#Get Rid of Mothball Smell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fulcrum-writes · 2 years ago

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WRITING COMMISSIONS OPEN

THINGS I WILL WRITE:

-OC x OC

-Character x OC

-Character x self insert/reader insert

-Character x character

-NSFW

-SFW

THINGS I WILL NOT WRITE:

-Incest

-Pedophila

-Zoophila

PRICES:

sfw: $7 for 900-1k, $15 for 2k (other word counts can be talked about)

nsfw: 10$ for 900-1k, 20$ for 2k (other word counts can be talked about)

A reference of my work under the cut:

The engine sputters as the pick-up truck strains against its old, rusted frame to make it up the gravel hill. It has long gotten used to the pavement and asphalt roads from the large city, where it lived out cold winters and sweltering summers in an underground parking lot.

Optimus Primal glances over at his husband, watching as his jaw clenches in irritation at his truck. Optimus places his hand on Dinobot’s arm, a reminder for him to stop biting the inside of his mouth when he gets frustrated. They both know it’s on it’s last limbs, yet Dinobot refuses to get rid of it. So many memories have happened in this truck. Some of Dinobot’s, some of Optimus’. Too many for his husband to even consider getting rid of the battered blue truck.

Dinobot’s wide shoulders fall as he takes a deep breath and Optimus removes his hand. He turns back to the open window, the heat from the humid July weather still filling the truck, just as it had the entire six hour drive to their new property.

He can see the farm house from here. The roof sticks out from the long grass that covers the winding acres of land that he can’t believe is his. There’s no music playing from the speakers. They had given up trying to fix the radio. All they can hear is gravel crunching against the tires and the chirp of birds and the soft hissing of the bugs hiding in the grass. It’s not an awkward silence, it’s an exciting one. He is so excited for the things to come. He has a husband, as insane as that sounds to his brain. He has a husband that is completely his.

The truck finally pulls up the hill and into the driveway. It shakes as it breaks, slightly faulty and engine overworked. He unbuckles his seat belt and waits until the doors unlock before getting out. The sun is against his skin, and he has to squint to see the fading red paint of the farmhouse.

Dinobot comes from the driver seat of the car, two duffel bags on each shoulder. Optimus takes one out of his hands. He looks back at the farmhouse, smile on his lips.

“Are you ready?” he asks Dinobot without turning to face him. The question is for himself as much as it is for his husband.

“Yes,” Dinobot responds, and Optimus can tell from his tone that he doesn’t understand how big of a deal this is for him. He’s back where he should be. Dinobot thought of his family farm as a prison, Optimus thought of his own as what it’s supposed to feel like. Home. A family. Any word that applies to a feeling of comfort.

The two make their way into the house, floorboards creaking under their collective weight. The home smells like mothballs, the air is stuffy and not affected by the warm Canadian summer.

The walls have a light blue with darker blue swirls as it’s wallpaper, and Optimus is already making plans on how he would change it. Dinobot doesn’t seem to care, face emotionless.

The stairs make more noise than the rest of the house, groaning loudly as he walks up it.

The upstairs doesn’t look any better, with pink flower wallpaper and every door in the hallway shut tight.

Optimus only saw a few photos online of the home, but it was the acres of land for such a cheap price that made him buy it. He gives Dinobot a glance. “Let’s find a bedroom. At least then we can put our bags down and see what our sleeping situation is like.”

Dinobot grunts a response, and Optimus guesses he’s not in the mood for conversation. Optimus isn’t either, but he fears that he has been left with his own thoughts for too long and craves the comforts his husband brings. They step into what is supposed to be the master bedroom. It’s big, oddly big. It has depressingly blue curtains covering a large window that overlooks the driveway and some of the tall grass. The bed post is void of a mattress, but the actual frame itself has pretty designs carved into it. Optimus doesn’t know what they’re supposed to be, they look like flowers more than anything else. “We’ll have to sleep on the floor,” he points out, “unless we can find a couch or you want to sleep in the truck.” The delivery guys wouldn’t get there until at least the next day, and that was him optimistically reaching. He knew he could have—and should have—waited until the moving company arrived, but he needed to get out of the city.

Dinobot scowls a little at the thought of having to sleep on the floor. Optimus reminds him that they slept on the floor for a month in their first apartment.

“We’d get eaten alive by bugs if we stay in the truck,” Dinobot says. The window in that load of shit didn’t roll up all the way, making for annoying winters.

“That’s true.” Optimus still wanted to see the rest of their little farmhouse. Now realizing that it seems bigger on the inside than the outside.

Optimus sets down his bag next to the bed frame, and Dinobot hesitates for two or three seconds before setting it down beside his husband’s.

In the span of a few hours, they had throughly explored everything, including the barn and the suspicious looking shed at the far edge of the property. The basement door is locked, there is no attic despite the pointed roof being perfect attic shape, and there is a closet that Optimus feels needs a lock in the master bedroom. The kitchen, bathroom, and guest bedroom are completely normal — or, as normal as a room could get in a house like this. He wonders if the laundry room is supposed to be in the basement.

Once it starts getting late, they head outside and sit on the porch. They eat sandwiches they had packed for the drive up and then stayed to bask in the sunlight until it set down below the tree line.

They stay out until the crickets start chirping and the mosquitos come out. The sky darkens after a while, not dark enough for the stars to peak out from the folds of the scattered clouds.

Optimus rests his head against Dinobot’s chest, sharing his heat with his husband. His back is against the wood of the farmhouse, and he can see the forest through the gaps in the railway.

He yawns, eyes shutting for a moment. When he opens them, there is two white dots staring at him from the darkness of the forest. He blinks. It’s still there. What is that? There is barely any light for an animals eyes to reflect off of.

An uncomfortable feeling rests in his gut. He stands up, and Dinobot sighs dramatically at the loss of warmth Optimus brung.

“Let’s go in, yeah?” Optimus suggests, because he doesn’t want to admit that two dots of white light out in the distance scares him enough to want to go inside.

Dinobot gives him an odd look, opening his mouth to speak. He shivers before he can say anything and seemingly decides that being slightly chilly isn’t worth it.

As soon as Dinobot shuts the door, the feeling stops. He is not being watched anymore. Although, thinking that he’s being watched is illogical. He is overreacting. Optimus’ husband rubs his shoulder, then starts walking upstairs.

“Will you join me on the floor, Optimus?” Dinobot inquires, a small smile on his lips, hand outstretched as if he is a prince asking his lover to a dance.

Optimus smiles. “Of course.” He takes Dinobot’s hand, pulling himself onto the same step the taller man is on.

Dinobot pulls him to his chest, kissing the top of his head. Optimus laughs a little, looking up at him, eyes soft.

The floor isn’t as uncomfortable as Optimus suspected it to be. It’s better with a blanket underneath to stop splinters from getting into Optimus’ bare back. It’s hot upstairs, and it’s hotter with another body curled up next to him.

Dinobot shivers next to him as if it’s they had just come in from a snowstorm. He presses his face into Optimus’ naked chest, feeling the warmth of his skin against his lips and nose.

“Are you sure there isn’t another blanket?” Dinobot asks, his breath is making Optimus’ head feel fuzzy with love.

“Yes, I’m sure. Do you need me to check again?” he questions, rubbing circles along his lover’s back.

“Stay.”

“Alright.” Dinobot’s request relieves Optimus. He knows that there might be another blanket in the truck, but he doesn’t want to go out there, in a place he still has yet to fully explore, with whatever wild animals could be lurking. He’s no stranger to creatures coming around, but this place makes him feel odd. Dinobot snuggles closer to him, his hair tickling Optimus’ chest with each strand. Optimus wakes up in the middle of the night to a clawing at the kitchen window. He ignores it.

#writers on tumblr #writing commissions #writing comms open #i need money #fanfic #fanfic commissions #transformers #open commissions #commission #commisions open #commissions info #commissions sheet #x reader #character x reader

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giftelysium · 1 year ago

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How to Get Rid Of Mothball Smell In Clothes

In the quest to freshen up clothes plagued by the stubborn scent of mothballs, turning to natural remedies can be both effective and eco-friendly. Through the following essay, let’s explore how to get rid of mothball smell in clothes with the top five natural methods. By delving into these, we uncover not only their efficacy but also their potential to restore garments to their pristine state without harsh chemicals. #giftelysium #giftfordad #giftformom #giftforfamily #giftforcouples #Trending #Holiday https://giftelysium.com/blogs/tips-tricks/how-to-get-rid-of-mothball-smell-in-clothes

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tu-es-gegg · 2 years ago

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my red flag is that i love the smell of mothballs and i want my room to smell like mothballs and im throroughyl disappointed people want to get rid of mothball smell when i want more of it

#txt post

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dramatisperscnae · 6 months ago

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He's already pushed the cowl back, relieved to see Tim smiling. That's a good sign. And the fact that the boy doesn't immediately recoil from the feeling of the fabric is good, too. Trust Alfred to have just the right things ready. Bruce would almost think that robe is one of his from when he was Tim's age, but those would probably smell like mothballs and even Alfred can't get rid of that in less than an hour.

