was overwhelming, but it didn't stop Randy from feeling horny. It didn't help that Danny was idly playing with his detached cock, making him moan.

"Didn't you hear me? On. Your. Knees."

Randy was surprised, and even scared a little. How could Danny speak with such authority, like he was a superior man? Like he was... Randy's master.

As he finally went down on his knees, he looked up and was confronted with a different kind of surprise: Danny had been wearing blue jeans before, but now he was greeted by old and worn, and, most importantly, smelly, camo pants, held by a leather belt with a big metal buckle. The pants were open and his giant dick, still hard, hung out between the legs, resting on the heavy balls.

"Suck it." Danny said.

Randy did as he was told, putting his lips around the giant cock and started to suck. It felt more than weird, sucking another man's cock while having his own member detached and being slowly rubbed by the manly hands of his frie...

No, Danny was clearly superior to him now, much too superior to be a peer of his. He was his master, his owner perhaps. He was the one who held his cock in his hand, quite literally. The thought was thrilling for Randy, and he moaned out of pure pleasure.

Danny seemed to enjoy the blowjob as well, and, surprisingly, his cock grew even larger. With a low growl, Danny came in Randy's mouth. It was an incredible amount of cum, filling his mouth and making him gag.

"Good." Danny smirked and zipped up his pants. "And now you're gonna replace the car you crashed."

With these words, Randy found himself beginning to change. He fell to the ground and watched as both his hands and feet became larger, black and rubbery. There was no doubt: They were turning into... tires!

His whole body exploded in size, shredding his clothing as if they were made of paper. His skin turned hard and metallic and took on a bright yellow color. His body hollowed out and glass formed on the front, the sides and the back, as Randy, the human quickly became Randy, the car. And not just any car. He was becoming a brand new, modern, yellow jeep. His intestines turned into one of the most powerful engines you could own, while his mind underwent another transformation.

Randy's thoughts became clearer, simpler, more mechanical, as his mind was being absorbed into the on-board computer, effectively becoming nothing more than a subservient AI. With all his sensors, Randy noticed of course, as the rugged redneck, Dan the man, entered his interior and took a deep breath of Randy's new car smell.

"Alright, let's get going." Danny mumbled to no one in particular and inserted the key, which had been Randy's cock before, into the keyhole that had been Randy's mouth.

Immediately, Randy roared to life, and at the touch of his owner accelerated down the long country road.

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #straight to gay #inanimate transformation

[amphiptere-art]

I just remembered all my older AUs. I haven't talked about them. Because well. They're not TSAMS. They're just standard security breach DCA. I've already gone on little tirades about these guys. And technically you're supposed to find out more about them in the RBB adventures of the cube. But since no one's interested in that, perhaps you guys would like if I just went on a tirade.

Down below the poll Is this shortest versions of the descriptions I have.

mechanical medic AU- story focused.

(Not in poll, But one of my lesser known AUs)

Ralph the Repair Dragon works as a moving parts and service. But is haunted by 3 fragmented souls of mechanics that died in the Plex. Sun n Moon struggle to get the medical mechanic animatronic to leave them alone.

Purrfect Thief- story focused.

you are a shape-shifting cat. You work with The gang Lord Eclipse but live as a house cat with the detectives Sun and Moon. You are an informant with the spiders web. A info company owned by DJ. Life has been simple and happy. But on the horizon a pack of dogs is ready to ruin that simple life.

Saving Waves- story focused

a sun n moon mer story. Were sun n moon were once in our lab/mer fighting facility. They are saved by a rehab facility and have to learn how to be normal Mer again. Also following the other side of the family. Who are trying to get pesky humans to stay out of their wild waters.

Warehouse AU- story / ask focused.

after the fire story were the dca, Freddy, DJ, foxy and Bonnie are moved to a big werehouse (owned by a y/n) is modified into a mini Plex (honestly more like a side road arcade that's bigger). And the dca has to relearn how to function with the band.

Rusty wheels- ask focused (lots of lore though)

a apocalypse au were a nanite Afton virus infects the world. It's cyberpunk with a rustic feel. Y/N has a big truck sized motorcycle thing and finds sun n moon. And drags them in their attempts of adventure and survival.

Cryptid eater- story / ask focus.

a Sun and Moon are Hunters story but you are a creature that eats vampires and werewolves and things like such. And the story takes place with you trying to convince them that you're on their side.

Warehouse Daycare- ask focused

a version of the warehouse AU where it's only sun n moon. The werehouse is smaller and they grow a closer relationship with y/n and a emotional support cat.

Stop you silly siren- ask focused

suns a tired Pirate. moons a silly siren. Eclipse is an angry sea captain. Popped in my head. want to see were it leads.

Creature dca- I made it for fun.

a random look for sun n moon. Has flip floped between being and basic non animatronic form to fey creatures that deal with changelings and guardian God entities.

Star foolery- a word for silly situations with no lore ties.

basic place for me to draw the dca in different situations. no major story but has lore. does occur during after and before in dca history

#Perrfect Thief #warehouse au #Saving Waves #rusty wheels #Cryptid eater #Warehouse daycare #Stop you Silly Siren #creature DCA #Star foolery #mechanical medic #dca au #dca fandom #dca community #dca moon #dca sun #fnaf dca #daycare attendant sun #daycare attendant moon #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf sun and moon #fnaf sb sun #fnaf sb moon

[butterflyinthewell]

If you go out and protest:

LEAVE YOUR PHONE AND SMART WATCH HOME. These devices can track your location. Discuss meeting places and stuff beforehand, preferably face to face or only by encrypted means.

DO NOT TAKE PHOTOS/VIDEOS, this can put people in danger.

Bring easy to transport snacks, water, any meds you need and first-aid kits.

If it’s very hot weather, bring drinks like Gatorade that replenish electrolytes.

Don’t forget sunscreen.

Wear nondescript clothes that don’t have giant logos or memorable images or patterns on them. This includes shoes and socks. Look as boring and plain as possible.

The same applies to your COVID mask, keep it plain or buy some you’ll only wear when protesting.

If you have identifiable piercings, take them out and put in a spacer if you can’t leave it out, or put in jewelry you can afford to discard afterward.

Cover up tattoos.

Take off your nail polish or paint your nails a neutral color. You don’t want somebody identifying you via your Hello Kitty nail art on Facebook.

If your hair is dyed an unnatural color, is very long or styled distinctly (ie locs, braids, fades, etc), find a way to cover your head and hide your hair.

Get cheap sunglasses and ONLY wear them to protests, nowhere else.

If you use mobility aids and they have distinct stickers, find temporary ways to cover them up. Remove spoke covers from wheelchair wheels or buy ones that only go on your wheels during protests and nowhere else.

The goal is to be as nondescript as possible and not stand out much from a crowd if some goofball forgets the no pictures/video rules.

Other advice:

Tear gas canisters are hot, you’ll need thick gloves if it’s necessary to handle one to throw it away from you or a group.

Make sure you or someone in your group is trained in first aid.

If you have a seizure disorder like epilepsy, make sure the people in your group know the right seizure first aid for the types of seizures you have. Make sure they know where your rescue meds are if they have to give them to you during an aura to stop it from progressing. Make sure there’s an escape route they can take you through after a seizure.

Diabetic people, make sure you or someone with you knows how to administer emergency insulin, sugar, or can adjust your pump if something happens to it.

Carry whatever tools you need to repair something like a wheelchair if it gets damaged.

Canes may be broken or damaged, so bring one you can afford to lose. (I know that may be very difficult!)

Blind long cane users should carry extra cane tips and perhaps even an extra folding cane in case the one you’re using is damaged or broken.

Make sure someone in your group that you trust can wrangle service animals and take care of them for you if you’re detained.

Autistic people with sensory issues, make sure any ear defenders and stim toys you bring are as plain and nondescript as possible. A black chewable necklace is going to blend in with black clothes. Try not to have toys that are bright colored if you can avoid it. Bring stim toys you don’t care about losing, because they might get lost.

If the cops come for any of you, ask “am I being detained?” and ask for a lawyer. After that, give them nothing. That means shut up!

#protest safety #protesting #safety #advice #politics

[1863-project]

As a Guy who Fixes Machines for a living, but unfortunately doesn't have Much experience with engines, *but* has read a Ton about them: please tell me about steam engines and/or their Repair Quirks and Logistics. Infodump Away :chinhands:

I'm going to be honest with you - this is one of the most flattering asks I've ever received in my 14+ years on this website.

Steam locomotives seem pretty overwhelming at first because, as you'd expect, there's a lot of moving parts, and they're actually huge. Like many large animals, people often don't realize how big they can actually get until they're in the presence of one. The one I drove, Strasburg #90, weighs in at 212,000 lbs - and she's smaller than a lot of the active steam locomotives operating today. 106 tons is nothing to sneeze at, and she's still considered smaller.

