#auto washer

[usautopartscar]

Shop Auto Wiper and Auto Washer Online | US AutoParts Car

Buy auto wiper and auto washer online from US AutoParts Car. Also, you can shop other auto replacement parts & car accessories online and aftermarket car parts at affordable prices. Free curbside pickup is available for automotive parts.

[barkingangelbaby]

my poor lil eardrums... i washed out like 20+ screens and the air compressor was killing me... we didn't have ear plugs left so I just rolled up paper towels to put in my ears (we're really shreking it today) and that helped dampen maybe.. 5% of sound.. it feels like my ears are bleeding good GAWD

[steves-auto-repair-va]

A Ford Fusion is going to need a new windshield washer fluid pump. Power is going to the pump, but the pump isn’t turning on.

If the sprayers aren’t working correctly, have an automotive expert look into what’s causing the problem.

It’s also a good idea to make sure the right windshield washer fluid is used in your vehicle. You will want the fluid’s temperature protection level to be good to negative 40 degrees.

[hometowne-auto-repair-and-tire]

The windshield washer fluid reservoir on a Honda CR-Z needs to be replaced.

When performing an oil change, we saw that the reservoir was leaking.Our technician discovered the leak when he topped off the windshield washer fluid.

Checking fluids is one of the tasks we complete during our courtesy inspections.

[spookysaladchaos]

Global Top 5 Companies Accounted for 80% of total Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers market (QYResearch, 2021)

Dishwasher detergent is a detergent made for washing dishes in a dishwasher. In this report, we study the dishwasher capsules & tablets.

Dishwasher tablets were designed to tackle hard water, remove stains, and dissolve grease and fat found in protein-based foods — so it shouldn't be a surprise that they can be used to clean things beyond the dishwasher.

Capsules are a special way mixed salt, rinse and detergent, exposed in a special shell. The shell is PVA, PVA is a water-soluble, shelf-stable, synthetic polymer. Creating a dishwasher pod's outside coating out of this polymer allows the user to store and use these convenient pods knowing that they'll only dissolve when they contact water.

Capsules unlike tablets, are coated with a soluble coating, which implies the gradual introduction of the components of the product into the washing process.The shape of the components of the capsule differs from the shape of the components of the tablet, which again provides the best phased dissolution throughout the washing cycle.

According to the new market research report “Global Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers Market Report 2023-2029”, published by QYResearch, the global Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers market size is projected to reach USD 5.16 billion by 2029, at a CAGR of 4.7% during the forecast period.

Figure.   Global Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers Market Size (US$ Million), 2018-2029

Figure.   Global Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers Top 12 Players Ranking and Market Share (Ranking is based on the revenue of 2022, continually updated)

The global key manufacturers of Dish Washing Capsules & Tablets for Auto Dish Washers include Reckitt Benckiser, Procter & Gamble, Unilever, Henkel, Kirkland Signature (Costco), McBride, Eurotab, Method products, LIBY Group, IFB, etc. In 2022, the global top five players had a share approximately 80.0% in terms of revenue.

About QYResearch

QYResearch founded in California, USA in 2007.It is a leading global market research and consulting company. With over 16 years’ experience and professional research team in various cities over the world QY Research focuses on management consulting, database and seminar services, IPO consulting, industry chain research and customized research to help our clients in providing non-linear revenue model and make them successful. We are globally recognized for our expansive portfolio of services, good corporate citizenship, and our strong commitment to sustainability. Up to now, we have cooperated with more than 60,000 clients across five continents. Let’s work closely with you and build a bold and better future.

QYResearch is a world-renowned large-scale consulting company. The industry covers various high-tech industry chain market segments, spanning the semiconductor industry chain (semiconductor equipment and parts, semiconductor materials, ICs, Foundry, packaging and testing, discrete devices, sensors, optoelectronic devices), photovoltaic industry chain (equipment, cells, modules, auxiliary material brackets, inverters, power station terminals), new energy automobile industry chain (batteries and materials, auto parts, batteries, motors, electronic control, automotive semiconductors, etc.), communication industry chain (communication system equipment, terminal equipment, electronic components, RF front-end, optical modules, 4G/5G/6G, broadband, IoT, digital economy, AI), advanced materials industry Chain (metal materials, polymer materials, ceramic materials, nano materials, etc.), machinery manufacturing industry chain (CNC machine tools, construction machinery, electrical machinery, 3C automation, industrial robots, lasers, industrial control, drones), food, beverages and pharmaceuticals, medical equipment, agriculture, etc.

For more information, please contact the following e-mail address:

Email: global@qyresearch.com

Website: https://www.qyresearch.com

[scarsspa]

Feels better than just having a clean car. Contact Us: 9440858545 . . . . . . .

[otwowdetailing]

O2W Detailing | Car Detailing Service | Car Washing Services in Hayward CA

We are your dependable and trustworthy go-to for exceptional Car Detailing Service in Castro Valley CA. From thorough interior cleaning to meticulous exterior polishing, we do it all with great precision and care. Our professionals employ cutting-edge techniques and premium products to rejuvenate your car, ensuring it looks and feels brand new. Moreover, acquiring our top-notch Car Washing Services in Hayward CA, will keep your vehicle looking immaculate and protected from the elements. Using innovative cleaning techniques, we meticulously hand-wash and dry every inch of your vehicle, leaving no detail overlooked. With us on hire, you can preserve your car’s shine. So, if you need our expert assistance, call us today.

[carzbot]

A Step-by-Step Guide on Refilling Windshield Washer Fluid at Home Performance

Maintaining a clean and clear windshield is essential for safe driving, as it ensures optimum visibility on the road. However, the environment often throws various elements at our windshields, such as grime, bugs, and bird droppings, which can hinder our view. To combat this, modern cars are equipped with windshield wiper fluid reservoirs and spray systems that make cleaning a breeze. When the fluid level runs low, it's time to refill the reservoir to ensure uninterrupted use. In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through the easy steps to refill your windshield washer fluid at home. You don't need any special tools for this task; just a trip to the store and a few minutes of your time. Let's get started!