It takes him a moment to realize Tim is communicating again, finger-spelling. S-h-o-w…ah, of course. Reaching out Bruce gently ruffles the boy's hair. "Alfred, can you-"

"Place a stool in the shower for the young man, sir, yes, I've already taken the liberty." The reply is, as always, swift and smooth, though Bruce is sure he can detect just a hint of a smile from the old retainer. Not for the first time is he grateful Alfred's still with him.

Carrying Tim to the Cave's shower cubicle is the work of mere moments, Bruce letting his hand rest on Tim's head for a moment. "…If you need a hand when you're done knock twice. Clothes and a towel and cocoa will be waiting out here for you, and your headphones. Don't rush. Take your time."

He'll be embarrassed about clinging to Bruce like this tomorrow, for now, it's a lifeline and who knew the man gave excellent hugs. Dick's were ever so slightly better for reasons he couldn't explain.

But Tim's on a medical gurney now and he really hopes it's just because this is the safest surface to put him on and not because Bruce is freaking out enough to want medical checks. That'll suck. It's not like anything can be done in this case; he just needs to be warm and safe for a while and it'll pass. It's a bad one if he's gone non-verbal. He tried to will himself to talk or make any noise... nope. Still nothing.

But there's cocoa that smells really good and soft pajamas and a soft robe. Clean and unused and just his size. Alfred really does know everything. He smiles softly as he tugs a glove off to run a bare hand over them. He... really wants to get into them now but he's now all too aware that he's been out on patrol. He's sticky and sweaty and there was a light rain mist tonight so he's damp too.

...what was the sign for shower again? Damnit, he never gets to practice for this.

Finger spelling will have to do once he gets Bruce's attention. Just a word at a time, no need to make this complicated.

Shower. Cocoa. Headphones. Locker.

Because he always had his headphones with him, he just didn't want to bring them on patrol since they were very distinctive.

#arobinwithoutbatman #bruce ic #bruce verse: i am the night #[bruce is 100% autistic and i will die on this hill #it's part of why alfred's a step ahead of him #bc alfred's doing all the things he used to do for bby!bruce to soothe overstim >w>#bruce hasn't realized it yet XD]

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evelynjohn001 · 1 year ago

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How to Get Rid of Mothball Smell: Effective Tips and Tricks

Mothballs are a popular method for protecting clothing from moths and other insects, but they come with an unmistakable and often unpleasant odor. If you’ve ever dealt with the lingering smell of mothballs, you know how stubborn it can be to remove. Whether it's in your clothes, furniture, or living spaces, here’s a comprehensive guide to help you get rid of that persistent mothball smell.

1. Ventilation is Key

Open windows and doors to let fresh air circulate through the area affected by the mothball smell. This is the simplest and often most effective first step.

Tip: Use fans to enhance airflow, directing them towards the source of the smell for better results.

2. Absorb the Odor

Various household items can absorb and neutralize unpleasant smells. Here are a few options:

Baking Soda: Place bowls of baking soda around the room, in closets, or inside drawers. For clothes, sprinkle some baking soda in a bag along with the garments and let it sit for a few days.

Activated Charcoal: Similar to baking soda, activated charcoal is excellent for absorbing odors. Place it in containers or mesh bags near the source of the smell.

White Vinegar: Fill bowls with white vinegar and leave them in the affected area. For fabrics, mix a solution of vinegar and water, spray it lightly, and let it dry.

3. Deep Cleaning

Regular cleaning can help eliminate the smell from various surfaces and items.

Washing Fabrics: Wash clothes, curtains, and other washable fabrics with a mixture of detergent and baking soda. Adding a cup of white vinegar during the rinse cycle can also help.

Steam Cleaning: For non-washable items like upholstered furniture and carpets, a steam cleaner can be highly effective. The heat and moisture can help break down the odor-causing compounds.

Vacuuming: Vacuum carpets, rugs, and furniture thoroughly to remove any lingering particles that might be contributing to the smell.

4. Natural Odor Neutralizers

Certain natural substances can help mask and neutralize the mothball smell:

Lemon or Citrus Peels: Place fresh lemon or orange peels in the affected area. The citrus oils help to neutralize odors.

Essential Oils: Lavender, eucalyptus, and tea tree oils are particularly effective. Add a few drops to a spray bottle filled with water and mist the area. You can also use essential oil diffusers.

5. Sunlight Exposure

Sunlight can help to naturally break down the chemicals in mothballs. Hang clothes and other items outside in direct sunlight for several hours.

Tip: Be cautious with colored fabrics as prolonged exposure to sunlight can cause fading.

6. Commercial Odor Eliminators

There are numerous commercial products specifically designed to eliminate odors. Look for products that target organic smells and are safe for use on fabrics and household surfaces.

7. Long-Term Storage Solutions

To prevent future mothball smells, consider alternative moth-proofing methods:

Cedar Chips or Blocks: Natural and pleasantly aromatic, cedar is an effective moth repellent.

Lavender Sachets: Besides smelling good, lavender is also a natural moth deterrent.

Vacuum-Sealed Bags: These keep moths out and prevent the need for any repellents.

Conclusion

While the smell of mothballs can be quite stubborn, these methods should help you eliminate it from your home. Combining good ventilation, odor absorbers, thorough cleaning, and natural remedies can significantly reduce and eventually remove the mothball odor. For future storage, opting for alternative moth repellents can help avoid the problem altogether.

By following these tips, you can enjoy a fresher, more pleasant living space free from the overpowering scent of mothballs. Happy cleaning!

#How to Get Rid of Mothball Smell

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r-anela · 3 years ago

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Old Picture of us

This is a story that is very personal to me, I wrote it because of my own emotions and it is based on my personal experiences. If any of you would like to proofread or give your opinion, please always feel free to contact me. This story is my hearts project and the reason why I created this blog. there is not much of Eddie in this part yet, but I felt it was important to start here

summary: Eddie was your first love and your first boyfriend. You we're classmates after you moved to Hawkins and while you tried to concentrate on school you fell in love. You we're inseparable did everything together and had the same friends, but all not in a tacky way. Even after you graduated and Eddie stayed behind in school. But the Year of 1988 would change everything in your life drastically. And so it comes that one day you sit on your bedroom floor with an old picture of you and think about him. You don't know we're he is and what is going on in his life, after 1988 you lost touch after a few months. You have seen him on the front of the rolling stone magazine a few Times, but it had still hurt to much for you to read the interviews. Know you could curse yourself, because you still liked him in a way. Sitting on the bedroom floor you thought about everything that happened and if he thought about you sometimes. Maybe one day you two will meet again.

pairing: fem!reader x Eddie Munson

warning: mental damage later deppresion, swearing,smoking, drugs, alcohol

word count: 1.7k

Likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated.

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Please note that english is not my native language

It's Summer of 1994, you are about to pack all your belongings in boxes and ship them across the country.

Your moving to Los Angeles, to pursue your promotion to be the junior director in the company's head office .

You decide to start with the little storage cabinet in the hallway to the bedroom, because most of the stuff there is old junk you took with you through all the other moves. So you decide that now is the time to get rid of it.

When you open the door to the brim filled cabinet, you can smell the camphor sent of mothballs, the sweet and musty old papers and a lot of the tingly dry scent from the dust. You only have been here for two years, how is it there so dusty and grimy , you think to yourself.

The first things you see are our old winter jacket, the heavy knit sweaters and your heavy worn black leather coat. These are the only thing that have seen the light of day in the last two years. Behind that, you see old moving boxes covered in a thin an even coat of dust. You can only guess what in some of them are, from what is written on the boxes. But there is an equally amount of boxes we're you have no clue.

So you decide that the best Idea is to sort through the ones with a label first, because it will go the fastest.

After two hours you're sit between 5 empty boxes and two filled garbage bags, next to you a pile of the stuff you want to keep of nostalgic reasons.

But since you are about to move, you grab one of the empty boxes and big felt marker and pack it all up again.

On top lays your childhood teddy, " Good night Mr Snuffels, we will see us again in LA" you say and tape the box shut.

Now to all the stuff we're you have literally no clue what it could be.

The first box is filled with a heavy knitted blanket, that's were the pungent smell from mothballs is evaporation from. It's in great condition, but your unsure if it's useful in the California weather.

That's for your future self to decide, first you want an overview of the osthert stuff that's there.

A few boxes later, you only have found junk, old rags and other cleaning stuff we're you have thought it could be useful, some math and biology books from school and a lot of old magazines.

All of it scattered across the hallway.

You sigh, how could you make such a mess with such few items. But it's only one small box left, so you decide to clean up after everything is sorted.

When you grab the box, it's much lighter than you thought, there couldn't be that much in it.

When you opened the box, you saw a small beige photo book, written on it was ' Hawkins '.

Your heart dropped, you forgot about one of your photo books, usually they were one of your most prized possessions.