You probably don't need this in layman's terms, but I'm going to try to keep the explanations easy to understand in case anyone who doesn't work with machines reads this.

How do the beasts run?

Continuing the metaphor of these things basically being really large animals, you have to feed and water them. Early steam locomotives ran on wood, but as time went on the most common fuels became coal and oil, and today some can even run clean on vegetable oil or torrefied biomass. The fact that they need to be fed and watered fairly regularly is why there's always at least two people in the locomotive cab - you've got an engineer driving and a fireman keeping the beast fed and monitoring the water levels in the boiler.

This is a diagram of a fire tube boiler from Wikipedia. Steam locomotives generally use this type of boiler, which gives them their familiar shape. The fuel is thrown into the firebox on the left of the diagram, and the heat from the fire flows up to the tubes in the boiler. The water in the boiler becomes steam (specifically what's called "wet steam" because it's saturated). The steam rises to the highest point in the boiler, the steam dome at the top. From here, the steam is sent down into a superheater, which dries it out and produces superheated steam, and that's what's directed down to the cylinders to get everything moving. The smokestack on the right of the diagram is where the exhaust gasses are released, giving off that plume of smoke everyone expects to see.

Now that the steam is at the cylinders, the pistons can start pumping and moving the driving rods on the driving wheels (the big ones). Here's an animated gif of that process, again from Wikipedia.

At this point, it's basically like any other engine with pistons - the pistons get pumping and the machine starts operating. This whole section of the locomotive is referred to as the running gear, and includes the valve gear, connecting rods, brake gear, wheelsets, axleboxes, and springing.

Essentially, it's a steam engine with wheels that is capable of pulling incredible amounts of weight if everything is done correctly. Your average steam locomotive is still stronger than your average diesel or electric locomotive is. Depending on what you needed your steam locomotive to do, the size of the driving wheels would differ - locomotives built for high speed tend to have really large drive wheels, whilst locomotives designed to go slower but pull more weight have smaller drivers for better adhesion and traction.

Maintenance?

As expected, since they have a lot of moving parts, steam locomotives need a lot of active maintenance. They're checked frequently, have mandated annual inspections, and are required by the Federal Railroad Administration in the United States to have a more thorough inspection every 1,472 days of active service - so it's basically 15 years or 1,472 days of operation, whichever comes first. 90, the locomotive I drove at Strasburg, is currently undergoing her 1,472-day inspection as I write this post and she'll hopefully be back in operation for her 100th birthday next year.

One of the things that's unique about steam locomotive maintenance is that the boiler regularly has to be cleaned out, which is why the boilerplate on the front has hinges - that thing's a door! This job was more dangerous historically because boilers were often insulated with asbestos, but pretty much anything operating today has had any asbestos removed or wasn't built with it in the first place. This website has a really good explanation of the process of cleaning out and fixing up a locomotive boiler for a 1,472 day inspection, complete with photos!

In terms of steam locomotive shops, I'm biased towards Strasburg because I grew up going there all the time, but they really do perform incredible work. Late last year, one of their locomotives, #475, had a run-in with a crane left on the track due to a misthrown switch, and her smokebox took some damage. Fortunately, the damage was minor, and they were able to get her repaired in a mere 96 hours.

She now looks like this:

They opted to braze weld her and didn't smooth it out as a reminder to crews to stay vigilant, so she now has some really cool battle scars.

I'm not as well-versed in repair since I don't have hands-on experience with it (yet), but once I can start volunteering I'll hopefully have some more stuff to talk about since I'm hoping to learn to work with these machines more closely! (And drive. Drive all the time. Drive forever.)

#replies #copper-and-smoke #I like trains

[mikeepoo]

Photo: C. 1883-1889. A 20-mule team before its 165-mile journey to the railhead in Mojave, California. Photo courtesy of the National Park Service The purpose of the twenty-mule-team wagons was to transport 10 short tons of borax ore per journey. The rear wheels, standing at a height of seven feet, were equipped with 1-inch-thick iron tires. The wagon beds, crafted from solid oak, measured 16 feet in length and 6 feet in depth, with an empty weight of 7,800 pounds. The convoy, extending over 180 feet with mules in tow, consisted of three wagons: the first as a trailer, the second known as "the tender" or the "back action," and the last serving as a water tank. When loaded with ore, the complete weight of the mule train, including the wagons, amounted to approximately 73,200 pounds. The water tank, holding 1,200 US gallons, supplied the mules with water during the journey. An additional 500-US-gallon wagon was occasionally appended to deliver water to a dry camp along the route. Over a span of six years, the teams successfully transported more than 20 million pounds of borax out of Death Valley. The horses, positioned as wheelers closest to the wagon, were ridden by one of the two individuals typically required to operate the wagons. While larger than the mules, the horses were considered less intelligent and less adaptable to desert conditions. Remi Nadeau's historical account, "Nadeau's Freighting Teams in the Mojave," highlights the mules' superiority for general use in the desert region. The teamster controlled the team using a single long rein, known as a "jerk line," aided by a lengthy blacksnake whip. Typically riding the left wheeler, the teamster could also operate from the trailer seat, managing the brake on steep descents. The swamper, usually riding the trailer, would be positioned on the back action in hilly terrain to operate the brake. Armed with a can of small rocks, the swamper could encourage an inattentive mule to return to work. Both men were responsible for preparing the team, tending to the mules' needs, and addressing any veterinary or repair requirements. A mid-day stop allowed for feeding and watering the mules in harness, while night stops provided corrals and feed boxes. Each day's travel averaged around 17 miles, and the entire one-way trip took approximately ten days. The company constructed cabins at night stops for the use of drivers and swampers.

[briarcrawford]

The Story of my Off-Grid Writing Cabin

Before my grandpa got too sick, he purchased a small patch of land from a friend. It is right in the middle of farm country, but had been untouched (apart from cows) for many years. The property was once site of a (now gone) mining town, it is right alongside train tracks, and the only way to it is by a dirt road that sometimes floods, so it is not particularly valuable land. Perhaps that was why the friend who inherited it had no interest in it.

This lack of interest greatly benefited the property, by letting the forest (and ecosystem) spread and thrive.

It has moose, porcupines, cougars, and more, so going there often feels like entering the wilds, despite the fact that a short walk will lead you to a neighbors farmland.

The pre-mentioned town has long since disappeared, but one of its inhabitants (who was a young boy at the time, and is now elderly) sometimes comes to wander the land and remember how it was. It turns out the spot I chose for my cabin was right near where the town was, but there is little physical evidence of how it was when he was a boy. I have found the wheel impressions of an old path through the forest, as well as the occasional glass bottle, ceramics, or other small trinkets.

While scaling the cliffside, I did once find something I believe is related to the mine(perhaps an air vent?) but I have yet to find more.

My grandpa was determined to have land to pass down to his two kids, so he did what he could to clear a small space in overgrown brush in an open patch of the forest to give his kids a place to start building on.

He also gave me permission to start building my very tiny 8×12 cabin, and dropped by every now and then to give suggestions on the build.

I am pretty proud to say that he quite liked my idea with the jacks and the cinder blocks to lift it from the ground. I picked this setup that way if the earth shifts, I can re-level the shed. Also, if it is ever decided that the land should be sold, it would technically be possible for me to lift and load it onto a flat-bed(though where I would bring it is a mystery hahaha).

For my cabin, despite how small it is, construction is a slow process. I am low income, so building it has been a mix of waiting for enough money, and hunting at the salvage center at my local dump. For example, my sink and cabinets cost me $5. Of course, there were some repairs to do on them, but nothing drastic.

With the help of a solar panel and a 12 volt battery, I have enough power for my tiny fridge, lights, and laptop, and I have yet to run out of power.

I do have to bring water in, but I set up my sink so that it drains into a bucket that — thanks to biodegradable soap — I can dump outside later.

There are still some small things to be done as I hunt down prices I can afford — such as for window trim, curtains that actually block light, and some sort of heat source — but it is usable as it is.

Unfortunately, because of my slow progress, my grandpa never got to see my cabin as close to finished as it is now. He passed away a few years ago. I would like to think my grandpa would like how my writing cabin turned out.

I do not know what the future of the land will look like, but for now, my grandpa provided me with a quiet escape that has been tremendously helpful with my mental health.

If you follow my website or other social media, you might have noticed I haven't been active, and the reason for it is that a recent blip of depression has made it hard for me to do anything. I apologize for dropping off the map, especially if there are any comments I have forgotten to reply to.

I am currently working on improving my mental health in any way I can, and the land has played a part in it. When I visit the land, there is little to no cell-service, so the disconnect and surrounding nature creates a barrier to me and my stresses, and I do feel much better. Thanks, grandpa!