1: Locating the Windshield Washer Fluid Reservoir:

The windshield washer fluid reservoir is typically found in the engine bay of your vehicle. Look for a reservoir with a blue cap featuring the windshield wiper symbol. While the exact location may vary depending on your car's make, model, and manufacturing year, you can consult your owner's manual for assistance. It is crucial to identify the correct reservoir to avoid accidentally tampering with other fluid compartments.

2: Opening the Reservoir Cap and Adding Distilled Water:

Once you have located the reservoir, carefully open the cap, ensuring it is undamaged. To refill the fluid, you will need distilled water, which is recommended to prevent mineral deposits and maintain the longevity of your washer system. Using a funnel, pour the distilled water into the reservoir slowly and cautiously. Be mindful not to overfill the reservoir, as it can lead to leakage and potentially damage other components. During the refilling process, it is vital to prevent any debris or dirt from entering the reservoir. Even tiny particles can clog the fluid lines, hindering the spray action on your windshield. Take extra care to keep the area clean and free from any potential contaminants.

3: Checking the Fluid Sprayer:

After successfully refilling the reservoir, start your vehicle and test the fluid sprayer. Engage the wiper system and verify if the sprayer is functioning correctly. Ensure that the fluid is adequately sprayed onto the windshield in a consistent manner. Check for any abnormalities, such as insufficient spray or irregular spray patterns, which might indicate underlying issues. If the fluid sprayer is working correctly and the windshield is being effectively cleaned, congratulations! You have successfully refilled your windshield washer fluid, and your car is ready for the road.

Conclusion:

Maintaining a clear and clean windshield is vital for road safety, and refilling the windshield washer fluid is a simple yet important task. By following the steps outlined in this guide, you can easily refill the fluid reservoir at home without the need for professional assistance or specialized tools. Remember, regularly checking and topping up your windshield washer fluid ensures that you have a reliable and efficient cleaning system when you need it most. Additionally, using distilled water helps prevent clogging and prolongs the lifespan of your washer system. So, take a proactive approach to your vehicle maintenance, and with just a few minutes of effort, enjoy the benefits of a clear and unobstructed view on your daily drives. Stay safe on the road and enjoy the journey!

Also Read : How to Maintain and Drive a Diesel Car: Essential Tips for Optimal Performance

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, friends to lovers, mentions of nudity, brief mention of masturbation (m). Basically, Eddie finds you sleeping naked in his bed.

A/N: Idk I've had this idea in my head for too long now and I need to exorcise it out of me with this little drabble or I'll never be able to get on with my life.

Forest Hills trailer park wasn't your usual stop after clocking out of work but after the day you’ve had you don’t have it in you to wait for the next bus back to your apartment. Your place is 30 minutes away but the journey is sure to take even longer in the current downpour.

Staying over at the trailer wasn't anything new. A spare key was entrusted to you years ago and you made use of it on days like this to crash at Eddie’s for convenience sake. The key came with the promise that you were welcome to anything you needed even if both Eddie and Wayne were away – shower, food, an extra change of clothes, what have you, and you needed them all today.

With Wayne out of town for a few days and Eddie due back in two hours you sink into auto pilot, weary down to the bone from your shift. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel as weird as it probably should when you started to undress in their kitchenette, hanging your work clothes over the back of a nearby chair, rummaging through the fridge in your bra and panties for a quick bite to eat before heading for the shower.

There wasn’t much in it besides beer since Wayne hadn’t been around to stock it. Eddie always preferred ordering take out over getting groceries – something you were going to nag him for again when you had the strength to do so.

Cereal it would have to be.

You located a box inside one of the cupboards, tipping the wheaty, sugary contents straight into your mouth without bothering with a bowl and spoon. It’s not lost on you how similarly you’re acting to Eddie right down to the unruly state of half undress, wiping crumbs off your lips with the back of your hand. If you finished off with a belch it'd be like he never left the trailer this morning.

The messy mouthfuls of cereal prove enough to silence the toad’s croak of hunger that'd been gurgling noisily inside your belly, putting the box away.

Traipsing through, feet dragging, you threw your clothes into the washer next along with your underwear, completely nude now in the Munson trailer as you made your way to the shower – but not before reaching out for Eddie's Garfield mug that sat on a nearby shelf, turning it around so that the cartoon cat's lazy smirk no longer faced you. For your modesty.

You try to keep the shower brisk, not wanting to use up all the hot water but with the way it sprays down on your aching body, the steam and heat combo soothing your poor sore muscles, it’s so blissful that you have to keep yourself from nodding off right there.

You did make use of Eddie’s body wash, some spicy, woodsy smelling thing in a jet-black bottle but you didn't dare use the two in one shampoo that sat in their shower caddy. It might have worked fine for Eddie and his wild mane but you knew better than to apply the stuff to your own hair. Fortunately, experience had taught you to carry a travel sized bottle filled with your own shampoo whenever you stayed over, working over your locks in a lather scented with cranberries and vanilla.

Stamina depleting by the second, toweling off and brushing your teeth takes the last sliver of energy out of you. Eyelids slipping, movements sluggish, limbs feeling too heavy for your own body to hold up – you’re shutting down whether you like it or not.

Dropping the damp towel on his bedroom floor, you intended to change, you really did. You’d even picked out one of Eddie’s washed t-shirts and a pair of boxers out of the laundry and set them down at the foot of the bed to put on before you made yourself comfortable but that’s not what happened.

Still nude, you crawl into bed, seeking warmth and soft comfort, numbed down to a kind of tunnel vision with rest being your one and only goal.

It feels all the more natural because you’re used to sleeping naked in your own bed, much too tired to remember that you’re not in your bed, draping a blanket that doesn't belong to you over your spent body, surrendering to sleep seconds after your head hits the pillow.

It'd still been raining when Eddie returns later. Dragging himself through the trailer, nearly as worn down as you had been, shaking the excess water out of his hair like a dog trying to get dry.

The smell of your shampoo still lingering in the air tells him you're there, finding you curled up in his bed, all bundled up to your neck. The sight makes him smile.

It doesn't take too long for him to join you, following a similar routine – a quick bite with the addition of a beer and then a shower, only he doesn't skip out on clothing himself in his PJ's first.