You didn't know yet, but soon you will remember why it was tucked away.

Under the photo album were a handful of pictures, all taken with your old camera. As this was the last box you decided to take it into the bedroom to look at the pictures. You climbed over all the scattered magazines and other junk lying in the hallway, and were reminded again of all the things you still have to do before you can move to Los Angeles. But that can wait for a little while, you thought, now you just want to cherish the past and look at the pictures.

You pushed open the door to the bedroom with your hip, the light coming in through the window was dim and orange, the sun was already setting, dust danced in the light, everything looked cosy and homely. A feeling of sadness rose in you, firstly because you had been sitting in the hallway longer than you thought and there was still so much to do and secondly because you had to pack it all up, your home, your past and start again in LA.

You knew some people in LA, from work. Dustin and Suzie are also closer, because they work in Silicon Valley. But everyone else is further away. So you have to make new friends.

Speaking of Dustin and Suzie, you're looking forward to their wedding in autumn. You'll see all your friends there, too. At that moment you remembered the box in your hand, the pictures of the old times were just what you needed.

The covers on your bed gave way when you sat on them, and the frame creaked a little. It was an old bed you had found in a second hand shop.

With the box on your lap, you lean towards your bedside table to turn on the lamp on it, which spreads a pleasant, warm light.

You took the loose pictures in your hand, they were from very different times. The first was of a grey cat running past a white garden fence, behind which roses were in bloom. Written on the back was "Hawkins 1981, first day here, the neighbour's cat Lili".

1981 was the year you moved with your parents from Richmond to Hawkings, your father had been offered a new job. You were mad and sad because it meant you would have to leave all your friends behind and start high school without any friends.

It was hard for you to make friends already, you were shy and a little nerdy. You enjoyed learning, you always did well in school, never got into trouble and were the pride of your parents. But you always felt a little out of place and not being understood. You sometimes wished you could escape into the world of your books. A world full of fantasy, magic and the extraordinary. Worlds in which elves, dwarves and other magical and fantastic creatures lived, loved and fought with each other alongside humans.

But there was nothing you could do about it, you moved to Hawkings, and to lift your spirits your parents gave you a camera and films in the hope that you would be able to photograph your new friends.

But your first pictures were of the new house and the neighbour's cat.

The next pictures were unspectacular and only brought back a few memories, your parents and siblings on holiday in Florida, the Christmas tree, your dog Lucy, which your parents had brought home in 1984.

After looking through the loose pictures, you moved on to the photo book. The small beige book was labelled "Hawkins", but nothing else indicated its contents. However, slowly your memories came back. This was the photo book you used to record your first year in Hawkins. A feeling rose in your stomach, but you didn't know what it was, it wasn't exactly sadness, anger, discomfort or joy, but rather a mixture of all the emotions you had ever felt.

You used this photo book like a diary, you wrote a little text for each picture, or sometimes a little poem or a sketch. This book was only meant for you, for your memories.

The first pictures were from the first few weeks in Hawkins, you moved right at the beginning of the summer. So you and your siblings had the whole summer to make friends in Hawkins.

On the first page was the new house, a light blue suburban house like so many towns have. "So this is my new home, I'm curious about the future" was written next to it.

You remember taking the picture, you had just arrived a few hours ago. All the boxes were in the house and your mother was setting up the kitchen so she could cook dinner soon.

You went outside with your siblings to see if there were any kids your age and to say hello to the neighbors.

Before you left you took the picture.

Unfortunately, you didn't find any neighbor children that evening, but the nice elderly lady three houses away told you that the day after tomorrow her grandchildren would be with her for a short while, they were your age. However, she also said that only a few children live here in the street and they are still very young.

But she said that you should try it in the shopping mile or on the skate park.

Therefore, the next picture was one of the main street of Hawkins, where all the stores were located.

Next to it was written, today we were shopping, there is a great bookstore here. Maybe I'll find some friends in here.

You flipped over the next few pages, remembering that not much happened all summer. You met the grandchildren of the neighbor, they were also very nice, but stayed only two weeks. You also took a picture of them, but next to it you only wrote how nice the time was, now you wish you had added their names or even their address.

The next picture was of you and your siblings on the first day of school at Hawkins, your siblings were younger than you so they were still in middle school. You were wearing your favorite outfit. A black and purple striped blouse and dark blue jeans, your hair was braided and you were wearing your new boots. Your backpack was open next to you, with your copy of The Fellowship of the Ring peeking out. Back then, you took it to school every day to read during lunch and for good luck.

As you turned to the next page, a picture fell out of the photo book; it must not have been glued on very securely.

The picture was lying upside down on the carpet in front of your bed, when you looked at it like this, a feeling of insecurity came over you. You didn't know why, but this picture made you uncomfortable.

Nevertheless, you picked it up and looked at it.

A young man smiled at you, he had dark brown curls and chocolate brown eyes, these eyes looked directly into your soul. You looked into the eyes of 16-year-old Eddie Munson. Your heart turned to ice.

#eddie munson fiction #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson × reader #stranger things fanfiction #reader x eddie munson #eddie × fem!reader #fem!reader #rockstar eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

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kezibun · 5 years ago

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Storm of a hunt part 4

Part 1

You’d been asleep for awhile.. You looked so relaxed, your chest rising and falling with your soft breath. The sight of you safe and peaceful set his swimming mind at ease for some reason. But it felt… wrong. Like he wasn’t supposed to feel it. Like he didn’t deserve to feel that way. Is this real? Am I really supposed to… be with this person? I don’t even know them. Maybe.. Are soul mates even really a thing? He realized he was staring, and quickly turned away.

Papyrus’s phone chimed. He reached for the device in the pocket of his old orange jacket that Sans had thrown at him when he left, and his hand stuck through a long tear down the front. He cursed under his breath. A message from Sans stared at him from his phone screen.

Dinner’s ready. It said. Papyrus sighed, and set the the now half gutted heater behind his brother’s torture box. “have ta finnish ya later.” He whispered. He glanced at you again. Your head rested on the wall behind you on an old faded blue sweater that once belonged to Sans. You were wrapped in a dark gray blanket that was torn and frayed in several places. Was it really alright to leave you? his phone pinged twice. That’ll be him wondering where I am. Papyrus set a few more sticks in the rusty fire pan, closed his sockets, and focused on the kitchen. He took a step forward, and was greeted with the familiar waitless spinning sensation.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. The room smelled like a bar had burned down, and was extinguished with chilli. The second was a spoon. A wooden one. In the face. Papyrus grunted, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead. He blinked at Sans, who was holding a backing sheet of cookies in one hand, and picking up the spoon with the other. He straightened up, and looked him in the eye.

“No space-time shenanigans, IN MY HOUSE!!!” Sans screeched, brandishing the spoon. He turned back to the kitchen, setting the pan on the stove. Papyrus sat silently at the table, and Sans came to join him. A plate of burnt looking tortilla bundles covered with melted cheese sat neatly on a plate in the center of the table. Sans placed one on his and Papyrus’s plate, and dug into his. Papyrus picked up his fork, and cut into the bundle.

The crisp layer flaked and crumbled anywhere that there was a burnt black spot. Some sort of greasy liquid ran out of the bundle. Not much, but some. Papyrus took a bite. It was a mess of soggy burnt tortilla, hamburger, rubbery, oily and burnt, soggy cooked leaves of some sort, and beans that were somehow still cold. The cheese poured over the outside was thin in some places, and chunky in others. The whole thing tasted smoky. And that was the only distinguishable taste aside from the cheese, which just toned it down some. Definitely one of his better burritos. The two didn’t talk to, or even look at each other for the entirety of the meal. Sans was still mad about you. Papyrus was the first to stand.

“Leaving so soon?” Sans asked, not looking up from his plate. Papyrus grunted an affirmative.

“Go to your post. It’s already well past morning. However, that’s no surprise. You’re a worthless sentry. If you weren’t my brother I would have gotten rid of you long ago.”

“‘Kay.” Papyrus muttered.

“And eat some of those cookies. I was practicing earlier, and I don’t want perfectly good food gone to waste.” Papyrus took a couple cookies from the baking sheet, pulled a black leather jacket off the back of the couch in the living room, and vanished. Sans sighed. He rose from his chair, and started picking up from the meal.

He brought his plate to the sink, but before putting it in, he stopped. Papyrus had left his plate next to the sink. He only ate half of it. Why does He keep doing this? How does he expect to live like this? Sans looked at the plate, sockets narrowed, and jaw set firmly, as if it would solve the problem and make the food evaporate. After a moment, he scraped the wasted food into the trash, and stacked the plates in the bottom of the sink. Why do I even make him food, when he doesn’t eat it?... “Worthless.” he spat, his hands trembling as he filled a plastic container with leftover burritos. Sans looked down at the food. All but one burrito were packed neatly into the container. Oh, what the heck. He thought.