#writing shed #writingshed #sheshed #she shed #writing cabin #tiny cabin #off grid cabin #offgridcabin #writer #author #MyNews #WritingCabin

[daveyfvckingjacobs]

[materialising physically in your home already sat cross-legged on the floor] say more about the mechanics au please

ok ok ok so

I’m thinking something like it’s a garage owned either by weasel or oscar and morris’ father that they all work at (to varying levels of willingness) and were raised around

they tend to get left to their own devices in the workshop on jobs, after long enough doing admin/paperwork for at least someone to realise morris isn’t good at it, oscar hates it and otto used to charge way too much just for fun until he got in trouble with the police for someone to realise it’s best they don’t do that anymore

morris is sort of neutral about the work. he finds the noises of the types of cars they get in often overwhelming, and a lot of the messy jobs (changing oil, greasing, even the gritty hand wash) quite a lot sensory wise. he knows them all inside out though, and could list off part numbers for any number of makes and years off the top of his head far better than the others. usually he’ll be found on a stool somewhere cleaning out parts with spirit or doing the mot checks and cleanings instead of big repair jobs. the easy, repetitive tasks where he can use his hands without gloves that oscar sets him too. he’s much better at identifying problems than oscar or otto, more attuned to the small noises/signs oscar misses and otto doesn’t have the patience to look for

oscar is pretty much the complete opposite of his brother; he loves working in the garage. he loves the physical nature of it, lugging around wheels and tools, all the bolts and screws and dirt. he’s very careless and thus covered in nicks and scrapes and burns from fiddling in too hot engine bays or refusing to lie on the foam mats. most of the time he’s the one underneath the cars, reckless with jacks and axle stands to the point it makes morris nervous. he’s similar to morris in that all of his tools wherever he’s working will be laid out all in arms reach, neat but filthy as he usually takes on big repair jobs and the messier servicing work morris avoids. he’s gets frustrated easily but doesn’t mind, because if he kicks a wheel of hits a spark plug with a spanner they won’t kick or hit back, so it’s a good form of anger relief

otto is equally reckless and also - said with such affection - an idiot when it comes to the work, but a smart idiot. he deals with customers most when they’re working because oscar can’t kept a civil tongue (‘it’s smoking cause the water pipe is just loose it’s literally just fucking steam I swear to fuck-‘). he’s a master at ‘fuck around and see what happens’, offering the most bizarre solutions to issues (specific tools made of cut up other tools, zip ties everywhere or just shake it till it works sort of thing) and more accident prone that oscar, and ten times more messy.

he loves fixing and servicing his own car thats technically all three of theirs because they can’t afford one each - a 1970 dodge challenger because it wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t a classic. it’s scrappy thing, full of haphazard fixes and additions that are totally not road worthy or legal but he does them anyway. oscar works on it too but only when something is broken, while otto takes it apart just for fun and morris is happy to watch him and give ideas

I have a lot of ideas for smaller scenarios based on my experiences I can add but this is v long so I’ll do that later :]

bonus: the image of oscar in a tank top and gloves with overalls tied around his waist covered in oil and dirt and a little bit of sweat. yeah

#there are also Sad elements to this bc of course #the amount of ways someone can ‘accidentally’ get hurt being raised in a garage are endless #plus still being under weasels thumb #but I’m focusing on the actual work for now #newsies #newsies the musical #newsies au #newsies hc #the delancey brothers #mechanic au #morris delancey #oscar delancey #otto wiesel

[chicgeekgirl89]

My Pain Fits in the Palm of Your Freezing Hand

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Nancy Gillian, Tommy Vega, Marjan Marwani, Paul Strickland, Andrea Reyes

Summary: Everything about his and T.K.’s relationship has been vivid technicolor, but he knows that no matter how hard he tries, T.K.’s life won’t be the only thing taken from him if he dies, his memories will be too. He wonders what he’ll forget first. The sound of T.K.’s laugh? The way his fingers felt when they curled around his own? The exact color of his eyes? Which memories will fade, slowly at first, greying around the edges and then disintegrating into nothing, until he’s left only with hazy images, unsure if they’re real or he just imagined them?

A/N: For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Falling Through the Ice.”

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What is he doing? What is he doing?

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other firmly on the steering wheel as he carefully navigates the slick, frozen streets of Austin.

He’d left the church when another call came in, heading off to help a mom and her kids who were stuck in a ditch. It had killed him to leave before they found Lindsey, but other people needed his help and there was nothing more he could do for her.

He’d just been climbing back into the cruiser, the family he’d helped safely on their way, when Nancy radioed. And look at him. Such a freaking sucker, he’d told her he would come and immediately turned in the direction of the hospital. Because of course. Of course he had.

He and T.K. have been broken up for months. With basically no contact. His heart is so far beyond repairable it might as well be condemned by the city. So why, why, did he tell Nancy he would swing by and see his injured ex? 

Because he’s an idiot, and a fool, and a sap, and a thousand other things, all of which he calls himself on the drive to the hospital. He’s still internally berating himself as he parks and walks inside, feeling equal parts like he wants to run through the doors toward the man who still has a vise grip on his heart, and turn around and run, well, not home—home doesn’t seem to be a thing he can find anymore—but back to the loft he currently sleeps in.

His sour attitude and dour thoughts are probably why he doesn’t notice at first that Nancy is coming apart at the seams, barely holding on. And then, as realization dawns, as Tommy walks into the hallway, as T.K.’s pale, ghostly face is revealed, suddenly, he feels like he might come apart at the seams too. 

“We need to get in touch with Owen,” Tommy says quietly.

“His mom should know too,” Nancy says. She looks haunted and fragile, and it scares Carlos even more. “She’ll want to come right? She needs to know.”

“I have her number,” Carlos says, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. “I can uh, I can give her a call.”

God he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want this to be happening. Doesn’t want to feel the crushing weight that has started at his shoulders and is slowly pulling him downward, urging him to curl up in a ball on the floor and sob. 

“Why don’t I do it?” Tommy offers, all compassion even though being in the hospital has to be bringing up some stuff for her. “I spoke with the doctors, I can give Gwyn all the information. I’m sure the nurses will let me use a landline if the cell service is still out.”

He’s a coward, an absolute coward because he wordlessly opens his phone, cues up Gwyn’s number, and hands it to her. She nods at him. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

“What uh, what happened?” Carlos asks, his eyes glued to T.K.’s motionless form. 

“The kid was trapped, nobody else was coming and we couldn’t wait, so we used bed sheets and a laryngoscope,” Nancy says, her voice shaking. “The ice cracked and T.K. uh, he went into the water. It was only for like a minute, but the ambo had slid down an embankment and we were working so hard on the kid…” She gasps, her voice breaking. “Oh god.”

She turns away and Carlos follows her in alarm. “Nance? Hey!”

She’s clutching at her uniform jacket, ripping it open, her breathing fast and harsh. “Nancy talk to me,” Carlos says, putting a hand on her arm.

“W-we didn’t check him out,” she gasps, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “We were focused on the kid and T.K. s-seemed fine. He was cold, but h-he was helping. And then we turned around he was g-gone and we—we know the signs of hypothermia, we should have ch-checked him over, but we di-didn’t, and now he’s dying in there and it’s—we didn’t—“

“Okay, hey, you need to sit down all right?” He guides her over to a chair where she collapses heavily as if her knees have given out. 

“H-he was fine. H-he w-was talking a-and w-working.” She’s half speaking, half sobbing, and she’s definitely not getting enough air.

“Nancy, look at me,” Carlos commands, crouching in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “Breathe. Breathe.”

Her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her face. “We did this. We lost him. We-we let him walk away in a b-blizzard. Who l-lets someone walk away in a god damn blizzard? It’s our fault. And if he—I can’t lose—“

“I wasn’t there,” Carlos says, his throat tight. “But I know that this is not your fault. You were doing your job. You saved that kid’s life and T.K.—“ he swallows, “that’s what T.K. would want. More than anything. To save that kid. So whatever happened because of that, it just happened. It’s a shitty day. And shitty stuff is going on. But it’s not on you and it’s not on Tommy, okay?”

She nods, wiping at her eyes, but doesn’t seem convinced. “Thank you for coming,” she says with a sniff. “I’m sorry I lied I just—I thought you needed to find out in person. And I think—I think T.K. would want you here.”

Carlos isn’t sure that’s true. But she doesn’t need to hear that right now. “It’s okay,” he says, sitting in the chair next to her. “I’m glad you called.”

She leans over and he pulls her into a hug, swallowing hard, attempting to force the whirlwind of his own emotions away. What are you supposed to feel when the man who you’d thought was your forever walks away and then falls through an icy pond and into another coma?

Nancy fills in the rest of the story over the next few minutes, describing the ice rescue in explicit detail; the way T.K. had looked when they’d found him in the final stages of hypothermia, speaking in Hebrew. How they’d spent so long trying to get him breathing again. How his heart had stopped and Nancy had performed CPR until help arrived. 