If he’d shared the blanket with you he might have found out about your lack of dress sooner but as the gentleman that he can sometimes be, he pulls out a spare blanket from the closet so as to not wake you, prolonging the discovery. Being friends for so long meant that sharing a bed was never awkward even after you'd became adults.

That was until the next morning came.

It’s not the stream of morning light brightening from a cool blue to a warm amber peeking in between the curtains that wakes Eddie, or even the tinny smack of his neighbor’s broken screen door gusting open just a few feet away from his bedroom window. It’s the warmth of your ass pressed flush against his crotch and his nose nestled in your sweet-smelling hair that pulls him out of a dream he wont be able to recall later if he tried.

He shifts closer, eyes cracking open, remembering the tiny bottle of shampoo sitting on the bathroom counter. Remembering the new toothbrush placed in the cup next to his own. Remembering the powder blue towel that neither he nor Wayne ever used laying on his bedroom floor.

And then he remembers that he’s not alone.

Oh...

And then he wishes that he was.

Panic snaps up like a beartrap around Eddie when he realizes he's hard – his thick, throbbing erection pressed right up against your body.

Growing clammy, cold sweat beads on the back of his neck but he’s in luck because you haven’t noticed yet, still sound asleep.

This close together, he knows the slightest movement could rouse you. But what was the alternative? Wait it out? Hope to hell his boner goes away? Fat fucking chance. Not when the soft swell of your ass and your body heat alone had him questioning how he could ever go back to his calloused fist after this.

Carefully, desperately, he tries to inch back without waking you but just as he feared, you begin to stir. Your back arches instinctively, seeking out his warm, solid frame even in your sleep.

Shit shit shit.

The covers slip as you shift, your bare shoulders coming into view, eyes starting to flutter open. With no other option, Eddie swiftly rolls on to his back, his hard on no longer pressed up against you but the problem persists.

“Oh, morning”, you greet him through a yawn, pulling an arm out to rub at your eyes, blanket slipping lower but the frantic boy hasn’t noticed yet, too busy whipping his pillow out from under him to place over his lap.

“Uh-hey. Shower’s free if you wanna go first”, he offers quickly, smiling hard, hoping to subtly usher you out because he's too afraid to get up and risk you getting a load of the tent in his pants if he were to go ahead of you.

“Thanks”, you yawn again, still occupied with rubbing at your sleepy eyes to notice your best friend's pale face turning beet fucking red in an instant as you clamber out of bed, blankets no longer concealing you.

Eddie doesn’t know where to look first. His eyes dart everywhere, every bare inch of you on display. So much soft, naked skin it’s making him short circuit.

His gaze eagerly travels over the slope of your breasts as they jiggle gently with your movements, taking in your soft nipples, moving down over your belly and hips, noticing a few new freckles and beauty marks there along the way to the soft curls between your legs.

His erection digs into the pillow, brain dangerously close to fizzing because he’d been pressed up against you like that all night and not even known it.

A shiver works its way through you, making you question why it feels so drafty in his room all of a sudden. You turn back to ask Eddie if there’s anything wrong with the heating, catching the shocked expression on his face.

Looking down, you're met with the sight of your nude body, breasts bare, no underwear. It's a good thing the occupants of the trailer park liked to mind their own business, even if sometimes you thought they did so to a fault because in any other neighborhood your piercing screech would have had everyone within earshot dialing up the cops.

The scream ricochets off the walls at an ear ringing volume, causing Eddie to jolt and lose his balance, falling out of bed while you leapt back in. Grabbing his spare pillow, you press one half against your chest and squeeze the rest between your thighs to shield yourself.

Now he slaps his hands over his eyes.

---

More than anything, you try so hard to push it aside. To pretend that it hadn't happened but it looms over you like a cloud on the brink of bursting with rain.

After three whole days of walking around eggshells around each other it's Eddie who breaks first.

"I can't stand this I don't know what else to do, Can we just talk about it please?"

“Eddie…", you sigh, a gentle warning.

"So what if I saw you naked? you saw my boner!...sort of. I mean, I guess that doesn't exactly make us even but it has to count for something, right? you're not alone in this"

You immediately set your wide eyes on the only other patrons in the diner to see if they’d overheard – two older women swapping pictures of their grandchildren over coffee and cheesecake. When neither of them take a pause in the middle of cooing about little Tommy's third Birthday or little Emily's first day of Kindergarten you redirect your attention back to Eddie.

“Eddie! Keep your voice down!”, you whisper shout at him from across the booth. "There are literal grandmother's here!"

He rolls his eyes. Not mean spirited, just unconcerned by the ladies and what they may or may not have overheard.

And then, even though no one’s paying either of you any attention, you lean closer over your half-finished key lime pie, one hand shielding the side of your face like you’re trying to avoid getting recognized by an ex who’s just walked in.

"I'm so embarrassed...please can we just drop it?", you plead, voice hushed.

He gives you this look of mild incredulity. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me", and the inflection in his tone almost gives him away, prompting him to double back immediately.

The last thing he wants is for you to feel more uncomfortable than you already do. So he doesn't need you to catch on that he's got every moment of your unintended strip tease memorized. Or that he likes to replay what he's since thought of as the best 10 seconds of his life over and over again when he's fucking his fist in the shower.

“I just mean that it's nothing to be embarrassed by. It could have happened to anyone. Who among us hasn’t napped in just their birthday suit before, am I right?” he finishes with a slight wince, knowing none of this is exactly helpful.

And you know he’s only trying to be nice in his own, sweet, bumbling way but you still feel terrible.

"I don't know if I can shake this feeling", you cast your eyes down, looking too close to despondent for his liking.

"Listen I- I don't know how to fix this but I want to. Please just tell me what I can do and I'll do it, okay?"

God, he's sweet and it makes you feel a little flustered being on the receiving end of that gentle stare, needing to shift the mood lest you drown in all that earnestness pooling in his eyes.

It's moments like this that call for a bad joke to cut the tension, right? some momentary and well meaning deflection before you're ready to address the matter at hand again.

Letting out a half hearted laugh, you make your best attempt to inject some humor into the situation.