“‘Pyrus! My favorite customer!” Muffet chimed as the skeleton pushed through the bakery’s glass door. Papyrus sauntered toward the counter. A few of the bakeries’s patreons, glanced his way, but only briefly. The walls were painted a pale lavender, with indigo trim lining the floor, corners, and ceiling. The tables were draped with lacy black and white doily-like tablecloths. Each table was donned with a glass, gold trimmed cake stand, each adorned with a black teapot filled with artificial flowers, covered with beautiful dark purple and black spider silk that glistened in the dim overhead lights. The whole bakery was completely pristine, aside from the spider webs placed collectively around the shop, in the corners, and under the tables.

Papyrus stood in front of the black counter at the back of the shop.

“What can I get for you today, Deary? The usual, I assume?” Papyrus nodded.

“Double it.” he said, as little purple spiders skittered across the metal racks of baked goods behind The monster woman.

“Can I get you anything more? A drink perhaps? How about I give you a discount? First drink for a hundred G?” Papyrus shook his head. Muffet had raised the price by 25%. Muffet flicked one of her thick black pigtails.

“Suit yourself. I assume you want this on your tab?” Papyrus nodded. Muffet rang him up. Three large dark purple puffball spiders skittered across the counter, a small black paper bag balanced on their backs. Papyrus took the bag off the backs of the spiders, nodded to Muffet, who giggled in response, and walked out. What a mysterious young man. He’s gone back to his old style.

You wake with a start. Where am- oh. Right. You look down at yourself. Someone has rapped you in a tattered grey blanket. Something is off though. A… smell. A musty smell hangs in the air around you. Is it the blanket? You hold it to your nose. Nope. Then you see the sweater you were leaning on. Yup. definitely that. It smells kind of like mildew, and mothballs. You look around the room. All is the same, except that the heater is gone, the fire has almost gone out, and a plate of something sits on the ‘tourture box’, along with a scrap of paper. Papyrus is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks to my co-writer @puddlesilver for collaborating with me on this fic.

And @greenheartart for the art that inspired this whole thing.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter thank you for reading.

#@puddlesilver #writing collab #keziha writes #rus #sf!papyrus #sf!sans #black #blackberry #x reader #sf papyrus x reader #a storm of a hunt

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years ago

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My Only Comfort

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: Periods can suck. Supportive partners, less so. (This is in the “Only For A Moment” universe but can be read as a one shot.)

Warnings: None just FLUFF

A/N: This is purely self service. Idk if anyone will even care to read this. BUT my period had been brutalizing me for days and I just wanted to write a quick little fluffy bit to make myself feel better. Maybe you need it too!

It’s funny how easy it is to forget the little things over the years. Like how you loved the cherry blossoms in Brooklyn. Or how costume storage often smelled like mothballs and vodka. Or how much being on your period absolutely sucked.

When you had your first full medical exam in Wakanda and they asked when your last cycle had been you honestly couldn’t say. It wasn’t something you spared much thought to. Until then you hadn’t even thought much about birth control or any other form of contraception. For a moment you’d felt a little surge of panic.

Turned out you were worried over nothing, at least as far as getting knocked up went.

You almost laughed when they found that Hydra had sterilized you. For years you’d fought to get your tubes tied or any other kind of permanent birth control - the last thing you needed or wanted was to bring a kid into the world - only to be constantly denied due to your age. For once, Hydra had done something you’d actually appreciated.

Your lack of a menstrual cycle could be pretty easily chalked up to them likely controlling it with hormones when they had you and the time after to constant stress. No big deal.

Except, being in Wakanda had taken away a massive load of that stress. No longer were you afraid to be found daily, living a false life, always ready for the next fight. Now, you were rebuilding your life, both of you were. It was almost a dream.

Until your uterus made you dream of being stressed enough to shut her up again.

Your first period had been pretty light, nothing to really complain about. This one though… Maybe Hydra had actually replaced your uterus with a tiny angry monster that was going to claw its way from your body Alien style.

Around 3 a.m. you wake, your entire lower body screaming literal bloody murder.

Slithering from the bed you’ve only one thought on your mind - hot, steaming, scalding water. Quickly you rid yourself of your wrecked underwear and turn on the shower. Leaning your head against the tile wall you let the water pound against your throbbing back, silently praying your body will stop this mutiny so you can get some sleep.

Tomorrow was a full day with classes and drills with the Dora Milaje, none of which you wanted to miss. There wasn’t time for this bullshit.

Sighing you open your eyes, turning to face the water and catch a figure outside the steam covered shower glass. Logically, you know it’s Bucky but your tired foggy brain still sends a startled gasp tumbling out of your mouth. Some warrior you were.

“Holy shit, Buck!” You exclaim, opening the door enough to see him.

“Sorry!” He holds his hand up, face looking a little pale. “There was blood and - I just, I didn’t think.”

Guilt and just the slightest bit of embarrassment flood you. In the grip of the pain, you hadn’t even thought to check the bed. Of course, his mind would go to the darkest option first upon seeing blood.

“No, it’s ok.” You move to turn off the water, “I’ll deal with it. Sorry.” His hand stops yours. When you look back that kind smile is on his lips, it always sucked your breath right from your chest.

“There’s nothing for you to deal with. Take your time.” He must read the defiance in your expression. “If you’re not in this shower for at least 10 more minutes I’m dragging you back into it myself.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you quip before a stab of pain makes you groan. He kisses your knuckles and leaves you to the steamy room.

When you finally turn off the water, a little pruney but feeling a bit better you find one of Bucky’s shirts and a fresh pair of underwear on the counter. This man. Toweling your hair you step out to thank him only to see him remaking the bed with fresh sheets.

“Babe,” you protest, “you didn’t have to-”

“Hush.” He gestures to a steaming mug on your bedside table. “It’s the tea Okoye gave me, the relaxing one.” Before you can say anything he reads your mind, “I know you hate tea but drink it anyway.”

“Just hot leaf juice,” you grumble with a smile on your face as you lift the mug to your nose to smell the contents. Earthy and slightly floral.

“Coffee is technically hot bean juice,” he says, putting a pillow back in its case.

“Blasphemy! I demand a divorce.”

He rolls his eyes, “Maybe when the sun’s out. Get in bed.”

“But my hot leaf juice,” you say in a false whine. He settles his back against the padded headboard, arm held out.

“You can bring your leaf juice, just come here.”

With a sigh, you crawl into bed. Bucky holds you tight, your back to his chest. You sip your tea, begrudgingly admitting that it wasn’t the worst and seemed to be coaxing your tense muscles into submission.

“Thank you for changing the sheets,” you say, voice groggy.

“Of course, doll. Anything else I can do?” You shake your head, tucked under his chin. “Here,” he plucks the half-empty mug from your hands, setting it on his nightstand.

He scootches you both down into the warm fresh bed. Your head rests on his chest and unerringly your right-hand finds it’s way over to the steady beat of his heart, the feeling of its rhythm under your palm always soothing.

Before you drift off you hear him whisper, “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Your alarm is an unholy sound scant hours later.

“Not yet,” you grumble - hand flopping to turn it off.

“Not at all,” Bucky says, his own voice still thick with sleep.

“I have to-”

“You ‘aveta’ nothin’,” a bit of that long lost accent slips out. Even in your exhausted state, it makes you smile. “You need to rest.”

“Bucky,” you sit up, “it’s a period, not the flu I will be-”

“Staying home. Glad we agree.” He hooks his arm around you tugging you to him.

“I need to at least let Okoye know-”

“I told her last night. Now. Sleep.”

You do. Hard and deep. When you awake it’s to the familiar smell of bacon and the sound of Bucky, singing softly along to the Beetles in the kitchen - the words to “Hey Jude” clear.

The only dark spot on the otherwise perfect moment was the feeling that you were still being torn at from the inside. Quietly you swear that this is the last time - whatever you have to do you’ll do it to keep this beast at bay moving forward.

Before going to the kitchen you fist one of Bucky’s flannel button-ups from the closet and slip it on over your tee. The familiar scent so soothing.

“Morning gorgeous,” Bucky beams at you as you walk into the kitchen.

“Haha,” you say. You’d seen yourself in the mirror. Shit was rough.

Turning from his pan he catches you before you get your mug. His blue eyes glitter causing your heart skips several beats. When he kisses you he tastes like coffee and love and home.

“You are always beautiful to me, Y/N.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt, “Sap.” Batting him away playfully you pour a mug of coffee.

“Go on and have a seat,” he says pulling the bacon out. “The eggs’ll be quick.”

You perch cross-legged at the little two-seater table, unable to hold back a contented sigh.

Eggs plated he brings the food to the table. Your heart swells, as it does any time he makes you breakfast, always reminding you of the first morning you spent together.

“One more thing,” he heads back into the kitchen and pulls out something from the oven, covered in foil.

“Pancakes?!” You stare in mouthwatering wonder.

“Yup,” he says smugly, reaching into a cabinet to produce syrup. He tops off your coffee before settling down.