With every word she speaks Carlos finds himself feeling more and more lost. What is he supposed to feel? How is he supposed to react? What is he supposed to say?

Over the last few months he’s mentally planned for so many scenarios while lying awake in bed every night. What he’ll do if he runs into T.K. at the grocery store. What he’ll say if they have to work together on a call. He’s even imagined spotting T.K. out with someone else. But he’s never thought about what to do in this situation. Something like this…this is so horribly inconceivable it’s never even crossed his mind. 

Tommy returns, her face somber. “I managed to get through on the hospital landline. Gwyn is trying to get a flight out,” she says as she hands Carlos back his phone. “Everything is cancelled because of the weather, it might take her a few days.”

“Which T.K. might not have,” Nancy says worriedly.

Tommy shakes her head. “We can’t think like that. We have to stay positive.” 

Positivity doesn’t seem to have a place to land inside of Carlos. It flutters around briefly and then leaves as swiftly as it came, chased away by fear and anger and confusion. “We should go home, get a fresh change of clothes,” Tommy says. “This is…this is going to be a long haul.”

“Cap we can’t leave him here alone,” Nancy argues.

“I’ll stay,” Carlos says immediately. Despite his inner turmoil, this decision isn’t a surprise. Of course he’s going to stay. That’s what he does. He goes where he’s needed. And while he’s not sure T.K. wants him here, Tommy and Nancy do. He’ll stay until one of them can come back and sit with T.K. And then…he’s not sure after that. 

“Aren’t you on shift?” Nancy asks.

“I’m almost off,” Carlos says.

Tommy eyes him worriedly, probably trying to judge his mental. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Carlos says. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“We’ll be quick,” Nancy promises. “Then you can go home and freshen up too.”

Carlos nods. It sounds reasonable enough.

But as it turns out, Carlos doesn’t go home. He doesn’t even go back to the station. He calls his captain and explains the situation. Then he calls Mitchell who brings his bag from his locker and a rookie cop to drive the squad back. He’s beyond grateful to her as he shoves his arms into a more comfortable shirt in the cramped hospital bathroom stall.

He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror, splashing some water on his face. He’s pale, wide eyed; he looks like every other fearful relative sitting vigil at their family member’s bedside. 

Except T.K. has no family here. He’s only got Carlos. Carlos, who hasn’t spoken more than ten words to him in months. Carlos, who he doesn’t want to see or hear from. Carlos, who pushed him too hard and set off the explosion that burned their future to the ground.

Carlos is what he’s got. He’ll have to be enough. 

God, he hopes this time he’ll be enough.

When he gets back to the room there’s a nurse inside, adjusting IV’s and checking the monitors. Carlos hovers uncertainly in the doorway. He shouldn’t be here, but he is and he doesn’t know what’s appropriate. Should he stay in the hallway? Sit at T.K.’s bedside? Run away and never come back? 

“You can come in,” she says, when she sees him. “Are you a friend?”

He takes a few steps forward, haltingly. “I—“

He has no answer. He’s less than a friend. He’s no one. To the love of his life, he’s no one.

The nurse gives him a sympathetic smile. She must be used to awkward people. “Is he—“ Carlos clears his throat. “How’s he doing?”

“I’m sorry, no change,” she tells him. “Why don’t you sit? Can I get you anything? A coffee? Tea?”

His stomach rolls at the thought and he shakes his head. She nods. “All right. I’ll be around the corner if you need anything okay? You can press the call button.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says, eyes glued to T.K.’s face. 

He’s spent months not knowing who he is anymore. He doesn’t know how not to be “T.K. Strand’s boyfriend.” But sitting here, watching machines breathe for T.K., this is something he knows. It’s a familiar place and it welcomes him back with an insidious, terrible embrace. Here he is a desperate man, trapped in the vast nothingness that lives between life and death. 

XXX

He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. The words echo through Carlos’ mind, a chant, a mantra, a certainty at this point. 

Nancy and Tommy must have returned while he sat by T.K.’s bedside, he finds them in the hallway when he stumbles blindly from T.K.’s room, watching in horror as the hospital staff bring in more machines, more medicine, all of them fighting not to let T.K. tumble over the edge into the beyond.

It’s over an hour before the doctor comes out and the look on her face makes Carlos’ heart plummet into his shoes so fast he feels dizzy. Her words are not encouraging and Carlos feels the last shreds of hope he was valiantly clinging to dissolve, disappearing like snowflakes in the sunshine. 

He hears Tommy’s words of reassurance, but one look at her face tells him she doesn’t believe them any more than he does. The reality is, sometimes people die. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Not even if you love them.

Tommy and Nancy’s hands find his, an anchor point. But he doesn’t want to be anchored. He anchored his heart and soul to T.K. and it has done nothing but drag him under and try o drown him. He doesn’t want to be held or touched or comforted, he wants to be let go.

He brushes them off and tells them he wants to be alone for a minute, practically running away and stumbling out into the chilly, frigid air of the outdoors, gulping it down so fast that it burns in his lungs, the tears he’s been holding back starting to fall and freezing on his cheeks.

The exterior brick of the hospital is rough against his back, and he clenches his fists at his sides as he draws in ragged breaths, forcing the tears to stop, because he doesn’t want to fall apart. Falling apart doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t make him and T.K. less broken up, doesn’t make T.K. less close to death, doesn’t erase the weeks of pain and loneliness and betrayal.

But despite his resolve not to break, the thoughts that have been assailing him ever since he walked through the hospital doors a few hours ago refuse to stop. Is this his fault? Did he cause this? He knows T.K. seeks out the reckless when he’s feeling stressed; has their break-up somehow made this happen? Because if so…he will never forgive himself. 

There’s a roaring in his ears as memories flash through his mind like the rapidly changing channels of a television; the first night at the honkey tonk, the two of them lying on the car under the northern lights, T.K.’s laugh, their hands locked together, a walk through the park, kissing in the car, their bodies tangled in the bedsheets, the last time they’d held each other before…

Everything about his and T.K.’s relationship has been vivid technicolor, but he knows that no matter how hard he tries, T.K.’s life won’t be the only thing taken from him if he dies, his memories will be too. He wonders what he’ll forget first. The sound of T.K.’s laugh? The way his fingers felt when they curled around his own? The exact color of his eyes? Which memories will fade, slowly at first, greying around the edges and then disintegrating into nothing, until he’s left only with hazy images, unsure if they’re real or he just imagined them?

A siren screaming by finally snaps him out of his spiraling thoughts and he pulls out his phone. He’s out here, he might as well make use of the time. 

He hasn’t told his parents yet, because what is he supposed to say? The only boyfriend he’s ever brought home, the man he thought he would give them grandchildren with, is dying in the hospital? Again? And that he feels like he’s dying along with him? That they’ve broken up and he shouldn’t even be here but he can’t leave because his heart and soul are tethered to a hospital bed?

The phones are still iffy, but miraculously he manages to get through to his mother and somehow manages to fill her in without completely falling apart on the sidewalk. It takes a lot of effort to convince her not to get in her car and drive to the hospital immediately. He doesn’t need to be worried about someone else he loves getting into an accident or freezing to death on the road; he’s got enough on his plate.

He’s shivering by the time he’s done, his jacket not doing much to keep out the chill, and he reluctantly heads back indoors to resume his vigil. 

XXX

There are monitors wailing and staff running in, T.K.’s arms are flailing as Carlos watches in horror. This is it. The heart he thought had died during their breakup has burst back to life and it feels like it’s being ripped from his chest. He’s grateful his mother is here because his knees are going to give out any second, this can’t be the end, he’s not ready, he’s not ready, they cannot end like this, please God don’t let it end like this.

Then the doctor is beckoning him back inside the room, smiling, encouraging him toward the bed, and T.K. is breathing, he’s breathing and that god-awful ventilator is gone and Carlos feels frozen in fear, in hope, in doubt, in disbelief. 

And then those words. Those beautiful words in that voice he loves so much. “Hey baby.”

It must be a dream, it has to be, this can’t be real, everyone has told him that T.K. is dying, that there’s no hope, and surely this has to be some figment of his imagination.

“Breathe,” T.K. tells him, almost laughing, as if it’s some kind of cosmic joke that he hasn’t been breathing for eighteen hours and now Carlos is the one who has stopped. “Breathe, breathe.”

Carlos breathes. For the first time in months he breathes. His entire body is shaking, everything in his mind is a question, but he’s breathing and T.K. is breathing and…

T.K. reaches for him. T.K. reaches for him. He hesitates terrified of what it means, terrified that if he takes it that it won’t be enough. But he loves him, he loves him so much and he’s been waiting for that hand for so long, so he reaches out and he grabs hold.