"I don't know. Maybe it might help if you got naked too", you nervously scraped your fork against the buttery graham cracker crust of your pie, dislodging a few golden crumbs.

It was so very clearly a joke. At least you had thought so. Eddie? not so much.

His brown eyes go wide, looking scandalized, his voice coming out a little more quite than you're used to.

"What?"

"I mean, I showed you mine after all", you tried again in a cadence that was wholly unserious but once again, he fails to catch on.

"You want me to get naked for you?"

You should correct him and you mean to but before you're able to do just that, something about the way he's staring at you makes you want to match his seriousness. The fact that he didn't say no right away strikes you as weirdly intriguing.

"You don't have to", you clarify, adding, "It's just that – well, you asked and I think it could maybe help? to really get us on even ground?”

The words that come out don't feel like you own – foreign to your ears even though they're said in your voice, with your own lips forming them and your own tongue curling around every syllable.

What the hell am I doing?

Eddie pauses. Seconds drag on like nails on a chalkboard as he taps a ringed finger thoughtfully on the edge of his empty plate smudged with faint traces of cream cheese and lime zest.

"Fine. On one condition", he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, smiling wide and megawatt bright.

Oh my god is this really happening?

“...Yeah?”

"You're going to undress me"

---

Part two? who knows. Certainly not I.

[ross-hollander]

The hangar crew won't tell you, but...

Every 'mech is a melee 'mech. Doesn't matter if it has weapons mounted on the arms, doesn't matter if the weapons are the arms, you can still use them to bash other people with, it's completely safe. Go for it.

As long as you don't, you know, blow yourself up, repeated reactor overheats are actually perfectly fine. In fact, they're good for it, much better than letting it sit cold or idle. A properly maintained 'mech should be kept just below critical as often as you can stand.

You should paint your kill tallies on the biggest, most prominent (and therefore most often-hit) armor face of your 'mech. The tech team will know not to scrap it for something less battered, of course, because they're courteous like that.

If you're trying for a Death from Above drop, don't bother with the landing mode. After all, 'mech metal has a much softer consistency than roads and soil, so landing on one is sure to be easier on the legs of your 'mech than a standard drop.

The hangar teams really love washing crushed PBI off the feet of your 'mech. It's practically the highlight of their day, trying to spot bits in the slurry from the power-washer. They've got a bet pool going, it's ten points if you spot an intact limb, twenty for a head.

The glass on your cockpit? Yeah, you can get that at any auto shop, pretty much. Probably window places too. Don't worry about it at all. You look so much cooler coming in with a panel or two blown out, and they can get combat-grade replacements in any major settlement, no problem.

[gayleatherstories]

Becoming a biker's sub

It all started with car trouble. I was moving myself and my meager belongings to the other side of the country trying to start anew.

I closed all my accounts (didn't have much in them anyway), sold pretty much everything I could sell, donated the rest and started my trek across the map.

Unfortunately for me after a couple days of driving my shitbox of a car suddenly just stopped working. That's how I found myself on the side of a seemingly empty stretch of highway bent over my car's engine. Hoping that through sheer power of will I could get the damn thing to start working again.

After about 30 minutes of this I suddenly hear the rumbling sound of a motorcycle heading my way. To my surprise the biker parked his bike a couple meters in front of my car. Dismounted his vehicle and made his way over to my situation.

The man in question was taller than me, had a bit of a belly and was dressed in head to toe tight shiny black leather. and after taking a quick look at my broken down engine proceeded to propose driving me to his house so I could call road assistance.

I agreed, grabbed my backpack with my most important stuff (like passport, drivers license etc) and propped myself on the backseat of this man's harley. He revved his engine making me grab on to his leather covered waist to steady myself.

After the drive to his place, which had been further away than I had presumed, we dismounted and he led me inside. For some reason I had expected him to change out of his full leather look but he just took of his biker jacket, revealing a short sleeved leather button-up and a pair of toned arms.

After showing me his landline he offered me a beer, which I accepted, and took one for himself and sat himself down at his kitchen table while I called a tow truck to get my car and bring it to the closest auto repair shop.

After my phonecall I joined the biker, who's name turned out to be Mark, at his kitchen table.

We talked for a while during which I told him about how I was leaving everything behind to start anew. At some point I somehow got half a bottle of beer spilled all over me. Mark kindly offered his washer & dryer for my beer soaked clothes, showed me his bathroom where I could shower and told me he'd put out some clothes for me to wear while my stuff was being washed.

The pile of 'clothes' that Mark had laid out for me were interesting to say the least. It consisted of the tightest, shortest leather shorts that for some reason had a zipper running from the back to the front of the garment and a tight leather polo shirt. Since I didn't want to go out there naked I squeezed myself into the shorts and top.

I came out of his bedroom and during my shower Mark had gotten comfortable on his leather couch. His shirt was now hanging open revealing the harness he'd been wearing underneath made out of wide leather straps. One of which disappeared into his leather pants.

While looking at his chosen outfit for me, he padded the couch cushion next to him. Making me suddenly realise that I actually had no idea where I was and that I couldn't go anywhere as long as I was dressed the way I was dressed.

I sat down.

As he kept staring at my leather clad body I noticed he'd started messaging his leather bulge and he asked me if I had ever been with a man before. To which I said that I hadn't since I was straight. He thought for a second and then asked if I knew how I was actually going to repay the kindness he showed me so far. I told him that I didn't have any money. He said that there are other ways to thank a man than to pay him money and slowly unzipped his leather pants revealing a long thick uncut cock. I repeated that I was straight to which Mark replied with an ultimatum. Either I could leave now dressed as I was barefoot or 'play with his dick a little' until my clothes we're dry.

It was getting dark outside and I knew my chances of survival would be low so I slowly slid myself closer and grabbed Mark's dick with two shakey hands. I took comfort in the fact that no one would know I'd jerked off a guy and started moving my hands up and down.

Because I was so preoccupied with contemplating my life choices that had led me up to this point, I didn't notice the camera Mark had hidden in his living room.

After a while Mark noticed I was getting tired so he let me know that the quickest way to make him come was with oral. I said that there's no way I'd put a man's cock in my mouth to which he said that it was totally my choice and he was willing to put on a condom but that I wasn't getting my stuff back until he'd cum.