“I say we eat, take a nap, eat again, maybe watch something. I’ll cook dinner, and-”

“You’re going to cook dinner?” You ask, more than a little surprised. Bucky was pretty confident in the breakfast realm but dinner was a different thing.

“I’ve been learning!” He protests. It was true, he often joined you in the kitchen, though he tended to be a bit frustrated by your inability to give clear instructions. His face softens as he reaches his hand across the table to stroke the back of your hand.

“Let me take care of you.” It’s not a question. He’s learned that sometimes he has to match your stubborn self-sufficiency with his own immovable will. And for your part, you’re learning that it’s not so bad to let someone take the wheel from time to time.

You smile and nod, surprisingly happy to let go and bask in the comfort of his care.

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @disagreetoagree @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @fairislesheets @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @wintersoldierswhore @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @jewelofwinter @siriuslycloudy2 @hardygal69 @marvelousmeggi @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @damnaged-princess

#bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fluff #comfort fluff #soft bucky

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pestcontrolexpertservices · 4 years ago

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6 Methods to Get Rid of Bees Naturally in United States

Most of us are aware of the vital job that bees do for the planet, but having bees around our homes can present a bit of danger since they sting. Then there is the problem of how to get rid of bees and their hives without using toxins.

Learning how to get rid of bees naturally can come in quite handy for those who want to get out there and tackle the problem themselves. Below, we are going to talk about why we should find ways to remove bees without killing them, why we should remove bees from around our homes, and six ways to get rid of bees naturally. It’s time to learn how to remove bees so that you can enjoy your yard and home without worry about getting stung.

Bees Are Important

Usually, when we think of bees, we don’t think about them in a good way. The first thought that comes to mind is being stung. We understand that. Bee stings not only hurt us but also kill the bees. But let’s not forget that bees are vital to our planet.

Bees are responsible for a lot of the food other mammals and humans eat. Yes, there are other methods of pollination, but bees are responsible for about one-sixth of the pollination that occurs, and they pollinate a number of agricultural plant types, i.e., our food.

Bee and Wasp Control

The very work of pollination is a wonderfully natural way to maintain our system of food production. We already hear of food shortages and people starving. This problem would be accelerated if there was a decrease in bees.

So do we need bees? Yes. But there are times when we need to be wary of bees.

Why Should You Get Rid of Bees

Allergies to bees: There are people with allergies to bees so severe that they could die from a simple bee sting. If there is someone in your family with a bee allergy, it is essential to do what you can to make sure there are no bees around your home. Learning how to get rid of bees is a piece of knowledge that can save them a visit to the emergency room–or even save their life. Bee Stings: Most of us have been stung by a bee at least once in our lives. We can all agree that bee stings hurt. If you have a bee nest or hive near your home, the chance of bee stings greatly increases for you and your family. Some bee stings are worse than others, and sometimes the location of the nest, like in the ground, can increase the chance of multiple bee stings for your children or pets, which may be out playing in the yard. Aggressive Bees: Bees can be bad enough when they aren’t feeling aggressive, but sometimes they can amp up and go on the offensive. The reasons why they can become more aggressive include a lack of flowers in the area to pollinate. Other stressors are hot weather and feeling a need to protect their nest. The possibility of dealing with bee aggression is an excellent reason to look for ways to get rid of them from your home.

How To Get Rid of Bees: Home Remedies

There are numerous ways to get rid of bees naturally. Some of these methods are safe for the environment but kill the bees, while others are safe for both the bees and the environment. Below are six ways to get rid of bees.

Call a Beekeeper: If you live in an area where you can find a beekeeper, this is an amazing first choice. Beekeepers are professionals when it comes to working with bees. A beekeeper would more than likely love to take the beehive and take care of the bees and keep them alive. Soda: Bees love sweet liquids. This method involves cutting a soda bottle or can in half and filling it up with a very sweet soda, then placing it in an area where you have noticed a lot of bees. The bees will be attracted to the soda and come to drink it. Note, this method is environmentally friendly but will kill the bees as they will eventually drown in the soda. Moth Balls: There are some smells that bees don’t like and mothballs are one of them. To use mothballs, hang them near the bee nest or nests, and eventually, the smell will deter the bees from coming back. You can also hang mothballs in different places around your yard to keep your entire yard bee-free. Vinegar Spray Solution: Vinegar spray is a great natural way to get the bee out of your yard, as well as simple to make and use. Just mix equal amounts of water and vinegar in a spray bottle, shake and the mixture on the nest when the bees are sleeping, at night, as well as around plants where you tend to see a lot of bees. This mixture will kill the bees, so make sure you remove all of the dead bees. Cinnamon: If you find a hive and want the bees to relocate without killing them, consider sprinkling cinnamon around their hive every day for about a week. The smell will send the bees looking for a place to relocate. Repel Bees Using Plants: A great way to keep bees out of your yard without having to remove them or kill them is to plant bee repelling plants around your home. Having these plants around your home should prevent bees from even stopping there. Citronella, Mint, and Eucalyptus plants are good bee repelling plants and easy to grow. If you’re not much of a gardener, try citronella candles to help repel many types of bees.

When To Call In a Professional

There are going to be times when calling a professional will be your best option, even if you are comfortable attempting to get rid of the bees yourself. Bees can make nests in tricky spots like the ground, in the siding of your home, and other hard-to-reach areas. This is what professionals do for a living, so tap into their expertise.

We understand that getting the bees away from your home is essential to you. We also understand that bees are crucial to the earth and do a fantastic job at helping provide food and beauty to the planet. Finding a way to keep your family and the bees safe is a top priority for Environment Pest Management as it is for you.

If you would like more information about bee removal in United States, give us a call. Pest control is what we’re all about, and we would be happy to help you.

#pest control expert #pest control services #Pest Control Products #pest control company #pest control professional #pest control experts

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javistg · 5 years ago

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Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon.

Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose.

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind.

The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line.

Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again.

Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her.

Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams.

The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away.

Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first.

The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt.

After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.

By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her.

After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes.

As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath.

The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind.

Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace.

Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full.

Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes.

Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth.

The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away.

Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time.

“You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements.

“Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

Peeta’s arms wrapped around her.

He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust?

Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.

It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume.

She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

“Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

“Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

A story?

The world outside was falling apart.

The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much.

Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.”

Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off.

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth.

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room.

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate.

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back.

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room.

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air.

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers.

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it.

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower.

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door.

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back.

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her.

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early.

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up.

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun.

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs.

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet.

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week.

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.”

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down.

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work.

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

“How would you like to go for a swim?”

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?”

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water.

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared.

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.”

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake.

#through the senses #things I write #smell #everlark fan fiction

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

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Under The Bed / Chapter Three, “Down”

-> SERIES MASTERLIST

-> MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing???

WORD COUNT: 5.9k words

LEGEND:

* : jump in time

* * : change in point of view

TAGLIST: IDK HOW TO DO THESE, BUT IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED SO YOU KNOW WHEN A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED, JUST LET ME KNOW! :)

@berrynarrybanana

@wotamelonsugar

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

THEN

He kept doing that thing, and by thing I mean, showing up and scaring me.

Every night, he popped out from underneath my bed without fail, and scared the bejeezus out of me. He left me crying into my butterfly pillow from an impossibly horrible face he made, an insult he made that I took to heart, or because he wrecked one of my stuffed animals. I didn’t know how to get him to stay away, even if he was kind of cute I’d never tell him that, and when he screws up his blue face to look like a goblin, it’s not very cute.

I dreaded him coming tonight, just like any other night for the last two weeks. He never missed a night, and I had gotten used to staying up past my bedtime until he arrived, sure that that would save me some pain instead of getting woken up to frogs in my bed and gum stuck in my hair. He had told me about doing that to Polly down the street last week, and the last thing I wanted to do was explain that to my parents in the morning. So, I stayed awake even though it was so hard on so many nights. Tonight, it was hard, but in a different way, because I wanted more than anything to be asleep after my third horrible day of school. I had no choice in the matter, and it worked out that Harry showed up right at nine-thirty.

“Wakey wakey, bratty!” a voice booms, and I jump awake.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I moan, unsure of who or why I announce myself.

“Shiiiiiiit, I was hopin’ ya wouldn’t be. ‘s much mo’ fun t’ scare ya awake, ya hardly made a peep jus’ then,” the voice tuts with a clicking of their tongue. A puff leaves my lips when the light flicks on and his menacing figure appears before my eyes. “Welcome back t’ tha world o’ yer nightmares, Josie, loud and proud. Afraid ‘m back fer anotha night t’ scare yer socks off.”

The My Little Pony covers slide off of me, and I fix the sleeve of my flowery night gown that rode up my shoulder. Ignoring him, I’m met with relief when my fingers grasp the cold familiarity sitting on my nightstand.

“What tha hell, are ya givin’ me tha cold shoulder now?” he retorts with a volume in his voice, but I kn- I hope that he won’t talk loud enough to wake up Mommy and Daddy. “Since bloody when d’ya do that, Josie?”