“Love…you…”

They’re not even words really, just a breathy exhale, but he hears them as if T.K. shouted them at the top of his lungs.

It feels like an invitation, so he tentatively leans in, still not sure this is really happening, still not quite believing that his presence is fully wanted. Slowly he curls his fingers into T.K.’s hair and gently, reverently kisses his cheek.

He was right to be terrified because these featherlight touches are not enough, not nearly enough, they’re a drop of water after months in the desert, he needs more, he needs all of it.

And then T.K. pulls him in and the weight of the the universe crashes through Carlos as he collapses onto the bed and finally breaks apart in the arms wrapping T.K.’s fragile body in his arms as tightly as he dares, not sure he’ll ever be able to let go again.

“T.K., oh god T.K.—.” The words rip from him on sobs, painful, guttural. He’s relieved and angry and scared and hurt and full of disbelief all at once and it’s far too much to handle.

“I’m sorry,” T.K. whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for; nearly dying again, the months of estranged silence, or Buttercup eating a pair of Carlos’ sneakers last June, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care. There will be time for apologies later. He pushes too hard, T.K. runs, they both know these are their flaws and they lost control of them this time. But never again, Carlos promises himself as he buries his face in his boyfriend’s neck. They won’t let it happen again.

“I love you,” Carlos says. “I love you so much. Please come home.”

“Okay,” T.K. says, a weak hand clutching the back of Carlos’ shirt. “Okay.”

He wants to stay in this embrace forever, but he knows their time has to be almost up. The doctors will want to examine T.K., run tests, check his neuro function. He’s not sure where he finds the strength to lift himself off the bed, but he somehow manages to extricate himself from his boyfriend’s arms and move to a chair beside the bed, though he continues to hold onto T.K.’s hand, uncertain if he’ll ever be able to let go of him again.

T.K. turns his head to the side to look at him, clearly too tired for anything else, and Carlos looks back, his thumb running back and forth over T.K.’s knuckles. His eyes drift closed and Carlos feels a spike of panic, turning quickly toward the nurse who’s just come in. “It’s okay,” she assures him with a smile. “He’s just asleep. His body has been through a lot of trauma. It’s going to take a while for him to regain his strength. We’re going to run some tests if you want to step out for a few minutes.”

His legs are like jelly but he manages to rise and exit the room. His mom is waiting for him and she immediately pulls him into a hug. “I told you mijo,” she says in his ear. “He’s strong. And so are you.”

She steps back. “I’m going to go call your father. He’s off shift any minute and if he comes home to find me gone he’ll be worried sick.”

“Be careful outside,” Carlos says.

She touches his cheek again and then heads down the hall.

Carlos makes his way to the waiting room where Nancy, Marjan, and Paul all immediately get to their feet. Their faces probably mirror his own: exhausted, hopeful, and he hardly knows what to say. “He’s uh, he’s awake,” he finally gets out. “He’s talking.”

Marjan claps a hand over her heart, Paul shakes his head, and Nancy looks up to the ceiling like she’s holding back tears. “I can’t believe—he’s—“ And now Carlos’ knees finally do give out, the world spinning dizzily around him as someone pulls him toward a chair and gently pushes his head between his knees.

He takes several, long, breaths, completely overwhelmed by everything, the rollercoaster of the last eighteen hours finally really getting to him. It’s several long minutes before he feels more stable and he looks up to find it was Nancy who jumped into action and saved him from falling to the floor. “You okay?” she asks.

He nods. 

“Good, because if one more person we know ends up in here, I think they’re going to start charging us rent.” She cracks a smile and he lets himself give her an exhausted, watery one in return. 

XXX

It’s been a full day since T.K. woke up. Tests have been run, examinations completed, and Carlos hasn’t left T.K.’s side. Owen has come and gone again. He’s thrilled about T.K.’s recovery, but there are things at home that need to be tended to after his extended time away. Carlos has learned after so many incidents that this is somewhat of the norm for the Strand men, and it doesn’t seem to bother T.K. so Carlos tries not to let it bother him either.

Instead he contents himself with watching T.K. sleep. Which is most of the time. He’s always lucid when he wakes up now and has been able to stay awake for increasingly longer periods, which is reassuring, but his body has been through a hell of a struggle and Carlos knows it will be a while before things are back to normal.

“You look terrible.”

Carlos looks up to find T.K. awake again and studying him. “I look better than you do. At least I’m not a popsicle,” he says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward so he can tuck T.K.’s hand into his again. They still feel cold and Carlos has made it his personal mission to warm them up again.

T.K. doesn’t let it go. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“T.K., I’m fine. You don’t need to play paramedic right now.”

“You don’t look fine. Have you been eating?”

Even just barely less than dead T.K. can’t help himself. “It really is not a surprise how well you and my mother get along,” Carlos says with a chuckle. “I promise, I’m okay. I’m…so much more than okay.”

“I think you should go home,” T.K. says. “Take a shower. Get some fresh clothes.”

“Are you busting my balls about my odor right now?” Carlos teases. “Because this is the stench of someone who sat vigil at your deathbed. That’s love you’re smelling.”

“This isn’t about your hygiene,” T.K. says, forehead wrinkled in concern. “You look like you’re ready to fall over.”

“I can sleep in this chair.” Carlos scrunches his too-large frame further into the hard, unyielding hospital chair. “See? Very comfortable.”

“You need to go home,” T.K. says firmly. “You need a break. I’m all right, nothing is going to happen while you’re gone.”

Carlos feels his throat tighten. “It’s okay,” he says, forcing a smile. 

He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to let T.K. out of his sight. Because he can’t shake the feeling that if he leaves everything might disappear. That he’ll come back to find T.K. still in a coma or…

Tears rise to the surface and god, Carlos is so tired of crying. His eyes feel like sandpaper, burning and raw, and there is a permanent headache that has taken up residence in his forehead. But it’s fine, he can ignore it all because all that matters is that T.K. is alive and they’re okay.

Carlos is relieved when T.K. drifts off again before they can finish the conversation. He’ll have to go home eventually, T.K.’s going to be here for at least another week, possibly longer. But not yet. He can’t go yet. 

XXX

He wakes up disoriented and confused, something cold and hard under his cheek, left elbow smarting, hands touching his body, lots of agitated voices around him. 

The hands lift him upright and he struggles to focus. “What happened?” Carlos asks groggily.

“Dude you fell asleep like, mid-sentence,” Nancy says, one hand still on his shoulder to keep him upright. “And then you fell out of your chair.”

“How long have you been awake?” Marjan asks.

He doesn’t really know, but he feels lightheaded and sluggish so probably too long. It���s day four of the hospital and Nancy and Marjan returned this morning with decent coffee and snacks, then set up shop in T.K.’s room, ignoring the glares from the nurses and the not-so-subtle reminders that there are only supposed to be two visitors in the room at a time. 

“Babe, you need to go home,” T.K. says from the bed, eyes full of worry as he strains to see what’s going on.

“I’ll drive you,” Nancy says.

“And I’ll stay with Frosty the Snowman. Won’t let him out of my sight,” Marjan promises.

Carlos is beaten and he knows it. He nods and gets to his feet, very aware of the vise-like grip Nancy has on his arm. “I’m okay,” he says after a moment and she lets him go so he can lean forward and press a kiss to T.K.’s forehead. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says.

“Get some rest,” T.K. tells him in return. “I love you.”

Carlos wants to melt hearing those words. He’ll never take them for granted again. “I love you too.”

Nancy carefully navigates the roads back to the loft. Carlos is grateful for her silence. She seems to sense that he’s not up for small talk or deep soul searching or any kind of conversation really. His mind is fuzzy, full of white noise and his body feels heavy. 

She looks at him when she parks in front of his building. “Do you need me to walk you up?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

“You’re not going to like, turn around, get in your car, and drive back to the hospital or anything stupid like that, are you?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

He wants nothing more than to do just that, but with the roads still a little questionable and his focus completely missing he’ll likely end up being a casualty of the weather and have to live through the embarrassment of being rescued by his own people. “No,” he says honestly. “I’m going to sleep for a couple hours, shower, and then go back.”

“A couple? Dude you need like eight solid hours,” Nancy tells him with a disapproving frown.

“It’ll have to be three and a lot of coffee,” he says, giving her a smile. “Thanks for the ride. Thanks for…everything. I couldn’t have made it through this without you.”

He feels tears clogging his throat yet again. “Dude, no stop that,” she says quickly, swiping at her own eyes. “No more crying, it’s going to ruin our youthful complexions.”

He gives a wet, exhausted chuckle. “I think it’s probably too late to worry about that. T.K. is going to give me grey hair long before my time.”

“Me too, but only you and my stylist will ever know,” she tells him, before reaching over and squeezing his arm. “Now get out of here before you fall asleep in my car.”