After a couple of minutes I just wanted this whole ordeal to be over with so I kneeled in-between Marks knees while he grabbed a condom out of a side table. With his cock wrapped in latex I slowly put his dick in my mouth. As I started going up and down I heard Mark call me a good boy which only added to my humiliation. When he started to get close he surprised me by grabbing my head with both hands and fucking my mouth with his latex covered cock. Finally, Mark came and released his hold on my head. I started coughing the second I didn't have a dick ramming down my throat.

Mark told me he was sorry for losing control and offered me a glass of water. I told him to fuck off and that he was fucked up. I decided I had had enough and went to grab my clothes from the dryer. Turns out Mark had taken my clothes and probably hidden them somewhere. When I walked back into the living room to confront him Mark was slowly jerking off while looking at a leather porn he'd put on. Before I could start shouting Mark told me how good I was on camera and nodded to the screen.

There I was on my knees in leather seemingly willingly sucking another leather man's cock.

I asked him what he was planning to do with that footage to which he said that obedience gets rewarded with anonymity. I asked him what that meant and as a response he got up, walked until he was right in front of me and ordered me do put his semihard cock back into his leather pants. Feeling completely hopeless about my situation I did as I was told. When I zipped his trousers back up he told me to follow him.

He took me to his basement which at first glance looked like something from a bdsm porn set. He told me to hold out my wrists which he subsequently cuffed together and attached to a chain that hung from the ceiling. Effectively stretching my arms above my head. Mark told me he was going to make some adjustments to my "uniform" before we'd go to sleep. At this point I was so caught up in my anxiety about the whole thing I didn't even try to fight back.

Turns out the adjustments were a steel chastity cage, a thick leather collar and he switched my leather shorts out for leather chaps. When I asked if could get any underwear Mark laughed and said sure. My relief was short-lived when said underwear turned out to be a shiny bright pink latex thong. After I was deemed properly dressed Mark took me over to a full length mirror. I looked like a leather fetish guy. With a hand on my now exposed ass Mark said it was time for bed and guided me back upstairs.

In his bedroom he told me to get on the bed on my stomach. He chained my collar to the bed and cuffed my arms behind my back. After taking off all his clothes, except the harness, he laid down next to me. I was shaking like a leaf this point wondering if I was about to get fucked. Mark seemingly having read my thoughts told me that if I didn't want to fall asleep with his cock buried inside me, he'd settle for making out but I'd have to make him feel like I wanted to kiss him. I said ok to which Mark draped me over his side one hand on my ass and the other guiding my head towards his face. To my surprise I didn't mind the kissing as much as everything else I had done with this man. I was so focused on kissing Mark, I didn't even notice when one of Mark's fingers was gently rubbing over my asshole. After a while my captor said we should get some sleep and to my surprise I was dead to the world not long after Mark's breathing had evened out.

[victoriaplaysims]

foundry cove, pt 1

quick info: gallery id: findingvictoria lot name: scandinavian suburb pt 1 lot type: uploaded both as residential and residential rental lot size: 30 x 20 lot value: 157,821 original lot: bargain bend, w.c. units: 2

my savefile version of the foundry cove neighborhood in willow creek will be scandinavian inspired, and one of the most common builds here are definitely colorful, boxy, townhouses/row houses such as these. i made the yellow one for the pancakes family and the orange is perfect for a young family expecting their first child (it has a spare bedroom for when the grandparents come to help out). both have lots of activity items (gardening, yoga mat, chess table, games table, reading nooks, etc), washer and dryer, spacious kitchen and lots of clutter to make the homes feel lived in (the orange house has more of a "recently moved in" feel). i had a fun time building and decorating this lot, but i really wish we could change the gallery cover photo (gallery fail screenshot below lol)

by: @victoriaplaysims

open for more photos

let's start with the yellow house. it has 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms with both shower and tub.

now, the orange house

aaand last but not least: the very unfortunate, unflattering auto cover photo

[cecilysass]

Shine On (1/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter One: Vandy

Rawlins Middle School Rawlins, Wyoming February 3, 2015

“Vandy.” Louis slams into Jackson with the force of his entire body. It’s an affectionate body slam, but also hard enough for Jackson to lose his pencil and nearly his armful of books and binders. “Did you hear? I hope it’s true. It better be true.”

“What are you talking about?” Jackson bends over to pick up the pencil, trying not to get knocked over again by the continual current of students on their way to third period.

“The police came to shut the school down. We’re getting out of here, bro.”

Jackson looks up at his friend skeptically. “Louis, what are you talking about, seriously?”

“Second period we could see the police coming into the building.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive. And I heard it was because there was a bomb threat and they’re going to close school right after lunch.”

“If it was a bomb threat, they wouldn’t wait to close school,” Jackson points out. “They’d close it right away.”

“Maybe it’s not a for sure bomb threat,” Louis replies. He looks suddenly doubtful. “Fuck, it better be true. I haven’t finished my essay yet.”

“What did you plan to do if there wasn’t a bomb threat?” Jackson asks curiously.

“Hey Vandy.” Delia Rich suddenly appears next to Jackson, and he quickly straightens his posture. Delia is so pretty: brown hair, bangs, pink cheeks, round behind. “Did you hear about the girl in seventh grade?”

“No, I didn’t,” Jackson says. His tone is considerably more polite all of a sudden. “What about her?”

Delia leans toward him seriously and lowers her voice. “She killed her parents and herself and the police are here to question everyone.”

“Naw, the police are here for the bomb threat,” Louis says dismissively, shimmying to the side to avoid a group of loud and oblivious sixth grade girls walking past them.

“Who told you about that?” Jackson asks Delia, frowning.

“Hannah R. in 8C,” Delia says, shrugging. She seems to think of something else. “Oh, Vandy.” Her eyes widen and roll dramatically. “Did you study for algebra? Oh my god, it was awful.”

“Yeah.” Jackson nods, but he’s distracted, even from a conversation he would normally be thrilled to be having.