“I’m reading, shhh,” I tell him, turning past the first few pages of a Clifford the Big Red Dog book until I find the first page with a picture of him and his owner, Emily Elizabeth.

“Oh my days, I can’t believe tha nerve you have, girl,” the monster spits back at me, but with shaking fingers, I try to shove his voice away. I have an even harder time finding happiness in the pictures when it’s so hard to forget that he’s standing right there, ready to attack. “Ya think ya can talk t’ me like that, a full-on monster? Tsk, tsk, you dunno who yer talkin’ t’ here, ya li’l-.”

“Eh-eh-v . . ugh . . Eh-eh-v-r-e-e . . ,” I try to sound out the word at the bottom of the page, but it’s so long and I don’t know this one. “Eh-ev-ree . . won loves Clifford, b-b-b-bee-c-c-cah-ssssss-e he has good m-m-m-a-a-a-n-n-er-r-r-r-s. You don’t have good manners, Harry, that’s something you need to work on.”

“‘Scuse me, Josie Stephens? I reckon ya don’t even know what tha hell manners are, now d’ya, ya li’l shit?”

Gulping, I tear my eyes away from his angry green pair. Looking back to the book, I try to focus on reading the next part. I get the first two words, but then I’m stuck again, sounding it out like a dummy. I don’t understand how so many of my classmates already know how to read, and I don’t!

Creeeeeeeeeak!

My eyes shoot up and find Harry is closer, he must have taken a step towards me. As soon as I had looked up, his feet inch away from me, and I wish I hadn’t. Rubbing at my eyes sleepily, I take a deep breath and try again.

“M-m-m-m-y-s-s-s-eh-l-l-.”

“Myself,” Harry pipes up, and when I forget the book to look at him, we’re both shocked. “Tha word ‘s ‘myself’. ‘I taught him myself,’ it says,” he tells me slowly. Maybe, just maybe, he sounds normal and like me. Who would have thought that could be? “Duh, ‘s an easy word, even a Kindie like you shoulda known that, stupid.”

Shaking my head, I move the hair out of my eyes and continue to read, quieter than before, and yet I feel his eyes on me like a hot pair of sun rays.

“Clifford says p-p-p-l-eeeeee-s w-w-he-n he a-a-s-s-. Why are you laughing at me? I’m only five, we don’t know how to read yet,” I say, pointing my eyes at him. A sound flies from his lips that I’ve never heard before in that way. I think it might be a laugh, a happy one.

“Sounds like I jus’ heard a five year old swear right there. Looks like me job ‘s done, ruining you by teachin’ you yer first curse. Ass,” he titters, walking away and towards the end of my bed.

My throat begs for a glass of water and the words that didn’t make sense anyways become blurry in front of me. Swiping under my eyes, I get rid of the tears the second they warm my cheeks.

“W-What’s this word?” I ask nervously, keeping my head down and refusing to look at him. I know that he likes to see my tears, and I don’t want him to, because then he only becomes meaner. Sniffling, I listen as his steps creak along my floor and his musty smell tickles at my nose.

“Which one?” he groans as if I had asked the most stupid question in the entire world. I don’t answer out loud, and instead, I point to the one that starts with an ‘s,’ but my tired brain doesn’t want to figure it out.

“Sumthin’,” he responds, and it pulls my eyes up and over to him. The light catches in the caramel colored streaks in his hair, and the gold bits in his eyes. Shocks of pink around my room from posters, stuffed animals, books, and my Hello Kitty clock look funny behind him. “Something,” he repeats clearly, yanking the book from my hand to point at a word. “D’ya know this one at least?”

“P-p-p-puh-l-,” I begin, but he interrupts me with a whine of ‘you jus’ read it, c’mon now,’ and I continue until he nods when I say ‘please.’

“And this one?” he continues, pointing to one that starts with a ‘t’ that takes me a few tries until I get it. “What comes afta ‘thank’ usually?”

“You,” I tell him, and he nods, at some point perching himself on the side of my bed like a bird. I almost think I hear him say ‘good,’ but it’s gone before I can decide if I did or not.

The books lining my shelf across the room under the window itch for me to go and grab them, and sound out the words with him that look like nonsense to me. I hold back, and ask Harry to repeat what he said.

“Yer fallin’ ‘sleep,” he notes, bumping shoulders with me. I shake my head and blink hard, knowing that he’s right. “He says ‘thank you’ when he gets sumthin’. And he writes a thank-you note when someone gives him a present . . ,” and before I know it, the words from the pages are dropping from his lips, slowly, telling the story.

I don’t remember my head falling onto his shoulder or him letting it stay there. I definitely didn’t know that when I let my eyes rest for one second that I was going to fall asleep, and that the next time it would all feel like a dream, a far away dream that could never be true.

Because there’s a monster under my bed who’s really gross and mean to me, and he just read me a bedtime story and was maybe nice to me.

That couldn’t be, could it?

* *

The ripe smell of mothballs and wet dogs welcomes me back, ripping away the sweet relief of berries and cream that graced my senses for the last however-long-it-was. My feet land with a loud clap! onto the shambles of wooden decking below. I kick the forgotten remnants of a Scooby Doo stuffy away with the torn toe of my Converse. Loud, raucous laughter echoes around me and is followed by a spit and whizz of a bottle rocket nearby. It paints the ink black sky with shocks of gold and white for a few moments, suddenly making me miss the light. The next thought makes me stumble over a lost pink ukulele with broken strings. I think I miss the smell and the warmth, no matter if I never get cold.

How the fuck can I miss that obnoxiously sweet smell of ripe red strawberries, and decadent cream that they’re drowned in?

Would you shut the fuck up, Harry? What, are you finally going nuts here, on your four hundred and eighth year?

“Oi!” somebody shouts, yanking me from my thoughts much to my gratitude. “Wait up, would ya?!” they continue in their familiar lilt. Stuffing my hands away in my pockets, met with the typical cool temperature of my own body, my feet kick up sand clouds when they stop suddenly.

“What d’ya want, Ni?” I spit back, not bothering to turn my head. His cackle accompanies my boring slide down the Hill of Doom Jr. that he rides like a wave.

“Who put a stick up yer arse, ‘arry?” he gripes, almost losing his footing once we reach the end. “Not a good night with yer kiddies or summat?”

“Sure,” I answer stubbornly, my eyes flitting past the weathered signs slapped onto the pole, pointing every which way with words scrawled onto them. Minneapolis. Chicago. Detroit. Los Angeles. Washington D.C.

“I found some peanut butta at one o’ mine. I s’pose I could be a good mate and give ya some, but y’know what ‘s gonna cost ya. Figure I should get even mo’ than that seein’ as how ‘m deathly allergic.”

“Don’t want any,” I retort, walking around the scuffed Spongebob skateboard and Kim Possible figurine lying beside it, missing her signature head of red hair. But it’s forgotten when my foot steps on something, and I lift it to find a plush Hello Kitty with its head torn off, the white more like a light brown now from all of the shoe prints muddling it. A little stuffy that I know all too well, and had forgotten my handy work with until now.

Somehow, it bothers me more than it should, and tips me over the edge.

“What d’ya mean ya don’t-.”

“I said I don’t want any fuckin’ peanut butter, Ni, and I never said I wanted yer company, now fuckin’ did I?”!” I explode, whirling around and scaring him to the point that he almost runs into me. His unruly eyebrows sink and the neon purple in his eyes shrinks, the scaring of a monster quite comical in the thought.

“Fuck you, ‘arry. Dunno who shit in yer bed, yer always high as a kite afta gettin’ done with that Stephens girl. Jus’ cuz ya couldn’t scare tha lights outta her dis time doesn’t mean ya hafta jump down me throat cuzza it,” he says curtly, shaking his head of silver hair that sticks up at all ends. Muttered words float past me as he walks away with the pep out of his step.

“‘s not that I couldn’t . . ‘s that I didn’t wanna . . fer tha first time,” I curse under my breath, kicking a pink stone riddled with holes off the edge, not waiting to hear its plink! at the bottom of Ghastly Gorge.

Clenching my jaw to stop me from saying all of the words that ricochet inside of my skull, I take a few turns until I step onto a rickety lift. Ignoring the two vampires who cling to each other’s necks with loud suckling noises, I tip my head back and close my eyes against the yellow light of the naked bulb above me. I don’t even lose my footing as the contraption whips from side to side and up and down with the loudest of screeches, lastly halting with a piercing ding!

Sulking my way off and back to unsolid ground, the giggles from the ghoulish pair continue behind me, suddenly making me wish Liza was here. Biting my tongue, I try to forget about her, and the other her. Yanking open the door, it falls off its top hinge and I leave it there hanging, not giving a shit clearly. The squeals of the fireworks are almost out of earshot, but now, the shouting from some kind of game trickles past.

“Can’t even get peace and quiet here o’ all places?” I mutter with a long sigh, pushing harshly at the metal gate. It hits the fence with a deafening clang! of metal on metal.