He wants to sleep, he can practically hear his bed calling to him, but now that he’s left the walls of the hospital all he can smell on his skin is sweat and antiseptic and recycled air and he can’t stand the thought of getting into his clean sheets without a shower. 

The power is back on and the pipes finally seem to have thawed, and he turns the water on as hot as it will go, the spray like little pinpricks of fire against his skin. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, water pouring over him, struggling not to nod off. He finally manages to shake himself awake, reaching for the soap and scrubbing awkwardly with fingers clumsy from lack of sleep, trying to rid himself of the lingering nerves and anxiety still adrift in his body.

By the time he drags himself out of the shower and dries off he can barely keep his eyes open. He forces himself to pull on a pair of boxers and sweatpants along with a t-shirt to ward off the lingering chill in the apartment. 

And then he finally crawls into his bed, the cool sheets making him shiver, but warming quickly as he settles into place. He turns onto his side, eyes locking on the empty pillow next to him. A pillow he’d thought might be empty forever. A pillow that soon, very soon, will once again hold the man he loves. 

What he’d thought was going to be their end is actually their new beginning. 

#Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #911lsfic #Carlos Reyes #TK Strand #Bad Things Happen Bingo #Falling Through the Ice #TK Strand Whump #Angst #Feels #They're going to be okay #But Carlos has to cry a lot first #Hypothermia #Ice Storm Arc

[gdmbrwiththerealcrew]

Intro

Gravel riding had become much more popular over the past few years. The clear advantage is getting off busy roads and onto less traveled, often out of the way, dirt/gravel and single track routes. Several of our riding friends who also enjoy bike touring started looking at bike packing on gravel as an alternative. Somehow, a group of us with ties to past cross-country rides decided that we’d enjoy doing a multi-day bike packing trip together out West. And with that, commitments were made nine months in advance of this trip.

The crew includes Steve (that’s me), David, Ed, and Jose. Cumulatively, we have about 6 months of bike touring between us. Our touring miles probably exceed 7,500. However, for all of us, bike packing is a new thing. As of right now, two of us have tried it. I’ve got 4 days and 160 miles in the saddle and Jose has 2 days and 75 miles under his belt. We are all riding bikes with which we’ve never done extensive trips. As a matter of fact, all of our bicycles are new. Regardless, we’ve done our research and we are prepared for some high adventure.

So what are we riding you ask… I’ve got a Surly Ogre with a Moloko handlebar. All steel. 29 inch wheels. David is riding a Kona Unit X with a flatbar handlebar. Also steel on 29 inch wheels. Ed and Jose will be riding true gravel rigs with Salsa Cutthroats. Carbon. Drop bar handlebars. None of the bikes have suspension. It’s going to be interesting to compare bikes along the way!

Our gear will be carried in a variety of bags connected to our handlebars, forks, frames, and rear racks. Like previous trips we will carry all that we need, we hope. We’re self supported so we’ll have tents and sleeping bags, food and stoves, water purifiers, basic tools and parts for in field repairs, and clothing necessary to protect us from the elements.

The weather could vary greatly. We need to be ready for hot and cold as well as rain and snow. Fires have already been an issue to the north of our start so smoke could be a problem. Detours due to forest fires are also a possibility.

I’m sure you’re wondering where we are going. One of the most notable routes for gravel riding is the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. It runs ~2700 miles between Banff, Alberta to Antelope Wells, New Mexico. We are going to do the first 550 miles. We will start in Banff and head south. Ten days later, we will head west at Seeley Lake leaving the official route for our finish in Missoula on Day 11 or so.

We expect to camp most nights. Often times it will be primitive camping (think no toilets or potable water) in the wilderness. For two days we will be riding the Flathead alternative route in British Columbia known as the Serengeti of North America for its abundant wildlife and remoteness. Other days we may have no services (groceries, etc.) or very limited services. Our mid-trip rest day will probably be in Whitefish, MT where we can enjoy some r&r, assuming we can find hotel with vacancies.

All along the way we will get great views of the Rockies, crossing the continental divide multiple times. We will also pass through several small towns, some will be touristy this time of year while others will be more resource extraction-focused (coal, logging, quarries, etc.). Alberta, British Columbia, and Montana all have great natural beauty and significant exploitable natural resources.

With that… wish us luck!

[scotianostra]

5th March 1953 saw The Maid of the Loch, the last Loch Lomond paddle steamer, lowered into the water.

On this day the historic ship left its Balloch base at 11.25am on its maiden voyage it took 1,000 passengers to Balmaha, Rowardennan, Tarbet, Inversnaid and Ardlui. For 28 years the Maid was known as the ‘heart’ of Loch Lomond, carrying millions of passengers, famous faces included, around the bonnie banks.

Ordered in 1950 by the British Transport Commission from A. & J. Inglis of Pointhouse, Glasgow, she was built and then cut into sections for transportation by rail to Balloch on Loch Lomond.

There she was re-assembled and was launched, almost complete, without ceremony. Her two-cylinder compound diagonal engine was built by Rankin & Blackmore of Greenock. She was painted white overall with green boot-topping, a buff funnel, and had the British Railways lion and wheel crest on her bows. In the 1975 season, her funnel colour was red with a black top. Her mainmast was removed in 1978. A service had first been initiated on Loch Lomond in 1818, and it is believed that this was the first regular passenger steamer service on an inland lake anywhere in the world.

The Maid was the twentieth paddle steamer to have sailed on Loch Lomond. She ran trials on 4 May 1953 and was named at a ceremony on 22 May, prior to a special cruise to Ardlui. The maiden cruise with fare-paying passengers took place on 25 May. Her regular route took her from Balloch to Ardlui with calls in either direction at Balmaha, Rowardennan, Tarbet and Inversnaid. From 1964, Maid of the Loch terminated at Inversnaid following the closure of the pier at Ardlui, though cruises to the Head of the Lake were also operated.

The Caledonian Steam Packet Company took over the ship in 1957, followed in 1969 by the Scottish Transport Group, and in 1970 by William Alexander & Sons - when the British Railways emblem was removed. The Maid fell on hard times as passenger numbers dwindled and the ship was eventually mothballed in 1981.

In 1992, he steamer was acquired by Dumbarton District Council and efforts to save the ship began with volunteer working parties; at the end of 1995, she was transferred to the Maid of the Loch Trust prior to the establishment of the Loch Lomond Steamship Company, a registered charity.

n 1997, her wooden deck was replaced with steel. Her lower hull was painted black, with ref boot-topping, above which the main deck sides and the superstructure remained white, but the funnel was now red with a black top. Following the restoration of the steam-powered slipway at Balloch, she was hauled out of the water in June 2006 (for inspection) for the first time since her withdrawal, as part of her rebuild - the objective of which is to return her to service.

This latest achievement was thanks to a £620,000 funding package from the Heritage Lottery Fund, Scottish Enterprise Dunbartonshire, West Dunbartonshire Council and LLSC. An internal refurbishment of the winch house, creation of a visitor interpretation facility and external landscaping is also planned.

In December 2018, the Scottish Government announced it had awarded a £950,000 capital grant. The Paddle Steamer Preservation Society also confirmed that a grant of £50,000 will still be granted, taking this working package to £1million. Funding will be spent on repairs to the vessel’s hull, creation of an education facility on board, refurbishing the main function suite and overhauling the engines to enable them to turn with steam.

Last year the old lady celebrated her 65th birthday as work continues on the restoration, and those of us in Scotland might recall her hitting the headlines in January this year.

The 65-year-old ship was being taken from the water ahead of restoration work when it slipped its ties and workers had to flee to safety. It was then taken back to its normal berth at Balloch Pier and the operation called off for the day.The Maid was berthed successfully the following day.

It’s a great wee train ride to Balloch from Glesga, and you can hop aboard the Maid of the Loch for free visit its Tea room and grab some souvenirs on board. Visitor displays and DVD shows; children’s activities; majestic steam engine. during the summer season. Work continues on board and you can witness the old steamer on its way to becoming a loch going ship. If you can’t make it check out their Facebook page for all the updates and pics from the past and present. Good luck and happy birthday The Maid of the Loch.

National Historic Ships UK and the Marsh Charitable Trust awarded a prize of £500 to the PS Maid of the Loch's tireless team of hardworking volunteers. It may not sound a lot, but it all goes to the restoration.

Recently the team behind the restoration launched an appeal for new front-of-house volunteers as they prepare for a new visitor season.

The Maid team is looking for "friendly, helpful people who like to tell a great story" to help out at the tourist attraction in Balloch this year.

Volunteers are needed to lend a hand on Saturdays and Sundays from early April until the end of October.

A spokesperson for the Loch Lomond Steamship Company, the charity which is restoring the famous ship, said: "If you can spare at least two weekend days a month from 10.30am until 4pm, then this could be a great new interest for you.

See www.maidoftheloch.org for full event details.