“I spent three hours last night on quadratic equations,” Delia says. “I’m not even exaggerating. I should have asked you for help.”

“Because he’s such a fucking nerd?” Louis adds helpfully.

“No, because he’s really good at helping with math,” Delia says to Jackson, bumping into him a little. “Can you quiz me before class?”

Over Delia’s shoulder, Louis begins to raise his eyebrows up and down significantly like a maniac. Jackson studiously ignores him.

“Yeah, but I, uh, gotta stop in there first,” Jackson says, gesturing vaguely behind her.

“Stop in where?” She looks around the hall.

“Restroom,” Jackson says, irrationally embarrassed.

“Oh, right.” Delia turns back around. “I’ll see you in a few minutes then?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, attempting the most winning smile he can muster as she darts across the hall into the classroom.

Louis immediately shoves his shoulder. “What are you doing, dumbass? I thought you liked her.”

“I do,” Jackson says pathetically. “But I have to use the restroom. For real.”

“Jesus, you have absolutely no game.”

Jackson decides not to bring up his friend’s own unsuccessful record with girls. “I’ll talk to you later, Louis.” He begins to make a beeline for the boys’ room.

“Wait, are we playing GTA after school?” Louis calls as Jackson begins to walk away.

“Uh, no,” Jackson calls back. “I can’t today. My parents stayed home to meet the guy delivering our new washer and dryer.” Jackson’s mom hates Grand Theft Auto, so he can only play when she’s out of the house.

“You’re a loser,” Louis responds good-naturedly. “See you later.”

Jackson flees, weaving in and out between students hurrying to make it to class on time.

As soon as Jackson is inside the restroom, he heads directly for the third stall, the only one with a fully functioning lock on the door.

By some miracle, it’s unoccupied. Actually, the whole bathroom is empty. He hurries inside and fastens the latch as quickly as possible.

And then for a moment he stands there, clutching his books and trying to catch his breath. He stares at the back of the stall door. It is covered in scrawled “suck my dick” and “turrrn uuup” in black marker.

Jackson’s not sure why the news of the police coming to his school has him so worked up, but it does. He can still feel his heart racing. Every muscle in his body is tense.

Calm down. Calm down.

He places a hand on his chest and counts to four as he breathes in, then holds his breath for a count of seven, then breathes out. It’s a technique his therapist likes to recommend to him. He’s slightly skeptical that it really works, but he tries it anyway. When he’s getting worried or irrationally fearful, when his emotions start to betray him, he wants anything that will help.

After a minute, the bell rings. Now he’s officially late for algebra. And they’re having a test, one he’s prepared for.

He should leave this bathroom.

He should go to class right now, take his tardy gracefully, sit down, smile at Delia, get out his pencil, and take his test.

Still, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even begin to move. Every instinct is telling him not to move.

Instead, he closes his eyes and empties his mind.

Hesitantly, he begins to push out cautious little tendrils to probe around him in the school. He doesn’t really want to do this, but something deep inside tells him it’s important. That he needs to.

People’s minds feel different, have different textures to them. Right now, as he shines into people, as he gently touches the minds closest around him with his own, he can tell that most of them are kids, his friends and classmates. Kids’ minds are usually sort of bright and loud and flashy, like commercials for kids’ cereals. Every once in a while there’s a kid mind that’s very sad, unusually sad, but even then it’s sad in stark, dramatic colors, clear and tragic and obvious. Kids don’t hide things well.

But he brushes against adult minds in the school, too: teachers, mainly. Adults’ inner lives are so much more complicated than kids’. Harder to get into. Some of them are complex and curlicued, like honeycombs, and others are like smooth stones you find on a riverbed. Some are like an animal carcass rotting, full of holes you don’t want to shine into too deep.

It’s because of adults’ minds that Jackson doesn’t like shining into people’s heads very much. He’d prefer to stay out of other people’s minds as much as possible.

He peeks into the teachers’ minds just enough to identify them, to see their memories: their own faces in the mirror, their classes back up at them, bored faces staring from desks. He’s not looking for a teacher, so he moves along quickly. He doesn’t want to see any of their secrets.

Finally he’s found something different: the front office, a group of minds clustered together, a cloud of anxiety shared among them. One of them he recognizes must be his principal, Mr. Werther – he can see in his memories speaking into the intercom for the morning announcements today. Mr. Werther is feeling very troubled about something right now. His thoughts are racing. He’s wondering what the right decision is. He’s wondering whether he will be blamed if something goes wrong. His mind feels like a soda bottle shook up, ready to burst.

Quickly, Jackson switches his shine to another mind in the group, someone calmer. This mind is sharper, metallic-feeling, and he realizes that it’s a police officer, someone in charge, someone named Davis. He pushes further into Davis’s mind, into his current consciousness, and he sees that Davis is trying to explain the situation to Mr. Werther, trying to assure him that everyone will be safe, trying to let him know that there is back-up waiting right outside the school. Davis doesn’t think Mr. Werther is very smart.

Dimly, Jackson is aware that he is tightening his grip on his books, his anxiety rising. Something is very wrong here. He feels it in Davis’s thoughts. He sees flashes of himself.

He prods the shine deeper into Davis’s mind, pushing back thin layers that seem a little like aluminum foil.

In Davis’s recent memory, there is an image of something horrible: a crime scene. Bodies, shot, a man and a woman. Lying on their kitchen floor in a pool of blood, their faces vacant. Davis stands over them, shaking his head, writing notes.

The bodies’ faces are familiar. They’re Jackson’s parents.

Jackson feels himself start to breathe faster.

As though seeing light behind a dirty window, he starts to see what Davis thinks happened.

He thinks Jackson shot his parents before he went to school that morning. Davis pictures it happening: Jackson, shouting, lifting a gun and shooting first his father and then his mother. Davis thinks he possibly has a gun on him now, at school. The police want to apprehend him safely, with no one being hurt.

“We need to consider him dangerous,” Davis’s voice is echoing through his thoughts. “But we can do this in a way that makes sure no one gets hurt.”

All at once Jackson opens his eyes, falling back into his own consciousness, feeling short of breath.

He realizes he’s trembling. Mom. His parents.