“Heya, Harry!” somebody shouts and I nod and wave. More ‘hellos’ follow between the gravestones as I kick my feet along the black dirt path. “Oh, on your way to The Rotting River, I see . . Let’s leave him be, lads, he doesn’t look too terrible, the poor bloke,” Henry the Horrid whispers ever so loudly and I toss a hand up in the smallest of thanks, only bringing the memory back bigger and brighter.

Since when do I have fucking manners?

Their transparent white bodies float away with their silent steps, and from the corner of my eye, I see Marcus speed away like a flash of moonlight.

“Why? Why? Why in tha fuck why?!” I scream, pitching the hundred pound rock into the black water, far and away. “What tha absolute fuck am I doin’? ‘m gonna ruin it all, everythin’ ‘ve ever built!” the red rock crashes into the water and under the green cast of the orb hung in the sky, it smatters onyx droplets across the green. I pluck another one from the ground at random, in between shards of bones, glass, and lost lovers necklaces, propelling them into the lazy waves of the river, wishing it was crashing tonight like the throes of my heart. Something I thought I hadn’t had for the last few centuries, but here I am, low and behold, seeming to have one.

That doesn’t happen, it’s not supposed to be. My kind . . we’re not supposed to use them, or even have a working one.

How is it that when I saw the glassy tears in Josie’s eyes tonight, it felt like it was being squeezed in my chest? I can’t explain away the warmth I felt in it when her head fell onto my shoulder, and then when I pulled the covers over her tiny, sleeping body.

I broke a hundred dozen rules tonight, enough to get me sent to the headstones just over the hill, and I can’t decide whether I care or not.

* *

The tater tot casserole sitting in my stomach tried to lull me into an early sleep that next night, but with determination, I ignored it. I sat in bed with my school books in my lap, flipping through the pictures and trying to find familiar words. I knew that I wouldn’t find many, if any, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there after dinner looking through the books and making up my own stories, until my tired eyes glanced to the window. There I sat, watching the last few rays of sun be sucked back into the ground, or that’s how it looked.

Smack!

“Arentcha a li’l old t’ be havin’ shit like this?” a voice pipes up, and before I see him, I smile. I really wish that I hadn’t, because when he turns around, that dark glint in his eye has returned. I don’t know why I thought his voice sounded- what did it sound like, like it had last night? When the words from the Clifford The Big Red Dog book fell from his chapped lips?

All of my questions are answered when there’s a loud crash! and my Hello Kitty pink clock smashes into a puddle of glass at his feet. “Whoops,” he giggles as I suck in air loudly, the dirty bottoms of his shoes crunching through the glass that I’m sure I’ll never get out of my carpet now.

“What, ya think ‘m gonna bloody read t’ you again or sumthin’, brat?” Harry says, nodding to the pile of books that I tighten my grip on now. “Not gonna speak t’ me, are you? Y’know that’s never a good bet, Josie Stephens,” he continues, each word laced with disgust from his lips. He licks them with his chalky pink tongue as the floor creaks with his nearing.

“Don’t!” I squeal when he reaches for the books, but I put up a fight.

“It never does any good fightin’ me, li’l shit, ya should know this by now,” he retorts, giving one last yank with his hands and painfully ripping the books from my grasp. “Ooooo, what d’we got here, huh? More stupid Clifford, Scooby Fucking Doo, Pussy Tom and that minx Jerry, and Peter Bloody Pan. Hmmm, looks like a good lot ya got here, Josie. I reckon they won’t be very easy t’ read if they’re in shreds.”

“Harry, no! Please, those are from school, they’re not mine! I’ll get in trouble with my teacher,” I beg, getting on all fours and crawling across my bed towards him. One look is all he needs to get me to stop, because I know if I took one more step towards him he’d pull out one of those faces that’d make me wet the bed . . again.

“Even better then, love,” he smiles that mischievous smile with his yellow teeth that he swipes his tongue across. I feel a lurch in my chest when the first book begins to look like rainbow snow falling from his fingers, then the next, and the others while he laughs loudly. My pleas for him to stop don’t make any difference, and I fear that they only make his devilish smile brighter and wider across his blue tinted cheeks.

“Why’d you do that?!” I almost scream, and one of his unruly eyebrows raises in answer.

“How many times do I gotta bloody tell ya t’ shut yer mouth?” he lips back in return, tossing the last handful of papery snow behind him.

“No, I won’t! Why’d you read to me last night if you were just gonna do that?” I sob, angry words flying with the tears. It’s only a second, but I think that I surprised him. “I thought you could be nice!”

“Ya well, ‘m not nice, Josie. ‘m a bloody monster, I dunno why you expected that I could ever be nice. Me job ‘snt t’ be nice, ya brat, and that was a fluke - a one time thing that’s never gonna happen ‘gain, ya hear? Stop cryin’ ‘bout yer bloody books and fuckin’ go t’ bed, ya cry baby,” Harry hisses, tightening the frayed red and black flannel tied around his body covered in holey black clothes.

“But you can be nice, I saw it! You are nice, Harry, if you just try!”

“What’d I say, li’l girl, huh? Go t’ bed befo’ I make ya, and ya don’t wanna see that happen, I can promise ya that,” he answers with a stern finger pointed at me. The lights flick off with no warning and I fall back when he pushes me onto my covers. I don’t remember when he left, because I was too wrapped up in the tears flowing down my cheeks, and the fear leaking through them.

He’s right, I am stupid for thinking that the monster who lives under my bed could ever be nice.

* *

Even after I slipped under the bed, and back into my world, her sobs still wrench at my heart and fill my head. It doesn’t matter how far I get away from her door that looks like a pixie threw up on it, pink as can be, I still hear them. If anything, they get louder and swarm around in my head. I shake it a bajillion times, wishing they would leave, and that when I pass other monsters who pat me on the back for the sound of her wails, I wish all the more for them to be gone. Suddenly, I’m not proud of them, and I had thought that the few tears she shed the other night bothered me, but this is anything but that. It rips apart my insides how they dig into the crevices of my mind, and how they pull me back to her.

With every step past the cracked headstones weathered of names and dates of life, my feet become heavier, like cement blocks. With each step, they grow a pound in weight, and the stones and boulders I chuck into the blackness can’t even compare. The shrieks and requital of the pissed off mermaids and slimy grindylows below don’t throw a damper on my exaggerated rock skipping.

“We’re tryna sleep here, ye fool!” one of the pinched faced mermaids bellows at me, propelling the sharp edged stone back at me.

“Does it look like I fuckin’ care what yer doin’?” I scream back, chucking a bigger stone in her direction. She yelps before her muddled neon pink hair disappears below the murky surface. “Fuckin’ mermaids, bloody lot still hate me afta I broke tha heart of yer beloved Hera last century,” I mutter under my breath, at last falling to sit on a smooth, red boulder. Prying the minuscule shards of glass from the soles of my shoes, my dormant lungs beg for air, something that stuck with me past my days as a human.

I don’t need to breathe or let alone be gasping for air, but it never escaped me, although most other mortal things certainly did.

It feels as if a stone stronger and wider than those beneath my feet sits lodged in my throat when I try to swallow, her face stuck behind my eyes. My throat soon feels akin to Darkly Desert a few miles away and the emerald reflected on the toiling waves grows messed up in front of me.

“What tha bloody hell?” I curse, swiping a finger across my cheek and feeling wetness greet my chalky skin. “Christ Almighty,” I breathe, feeling the cool tears scatter my cheeks as my nose sniffles accordingly. “I can’t remember tha last time I had a bleedin’ cry, certainly not since ‘ve been a monster. Tha fuck ‘s happenin’ t’ me?” I croak, my head collapsing into my hands.

“Gotcha heart broken by another girl, Harry?” a slinky voice asks, waves lapping against the rocks at my feet. I don’t need to peek my eyes open to know who it is, their revolting voice and squeaky, wicked laugh tells me the whole story.

“Would ya fuck off, Freya? N’body asked you,” I crack, toeing my shoe through a puddle of rotten weeds that I fling at her. She scoffs loudly and it’s unbeknownst to me whether she scurries away or lingers.

“Me’s hopin’ she did good work on it, if ya even have anythin’ left in there. Guessin’ ‘s a shriveled ol’ black thing by this time,” Freya bites back, making a loud exit and whipping her tail to spray me with the water that reeks of rotted corpses and fish.

“Like you’ve ever had one, Frey, it takes one t’ know one!” I shout, standing to my feet and tossing one more stone in her direction. “N’body likes yer kind anyways, jus’ glorified fish with boobs, you are,” I groan with a shake of my head, my feet crunching with every step over the tiny bones that her and her posse toss to the shore like it’s their own garbage bin.

Questions swim through my mind as I hike up the hill muddied by last night’s boiling hot rain showers, wondering how I can fix this. I jumped right past the wondering and decision making, and have landed right at the ‘how.’

I really do have a problem here, but the one that concerns me isn’t the existential one of sorts.