#scotland #scottish #steamboat #loch lomond #pleasure cruiser #history

[inquisitorius-sin-bin]

Trying to break up my birding posts today in a logical way so you don't get flooded but wanted to make a meta post about it and my setup. Obviously first and foremost we follow all rules and regulations for the sites we visit, this particular one being a US Fish and Wildlife service maintained venture. We're just lucky to have a big refuge relatively close by with well-maintained bike infrastructure that encourages that particular useage.

For the holidays I got a new 3-point camera strap that lets me carry my camera securely on my back without having to keep it in a bag. So now when I want to grab a quick shot, I don't even have to dismount from my bike. And I keep my other camera gear in my trunk bag, like lens cleaners, spare batteries, etc. And obviously since we're pretty remote, spare tubes and a bike repair kit too. And water and snacks.

I wear my duck sweatshirt so the birds know who I'm here to see

Marshall recently completed a 100 mile race where he won us a new bike rack, which suits our new car ohh so well. We inaugurated The Scythe in mud this weekend, putting her all-wheel drive capabilities to the test on these forest roads. She performed admirably, and we were very pleased.

Sauce + disgruntled copilot for tax

Which, all told, lets us get out in the wilds and get crazy spur-of-the-moment shots like this Bufflehead taking off:

Or this American White Pelican flyover:

So yeah, that's how we get out there and do the thing, and have lots of fun with it! Then again, I've taken probably my most stunning shots of birds in my own backyard, so that is always an option too! This is just a special kind of birding adventure ❤

#birdposting #self

[tllgrrl]

Talk Like a Pirate Day, 2022

Part 4 — The Final Chapter

The Paul and Darlene’s Ship Logs - Sarah Wilson, Captain

~ ~ ~ Late Autumn 1722 ~ ~ ~

Sam waited until this very morning to tell me he wasn’t going to be sailing directly to New Orleans, that he couldn’t take Barnes with him as he was retired. And also, it was a secret mission that he couldn’t give me details about.

I asked him if he didn’t realize he was placing a citizen and former officer of the Royal Navy into the hands of pirates.

He laughed.

(Big brothers are The WORST.)

I’m not going to lie, I was happy when Sam asked me if James could hitch a ride to New Orleans on the P&D. And I’m not going to lie, we’ve started to develop a fondness for each other.

He says he’s willing to do any service ‘board ship to earn his bunk, meals and passage. And the way he looked at me when he offered his services. Like he wouldn’t take “no, thank you” for an answer, and that my trust meant everything to him.

Turns out he’s as strong as two men and eager to work, as though Work is a balm for him.

He’s also quick-witted, with a wicked sense of humor.

One day, I heard some of the crew laughing, and Barnes’ voice “It’s true, I swear! I was tangled up in the kraken’s tentacles, readying my cutlass to strike the son of a biscuit eater down when—“

He looked up, saw me standing there watching, and he nodded, saying “Begging the Captain’s pardon…”

I bid him continue and kept walking, not laughing until I was sure to be out of earshot. He was giving yet another answer to yet another inquiry about how he lost his arm.

A different answer than one I’d heard the day before. Something about a parrot and a clam…and a few tankards of rum.

~ ~ ~8 Days Later~ ~ ~

Fortunately, when we careened, we cleaned and also did any needed patching and repairs on the ship, so prepping for this oncoming storm went quickly and without a hitch.

The bo’sun and his crew finished furling and securing the sails not needed for movement, then they went below decks leaving helmsman Jacky to keep first wheel watch.

I was in my bunk when it started to rain in earnest.

I usually have no problem sleeping through a storm, but a particularly loud crack of thunder and an even louder boom shook me fully awake.

Already dressed in case I had to go up top, I pulled on my boots and ran up the steps getting to the deck in time to see Jacky get washed over the side of the ship.

Yelling “man overboard!” I rang the bell and headed straight for the helm, but the thunder and lashing winds drowned out my voice and nobody heard me.

I yelled again and again, to no avail, only to have a large wave wash up onto the upper deck and threaten to send me over the rail to join Jacky in the middle of the drink.

Grabbing a nearby length of rope, I tried to tie it around my waist because there was no way I was going to be swept off of this boat, and I held onto the wheel, hoping someone would soon make their way to the deck to check the helmsman.

Then I heard somebody shouting my name.

I saw James prowling the deck in the wind and rain, his eyes wide, color mirroring the dark grey sky.

For a minute, he looked relived to see me. Then he was furious.

The moment he reached the helm he had the gall to start shouting at me about being up top in a storm, alone at the wheel.

As if I did it on purpose!

Then he started arguing with me about who should take what part of the wheel, and at the same time I could see—and feel—his eyes all over my body.

We were both soaked to the skin but, Mother of All Waters, this was not the time for that.

(Besides, he had no secrets from me. Him in his underclothes, and holding a sword, haunted my dreams and caused me to have many a sleepless night. Many.)

I told him what he was NOT gonna do was tell me how to Captain my own gahtdamn ship.

We were both grappling with the wheel and I don’t know how he ended up behind me, with both of my hands, and his one, steering to keep ship steady at an angle.

It was just the two of us and the wheel, like we’d been wrestling with the wind together for so long that it was like dancing. Sometimes I’d take the lead, and he’d let me. Then I’d fall back and follow.

The winds eventually calmed, leaving nothing but a steady downpour and the two of us, laughing with exhaustion and relief.

I felt his body against mine and his breath on my ear.

“Lucky for you I couldn’t sleep.”

I told him he was lucky I got to the wheel first because by himself he—

“—would have been short-handed,” he said, chuckling.

I completely turned around and before I could remind him of the circumstances of our first meeting, he said, “Captain. Miss Sarah. Permission to…”

“Granted. What took you so long to—“

And he kissed me.

He kissed me like he’d been waiting for me his whole life.

I can hear Sam now: “First Idris, now Barnes???”