Are his parents really dead? How could they be? He saw them just this morning. His mom had reminded him about his therapy appointment tomorrow and his dad had told him to stop leaving lights on. He hadn’t kissed his mom good-bye. He had been in a hurry.

Jackson feels sick. Mom. Mommy.

It’s impossible. He doesn’t want to think about it. He wants his mom. He wants to throw up.

There is a crackling sound echoing through the bathroom, and then the sound of a tinny voice speaking over an intercom. “Students and teachers, please pardon the interruption. Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, would you please come to the main office? Jackson Van De Kamp in eighth grade, come to the main office.”

Jackson tenses his whole body behind the door of the bathroom stall, ready to push through, an instinctive defensive maneuver.

They’re really going to try to arrest him, he realizes. They really think he killed his parents.

He feels panic rising in his stomach, seriously threatening to make him lose his breakfast. They think he’s a killer.

You don’t have to worry. Not you. You can protect yourself. Stay calm.

He closes his eyes again and carefully shifts the perception of all minds around him, giving himself a thirty foot perimeter of altered reality.

It’s a big effort for him — bigger than his usual modest experiments — but he doesn’t feel any headache. Maybe it’s the adrenaline.

Walking like he’s in a dream—like he’s in a nightmare, really—he cautiously steps out of the bathroom.

Anyone looking in the hall simply sees Louis.

Jackson, as Louis, walks down the hallways of his school at the same slow pace, so as not to attract attention. It’s an effort to keep the minds around him altered and his own posture casual and unassuming. He walks past classrooms, watching all around him with his peripheral vision and the little fingers of his mind. Louis, please don’t happen to come out in the hall to use the restroom at this exact moment. Please.

He heads towards the entrance of the school, which means passing the front office. As he approaches, he sees that now there is actually almost no one around the front office at all. That seems weird—usually there are tons of students and teachers congregating near it.

Just keep walking, he thinks. Hopefully you’ll be unnoticed.

As he’s stepping past the door, two policemen emerge, moving quickly.

“Where are you headed, son?” From a quick tap of his mind, Jackson recognizes this man as Davis, the officer apparently in charge.

“My mom’s car. Dentist appointment,” Jackson mutters.

Davis glances out the door, where there is fortunately a car in the parking lot that looks plausibly like a waiting parent. “All right, go quickly. Don’t hang around. We need all students out of this general vicinity.”

Davis waves him out, and Jackson eagerly follows in the direction of his gesture out the door.

The February temperature hits him like a slap in the face. Regretfully he realizes his good winter coat is in his locker, back inside the school.

He keeps walking casually down the steps of the school and down the driveway, already beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

When he gets to the road, out of easy eyesight of the school, he drops his books on the ground and begins to jog. The school is on a wind blown, gray, desolate-looking Wyoming road, with little traffic except for those coming to the school. He drops his Louis perception filter. There’s no one to see.

And after he does, he discovers to his surprise that he’s crying.

He has no idea where he’s going now.

He has a vague idea that he should get out of town—maybe to a big city, like Cheyenne or Denver—but he isn’t sure how to get there. He has no money. He could hitchhike, but the idea of hitchhiking scares him, which makes him feel ashamed.

It’s just he’s too familiar with the kinds of things that adults think about. And after all, someone just killed his parents.

Why did someone kill his parents? Who would do that? His parents never did anything to anyone. They weren’t drug dealers or thieves. They were Lutherans. His mom made casseroles, and his dad carved wooden ducks. They were cheerful, optimistic, the type of people to see the good in everyone. Sometimes Jackson felt like he didn’t have much in common with them— like they saw the world very differently from him— but he loved them. He could never have hurt them. And he hates to think of what they thought, in the moment they died.

He finds himself crying harder as he jogs. He shouldn’t do this now; it’s too cold for tears. He tries to wipe them off with the sleeve of his sweater. But it’s hard to stop crying once he’s started.

He tries to jog faster. Turns it into a run. Maybe this will snap him out of it, clear his head. He’s always been good at running. At the very least it will warm him up.

Just keep running, he tells himself. He smiles a little, because it reminds him of a line from one of his favorite movies when he was a kid, Finding Nemo. Just keep swimming. His mom would repeat the line to him as a joke when he was learning to swim.

He blinks back the tears again and runs harder.

He wonders if Louis will think he really did kill his parents. He wonders if Delia will. He wonders if the other kids at school will all talk about it: Jackson Van De Kamp, the psycho kid who shot his family and was planning on shooting up the school. If they will make up stories about why he was going to do it.

A car passes on the road, and he quickly slips a filter into the driver’s mind: he’s a nice old lady picking up trash along the side of the road.

When the car passes, he continues running and considers his options. He doesn’t have a phone. His parents were waiting until high school to get him one. Even if he did, he couldn’t use it now anyway—the police would track him.

Shelter is an immediate problem. There’s a Frontier Museum in downtown Rawlins. He wonders if he might go inside and find a place to hide overnight, at least until he has a better idea. But the museum costs money to get a ticket, and he doesn’t have money.

He could try to contact his Uncle Wyatt to see if he would help him. But what if Uncle Wyatt believes the story and thinks Jackson killed his parents? Uncle Wyatt has always found Jackson annoying, ever since Jackson threw that basketball into his flatscreen TV when he was six. He could very well decide to turn his nephew in.

Then there is his birth mom. Jackson wishes he could ask her. He thinks he’s seen her, once or twice, in his occasional visions that come in fast and bewildering flashes. At least he thinks it’s her. It’s a woman he has some very close connection to, a red-headed woman, who is always very sad. He wonders if she would help him. He likes to think she would. But that’s a childish fantasy, because he has no clue where to find her. He can’t reach out and try to shine every mind in the whole world to try to locate her. He needs to stick with practical ideas right now.

He’s been walking and running for three miles, the wind biting incessantly into his clothes, when he hears another car coming down the road. With the fingers of his mind, he reaches out towards the driver’s mind to tweak their perception.

But strangely, he finds he can’t. Something in the driver’s mind is pushing back, keeping a wall up so that Jackson can’t change what they see.

He feels a stab of panic. He didn’t know this was possible. He’s never seen this before. Some paranoid part of him wonders if this is the person who killed his parents.