“Open alfucking ready!” I shout, pounding my fist on the chipped wooden door, streaked with red. I’m not sure if I want to ask the question of what made it red. “Zekey, c’mon open up , you git!” I continue, lifting my fist for another blow right when the door swings open.

“Da fuck d’yeh want, ‘arry?” he sighs in return, rubbing at his eyes and only further smearing the black makeup surrounding them. “Shouldn’t yeh be out on yer route, and not buggin’ me?”

“‘m uh, in between kiddies right now, Z. Ya busy, mate?” I explain softly, biting at my nails but there’s not much left to bite.

“Apparently not, and would it even matta if I was? ‘m sure yeh’d still barge right in, wouldntcha?” he tuts, turning around and leaving the door open for me. “By tha way, did yeh fookin’ tell Ly’ that I revoked his invitation? Told yeh not t’, I found him snoggin’ me girl and that’s reason enuff t’ banish him from here, I reckon.”

“Nah, that wasn’t me. Maybe it was Ni, I dunno. Can we get on with this, ‘s important,” I rush, tip toeing a careful trail through his doorway littered with empty beer bottles, cardboard pizza boxes, and cigarette butts. “D’y’know how t’ bloody pick up fer once, Z? Yer not even a monster, so ya can’t fall back on tha ‘messy monster’ cliche, mate.”

“I dont’ rememba askin’ yeh, ‘arry. Now, what tha fook d’ya want that I had t’ wake up fer?” Zeke responds with disdain laced in his voice, collapsing onto his maroon sofa that’s by far seen better days, perhaps last century even.

“‘m takin’ up that favor o’ mine ya owe me, and don’t even say sumthin’ like, ‘oh, what favor?’ Cuz ya bloody well know what favor, need I remind you?”

“No, no. My bloody God, ‘arry, jus’ name it already. ‘m not gettin’ any younger sittin’ here waitin’ fer yeh t’ explain yerself away, am I now?” he sighs, raking a hand through his spiked, electric green hair. I nod and with an unnecessary breath, I steady myself, and prepare the sentence that I’ve rehearsed over and over.

“I need some o’ yer Fix-It Dust,” I say slowly, waiting for his reply.

“That’s all? God, yeh scared me, thinkin’ I needed t’ hex somebody, bring a lover back from tha dead, or wipe a memory,” Z chuckles, springing up from the sofa and across the room to his bookshelf that’s never changed in appearance since that day I met him at the Wobbly Waterfall and came back here. “There, easy ‘nough,” he announces a moment later, tossing a small, dark bottle at me. The bookshelf behind him slides closed, and the fluorescent bottles coloring the rainbow disappear behind the moving novels.

“Thanks, Z.”

“Don’t mention it, Hare. I dunno why yeh think that warrants a favor,” he replies with a soft laugh and shrug of his shoulders.

“What d’ya mean?”

“‘s bloody dust, mate, not a bleedin’ spell, jinx, or body swap. Tell anybody I did this fer you, and yer screwed, but tha favor still stands. Good luck with whateva tha fuck it ‘s, I don’t care and don’t wanna,” he insists, waving a hand at me.

“I appreciate it, mate, thank you.”

“Since when d’yeh have fricken manners, Hare? Yeh gettin’ soft on me, or sumthin’?” he giggles, crossing his pale arms riddled with black ink, one or two of them my own handiwork.

“Oh, would ya learn when t’ shut yer fuckin’ mouth, Zeke?” I scoff with a tut of my head, turning around and kicking a few beer bottles out of my path.

“Hare, a softie? It really mus’ be tha end o’ days a comin’,” he titters from behind me, soon the sound of his TerroVision roaring to life.

“Mention that t’ anyb’dy and ‘ll knock a few mo’ o’ yer teeth out, mate!” I counter, hearing the last few licks of his laugh before the door slams behind me.

“This shite better magic me way back onto her good side,” I sigh, turning the dark bottle over in my hands, watching the flecks of fluorescent orange trickle around, and wondering just what the hell I’m doing. “I need t’ fix me fuck up befo’ ‘s too late,” I say, shoving it into my pocket hurriedly and padding down a flight of chipped steps, my heart thumping harder with every step that nears her.

Her decadent smell of berries and cream welcomes me back first, and then the sound of her slow snores. Her Scooby Doo night light smiles at me ironically, shedding light on the piles of torn paper on the cream carpet. Never, did I feel so guilty. The dried tears staining her cheeks and the heart wrenching sniffling in her sleep only make matters worse. Her mattress sags under my weight and I watch how her chest rises and falls with every breath, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing, but then again, I’ve never tried to remember it. I thumb away the strands of golden hair cast over her face, her smell wafting over me when I brush my thumb against her warm skin. Toasty breaths against my hand remind me that they feel like icicles, and that somehow long ago, they used to feel like her. They used to feel human, and so did I.

“‘m so sorry, Josie, for ruinin’ yer books and clock. Pinky promise ‘ll fix ‘em. Right here and now,” I whisper softly, placing the wild strand of hair behind her ear adorned with an earring of a little, pink ice cream cone. Standing up, I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her.

She’s not really a heavy sleeper or a light one, I’ve found, somewhere in the middle instead. With my back to her, my grimey shoes come to freeze before the flurry of colored paper below me. Nibbling at the inside of my cheek, fretting, I fish the bottle from my pocket. The brown cork slides from the opening easily with a pop! before I turn it around in my hands, finding Zekey’s chicken scratch on the other side.

After sprinkling on your screw up, chant these words and it’ll magic your mistake away, like it never happened. Three times is a charm.

Fixus Motalus

“Easy enuff,” I mutter, stuffing the cork away into a pocket. Tipping the bottle to the side, I tap my finger against it to watch the glowing dust fall to the floor. “Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus,” I recite and within a blink, the pile of torn books sparkles before an imaginary wind kicks them up into a tornado of sorts, mending themselves back together before my smiling eyes.

My steps leave creaks along her carpeted floor, something I’ve always hated, because it gives me away. I just hope it won’t do that very thing now, when I need to remain in secrecy more than ever before.

“C’mon, Posie, where’s yer markers? They’ve gotta be here sumwhere, bein’ a little kiddie and all,” I sigh, my eyes searching her desk that, of course, is a baby pink. Only when I pull open a drawer do I find a stack of plain paper, and a plastic box chalk full of markers.

Plucking one of the papers from the stack and a blue marker, I quickly scrawl a note on it before the cap clicks! back onto the marker. I’m careful to shut the drawer quietly and to not move a thing from its place, besides the Aladdin water bottle on her bed stand. Beside it, I find room to place the shiny pile of books with her teacher’s name written on the front, and with my note sat on top.

She continues to snooze away, unknowing of my presence, and ignoring the crackling of glass below my feet at the end of her bed. As silence trickles through the house, I watch until every last sparkling fleck has fallen from the bottle to the floor, leaving it empty. A small tornado of sharp glass whirls into the air above the floor, and like a puzzle, they fit themselves back into the pink frame of the clock. With a whooooooosh!, it flies itself back up the wall and to the nail that it hung from, a shiny glint on its glass.

“I dunno what yer doin’ t’ me, Josephine May Stephens,” I cluck softly, hands stuffed in my pockets as I trudge over to her bed and find a seat in front of her. “But I know ‘s no good, that’s fo’sure . . cuz I think I may be gettin’ a soft spot for you . . and monsters don’t get soft spots for kiddies, we hate you lot typically. Yet, here I am, thinkin’ I might be likin’ a kiddie. ‘m in fer real trouble with you, aren’t I, lovie?”

* *

Sun stretches through my blinds the next morning, trying to reach me. Groaning, I turn over in my bed and call back to my mom when she knocks on my door, asking if I’m awake. Flying up to sit, my eyes race around the room, hoping she won’t walk in.

“Alright, honey. Breakfast is ready, come and eat before it’s cold.”

“Okay, Mom!” I reply, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I lift the covers, accidentally hitting my bedside table. Something falls to the floor with a slap! and my tired eyes follow curiously.

“What was that? I didn’t have anything on the table last night,” I yawn, my feet falling onto the carpet. “Huh?” I exclaim with wonder, falling to my knees and picking up the pile of books, the very same stack that Harry shredded to pieces last night. Questions roll through my head and no answers come as I flip through the pages that are just like before, not even a page tear in sight. “This is really weird . . Am I still dreaming?” I mumble. Something tells me to lift my head and when I look at the wall, there sits my Hello Kitty clock with her arms telling me the time, ticking along just fine.

Huffing, I glance back to the books but they’re forgotten when I see a piece of paper on the floor. Wait, that wasn’t there before, was it? I never wrote a note or colored last night before bed. Reaching a hand out, I pick it up and find that this morning can only get weirder, and weirder.

“If only I could read you, because I bet you’re from Harry, and then all of this silliness would make sense to me,” I huff, stashing the note in my side table’s drawer and trudging downstairs, wondering what to expect tonight from the monster under my bed who signs his notes with a really bad drawing of a monster.

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