But James is retired, so…

~~~~~S. Wilson, Late Autumn 1722

Yes, this one completely got away from me, but…Pirates! What’re ya gonna do?!

Thanks for reading our SarahBucky Pirate AU, inspired by Talk Like A Pirate Day, and fueled by Sarah Wilson and Bucky Barnes, the OTP.

@btwxsixesandsevens, thank you for inviting me to play.

Sarah’s Ship Logs: Entry 1 / Entry 2 / Entry 3

Bucky’s Journal is over at @btwxsixesandsevens :

Bucky’s Journal : Entry 1 / Entry 2 / Entry 3 / Entry 4

#sarah wilson #bucky barnes #sarahbucky pirate au #pirate au #sarahbucky #buckysarah #sarah x bucky #bucky x sarah #sarah wilson x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x sarah wilson #by nefertiri jones aka tllgrrl #sarahcentric #first attempt at speed writing #talk like a pirate day #fleur de louve

[amphiptere-art]

Hi I'm Amphithere_Art and I love drawing. I'm using this website as motivation to improve my skills.

Asks are open

Current hyperfiction. The sun and moon show. Below is either things I'll be updating constantly or stuff I look at constantly.

Warning, I am not afraid to swear.

Important refs- RBB, CC, EC, ITTBAG, offshoot references, DH, SMOA, Crimble, SSC, LL, BM, sundown, CE, Ralph, arcade, etc

Everybody's height chart

Everybody's pronouns

Big list of characters/worlds

Here is a link to all my stories, events, and info posts

Crossover Canon

Nicknames

Size chart

Sticks and stones

Magic system

The locked door lore

Dragon culture and history

Just for convenience more convenience

Doodle ideas

My dumping ground here @amphiptereartdump

↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ All my AUs below ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓ ↓

—————————————————

Lore/story au's

Most of these are heavy in story. Asks concerning the story will be more received. And will be drawn with story in mind. (Might receive written stories)

mechanical medic AU-Ralph the repair dragon works as a moving parts and service. But is haunted by 3 fragmented souls of mechanics that died in the Plex. Sun n Moon struggle to get the medical mechanic animatronic to leave them alone.

Rusty wheels-a apocalypse au were a nanite Afton virus infects the world. It's cyberpunk with a rustic feel. Y/N has a big truck sized motorcycle thing and finds sun n moon. And drags them in their attempts of adventure and survival.

Warehouse AU-after the fire story were the dca, Freddy, DJ, foxy and Bonnie are moved to a big werehouse (owned by a y/n) is modified into a mini Plex (honestly more like a side road arcade that's bigger). And the dca has to relearn how to function with the band.

purrfect thief-you are a shape-shifting cat. You work with The gang Lord Eclipse but live as a house cat with the detectives Sun and Moon. You are an informant with the spiders web. A info company owned by DJ. Life has been simple and happy. But on the horizon a pack of dogs is ready to ruin that simple life.

saving waves-a sun n moon mer story. Were sun n moon were once in our lab/mer fighting facility. They are saved by a rehab facility and have to learn how to be normal Mer again. Also following the other side of the family. Who are trying to get pesky humans to stay out of their wild waters.

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

Ask based au's

These aus are very open to ask. Most of them have no more than a basic story. They will be drawn more frequently with asks.

red, blue, and black-a SAMS AU where suns kill code merge with him and Moon is attempts to control his kill code makes two AI but fails. computer takes over and creates eclipse with those two AI. Eclipse then has to figure out how to keep his family together.

Cryptid eater-a Sun and Moon are Hunters story but you are a creature that eats vampires and werewolves and things like such. And the story takes place with you trying to convince them that you're on their side.

warehouse daycare-a version of the warehouse AU where it's only sun n moon. The werehouse is smaller and they grow a closer relationship with y/n and a emotional support cat.

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

Art doodle au's

These a use are mostly created out of the will to draw something fun.

Stop you silly siren-suns a tired Pirate. moons a silly siren. Eclipse is an angry sea captain. Popped in my head. want to see were it leads.

Star foolery-basic place for me to draw the dca in different situations. no major story but has lore. does occur during after and before in dca history

Creature dca-a random look for sun n moon. Has flip floped between being and basic non animatronic form to fey creatures that deal with changelings and guardian God entities.

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

Story's ive had since childhood.

Most of these stories occur in the same or adjacent universe and are more likely to get to to get drawn due to my familiarity with it.

Shadow wars-Major wars that occurred in the history of dragons. Particularly wars of Shadow dragons versus light dragons. split up into four.

Outsting of the dark(Shadow dragons being misjudged and cast out),

shadons terror(an evil emperor of Shadow dragons taking revenge only to be beaten by family),

falling twins(a family split by different ideals),

the hybrid(a hybrid child that finally solves the war).

chains-The comic series I started as a kid about a wolf and his companions as they travel. Split into three.

The fallen stars(how chains fell out with his best friend),

fleeing revenge(chains fleeing his old friend now enemy),

God war(chains son and others get in a great war over religion and power).

dreamers musing-various stories that take place on "the a locked door". Occurring from dragons, Kings, knights, dinosaurs, animals. anything that comes to mind that uses the same gods.

moss and car-car -a old spinosaurus and a baby Carcharodontosaurus meet up together and decide to live alongside each other. The Old spinosaurus trying to care for a youngster that is not his kind. And the Young therapod running around trying to figure out how to dinosaur correctly. Shenanigans issue.

#Amphiptere Art #mechanical medic #red blue and black #rusted wheels #safe waves #Warehouse AU #Warehouse daycare #purrfect thief #cryptid eater #star foolery #stop you silly siren

[whumpster-fire]

Ya know, as much as I love The Railway Series / TTTE and I hate the whole “Sodor is an oppressive capitalist dystopia Sir Topham Hatt is evil, TTTE is anti-worker propaganda” thing, I’ve been rereading/rewatching some of the stories lately, and... I have to admit, some of them really do teach a very unhealthy attitude towards work, and in particular treating working while sick and “pushing through” injury being treated as a positive thing.

Like, off the top of my head I can think of three stories - Edward’s Exploit, Old Faithful, and Gallant Old Engine - where an engine has been suffering from health issues for a while but continuing to work regardless, finally has something serious / potentially catastrophic go wrong, and has to push through and limp the train back to the station because the train will be late / passengers will complain and the struggling railway that the engines are reliant on for survival may close, and this perseverance is portrayed as a positive thing, and long overdue repairs portrayed as a reward for this good behavior.

Which is kinda fucked up if I think about it.

Like, this is something different from the “Thomas Comes to Breakfast” thing where an engine is blamed for being careless when really it was a human who fucked up. It sounds bad but it’s caused by Awdry’s constant struggle between anthropomorphization and depicting railway operations with maximum realism resulting in him never being able to decide how much autonomy and agency the engines have, and he conceived of the engines’ personalities as allegorical for both the quirks of real machines and for the behavior of the real-life people working with them. And the moral lessons about arrogance and carelessness still usually hold up.

But in the “engines pushing through breakdowns” stories, if you view the engines as people then their bravery in pushing through bad situations is admirable, but it seems like there’s never any blame placed on the humans putting them in those situations by neglecting “medical” care and causing worse injuries by making them work while injured, and it’s never questioned that they should put not only other’s safety but others’ profits and convenience before their own well-being. And if you view them as machines then, uhh, failing to perform necessary maintenance on machinery to save time/money thus eventually causing something to break that’s much more expensive than if you’d fixed the original problem and take it out of service for months is a fucking stupid way to run a business. And extra stupid when you’re working with heavy equipment that can fail in a way that can easily cause severe injury or death, which is true of all trains and triple stupid with steam locomotives which are a giant fucking Mythbusters Hot Water Heater Rocket on wheels.

I want to see a RWS story where an engine severely damages themselves by trying to keep pulling a train they’re in no condition to pull and it’s treated as a bad thing and a bus having to take the passengers isn’t the end of the world. I want to see a mid-level manager trying to impress TFC getting chewed the fuck out and fired after it’s found out that he pressured or guilt-tripped an engine into lying about ongoing pain. I want to see an entitled Karen passenger waving a ticket stub in the crew’s face and complaining about how much the railway sucks in full earshot of an engine who’s just sitting there in horrible pain and their fireman just snatching the ticket stub, climbing into the cab, and throwing it in the firebox.

Like I guess James’s wooden brake blocks are sort in that vein but it’s kind of glossed over who the fuck let him pull a freight train with wooden brake blocks in the first place.

#Thomas the Tank Engine fandom #The Railway Series fandom #fiction discourse

[coopdigitalnewsletter]

25 Nov 2022: Could membership be much more radical?

Newsletter news

It has had an excellent and enjoyable run but the Co-op Digital newsletter ends next month. We’re going to wrap up with 3 newsletters considering questions about membership, shops, and the material world. 

Thank you all for reading and sending ideas. The Co-op story continues on the brilliant Co-op Digital blog. Rod will be writing about climate change and carbon transformation at Holdfast and about money at Checksies. See you there?

Could membership be much more radical?

Local stores offer a convenient geographic proximity - they’re just round the corner.

Could they offer a second kind of proximity, and be a critical part of communities? Could they help communities thrive with services, support, infrastructure as well as just the shop and the local causes bits?

Can a shop turn into a true member organisation? Can it help repair and maintain community? 

These questions matter because the world is changing ever faster, and everything (products, services, institutions, infrastructure, jobs, cities etc) will need looking after, improving or remaking.

2030

“Can you fix it? Because this bike and I have been through a lot.” says Reenie at the bike shop. 

Jim, behind the counter, nods. “Your battery has done a lot of kilometres and it is very tired now. I can swap it out for a new one for 499 which is the battery and the labour. Or I can sign you up for this Gobattery service which is a new battery every year for 199 annually and the labour’s free.”

“Which would you do?”, asks Reenie.

“Um, probably not Gobattery”, Jim murmurs quietly. 

“OK. What happens to the old battery?”

“And your old battery will go have a relaxing retirement doing grid backup for a shopping centre or somewhere like that.” Then more brightly, Jim adds: “We’re a member of The Co-op, are you? I can add you in the app, it only costs 20. You get discounts in shops, vote on decisions, and help each other out. I can give you a 50 discount right now, so the card will cost you nothing. But it’s like you’re part of” - Jim’s hands wheeling - “you know, a… Thing.”

“Yeah OK, sounds interesting? Thanks.”

Jim taps at the terminal and there’s a quick transactional handshake of lights and bings. An app downloads to Reenie’s mobile, which briefly pops a green tick saying that the app is properly signed and isn’t hoovering up too much personal data. Reenie opens the app - it has already onboarded her - which says both of their Co-op memberships have earned 200 points for the transaction, and a green leaf grows on the screen: a small but positive update to the carbon budgets of Reenie, of Jim, and of the Co-op itself.

“Nice. It all adds up, you’ll see”, says Jim.

Several weeks later, and late in the evening, Reenie’s Co-op app bleeps out a red alert. A fellow member needs help: their premises is flooding. Reenie shrugs, grabs a coat and heads for the bike. The map takes her back to the bike shop. 

Before she can make a joke about the emergency services arriving, Jim shouts: “The river burst its banks! Move things up, or put sandbags here, please?”. 

And Reenie and a couple of others get to work, placing sandbags, lifting everything onto higher shelves, bailing water out of the shop. The culvert is cleared and the flood water starts to recede. It takes two hours. The bottom layer of the shop is now a landscape of grey mud over unidentifiable product shapes. The same mud that coats them.

Jim says: “Thank you so much. This stuff needs to dry out but some of it’ll be ok. Hey, take anything you want too, seriously, thanks. And I’ll update the app and send you points tomorrow.”

“OK cool. But it’s not about the points.”