The car is sleek and black, with mirrored windows. It slows down right next to him. Jackson looks wildly back and forth for somewhere to run and hide, just in case there is someone inside with a gun—but there is nothing around him but open land, no possible shelter for miles.

He finds himself doing nothing but standing there stupidly, an open target, his eyes widening as the window rolls down.

“Jackson Van De Kamp?” a female voice says.

“Yeah,” Jackson manages, his voice scarcely a whisper.

It’s a woman: a surprisingly young woman wearing mirrored sunglasses, her blondish hair pulled back in a ponytail. She doesn’t look like a killer. But Jackson knows very well that evil people don’t always look evil.

“It’s come to my attention that you might need some assistance.”

He can’t think of anything to do but bob his chin up and down in a nod.

“Why don’t you get in the car, and we’ll talk?”

It looks so warm inside. He has nowhere to go. She dangles the promise of information, something important he doesn’t know.

Still, some sense of self preservation keeps him from stepping forward. Desperately, he tries to noodle a shine into her mind, trying to see what she’s all about. But he can’t. It’s like it’s boarded up.

She smiles a little at him in a guarded way, not showing her teeth. He has the weirdest feeling that she knows exactly what he is trying to do.

“W-who are you?” he says hoarsely. “Do I know you?”

She sighs, as if she expected this. “If you get in the car, I promise I’ll explain, Jackson.”

He hesitates. Then, taking a deep breath, he starts to make his way toward the passenger door.

Really, what other choice does he have?

***

[mrwolfhare]

Kind of a drawtober thing.

Decided to just pull back on quality to try and get as much done as possible. Am nearly caught up on the list.

<- Previous

8. Sleep 9. Clean 10. Clothes 11. Tools

"Boss, I went to pick up the order numbers in your office, and the thing is sleeping in there."

"Yeah, letting it sleep there for now."

"Why? It smells like it rolled around in gron water. It's going to stink up the place."

"It's fine, tomorrow I'm shoving it in the auto washer."

"Great, it'll start smelling like a new ship. You going to show it to Bherer in tomorrow's meeting?"

"Oh for the love of Hala, I forgot Bherer's paranoia. Yeah, will have to show it to him. Do me a favor and order a uniform. Small. Or tiny, whatever the rodent's size is. Easier to convince Bherer if it's wearing clothes."

"...really?"

"Yeah, really. Guy believes anything not wearing clothes are animals. It's a whole thing with him. Easier to just get the uniform than trying to convince him the plan doesn't hinge on training a giant rodent how to rewire a power grid."

"That is insane."

"Bherer's insane, but we need his backing to grease the right palms."

"No, I'm talking about the whole thing about the rodent rewiring a power grid."

"Yeah, among all the other things we need it to do. That reminds me, can you also order the smallest toolpack available? Easier if the rodent wear that than carrying crap around in a bag."

"Sure boss."

[lizpaige]

sunday snippet 📦

i got nothing like cute/juicy this time around. i'm just trying to write more and sometimes that means it all ends up getting cut, but here's a snippet from the declan outsider pov pynch chapter 2!

The Lynch brothers were helping Ronan move into his first apartment in DC. When Adam transferred for the third time to Georgetown and his financial aid and scholarships no longer covered room and board, they agreed to find a place together. Declan offered to help set up some of the apartment tours, but in the end, Adam found this affordable one bedroom on his own. 

It was a secure access building with a doorman and 24 hour security. It was a 10 minute metro ride and 20 minute full commute to Georgetown, a little longer of a commute to his new auto body shop part time job, but not unreasonable. He somehow managed to convince Ronan to compromise and split the rent 50/50 despite Ronan’s barely-touched trust fund. He had two years left of college, two years where even though DC was closer to Singer’s Falls, neither of them could stand the time apart anymore. 

“Why do you have so much stuff?” Matthew whined, hefting a cardboard box onto the desk in the living room. 

“We’re giving you all the lightest boxes,” Declan winced at the loud bang as Ronan let go of his side of the couch. “We’re the ones doing all the work here.”

“And you had way more shit when I helped you move to DC,” Ronan groaned as he stretched his back before knocking off Matthew’s hat and ruffling his curls. “I didn’t complain.”

Matthew swatted him away. “Yes you did!”

“Did not!” 

Declan raised his gaze to the ceiling as his brothers fell into an exhausted half-hearted wrestling match on the couch. He decided to take the time to look around the place. 

Declan trusted Adam’s judgment more than Ronan’s on the affordability, security, and overall fit of the apartment. So when Ronan begrudgingly told them a move-in date, Declan offered to help them move in. Somewhat because Adam seemed hesitant about the extra cost of hiring movers and also because Declan wanted to scope out the place.

The apartment itself was a modest one bedroom, with a large windowless closet marketed as a “den” by the apartment complex “perfect for a home office,” but Declan thought that was a joke. The bathroom was clean, spacious. There was even a washer and dryer in-unit and a dishwasher in the kitchen. The complex itself was pet friendly, although Chainsaw was not with them currently. No doubt she was shredding up Declan’s couch in their Boston apartment with Jordan. 

In the bedroom, in the corner by the window, were three modest boxes and a potted plant on the window sill. These were not boxes that they moved in, so these must belong to Adam.

It was then that Declan really realized most, if not all, of the stuff they moved was Ronan’s. Adam, despite being on his own for years now, never accumulated a lot of stuff. Even when he would visit the Barns or Boston for a week-long holiday, he would only ever have a small duffle bag over one shoulder with just enough room for a change of clothes and whatever textbooks he needed to complete his homework. 

Even the furniture they brought upstairs - the old desk was from Ronan's room, that they basically let collect dust as soon as they were old enough to have their own desks at school. The couch was another Barns hand-me-down, as well as some of the kitchen items. 

It all belonged to Ronan, legally, so Declan didn’t speak to it. Just another observation he kept to himself for fear of starting another argument. Even though they didn’t argue as much anymore, they still happened to fight. That was always going to be inevitable with the eldest Lynch brothers. Declan just knew how to avoid the landmines with a higher survival rate now.