#clothes dryers under $500

[nogling]

$65000 a year is not quite middle class.

It is by no means “rich”.

Most people making $65k a year are living paycheck to paycheck. They cannot afford to buy a house. They cannot afford childcare. Since most jobs that pay $65k a year require some form of secondary education, chances are they have pretty substantial student loan debt.

$65000 in 2024 is the equivalent of, funnily enough, about $17000 in 1980.

A person making $65k a year is likely taking home about $950 a week after taxes/insurance.

Average rent for a one bedroom apartment in the US is currently $1563 a month - let’s say this hypothetical person lives in a part of the country that is somewhere in the middle, between low cost of living and high cost of living, so let’s adjust that down a skosh to, say, $1450 a month.

$950 x 4 = $3800 per month - let’s say $4000 for easier math and to account for months with 5 paychecks, rather than four. That makes the average one bedroom apartment about 36% of your income.

Now let’s get some groceries - average grocery cost per person is $240 to $425 a month. Let’s make that $300, for easy math. We’re down to $2250, now, by the way.

Let’s go ahead and get some utilities for that apartment, shall we? Let’s estimate $150 for electric, $50 for basic internet, and $100 for a cell phone. Down to $1950.

Now we have to talk about transportation. Most of the US realistically requires a car, and most people buy cars on credit, so let’s say our hypothetical person has decent credit and bought an economical used car - let’s go with a five year old Toyota Corolla, with a little under 100k miles. According to auto trader, with decent credit and a $500 down payment, that 2018 Corolla will cost $371 a month - for easy math, let’s call that $350.

But cars require insurance - and since it’s financed, that means full coverage. Let’s assume our hypothetical person is a pretty safe driver, so their insurance is $150 a month. They also need fuel - average price of gas in the US is $3.25 a gallon. That Corolla has a 12 gallon tank, and gets good gas mileage - chances are our hypothetical person can get by with a full tank every two weeks, which works out to about $80 a month. That car will be pretty reliable, as long as you maintain it - let’s set aside $20 a month for things like oil changes and tires and windshield wiper blades and air filters and brakes. We’re down to $1350.

Okay, so we have a roof, a vehicle, food, phone, and internet. Let’s go ahead and start accounting for things like clothes, shoes, dishes/furniture, the kind of thing that you don’t necessarily buy every month but do require periodic replacement. Let’s set aside $200 a month for these kinds of expenses.

Chances are that one bedroom apartment doesn’t have a washer and dryer, so we need to account for laundry - let’s say $50 a month, or roughly $10 a week, plus a little extra to give us some cushion when the only machines open are the little ones, and the dryers are busted and take three rounds.

Our hypothetical person is trying to stay healthy, so they also have a gym membership - $50 a month will get you access to the Y, which is pretty sweet. Down to $1050 now. They probably also want some kind of entertainment, so let’s give ‘em a Netflix account and a little bit of DoorDash money - let’s go with $150 a month, which lets them eat out once a week and watch some TV.

$900 to go.

The average monthly student loan payment is $500.

Oof, that doesn’t leave a lot of wiggle room. Now that remaining $400 a month has to cover things like….doctor’s appointments, prescriptions, personal hygiene, and savings.

What that means is that someone making $65k a year is one emergency away from serious financial struggle. It means they have their needs met pretty consistently, but can’t afford to save for a house or a vacation, can’t afford to have children, can’t afford a wedding, can’t afford a serious illness. They are definitely not rich.

If you make $17000 a year, you deserve to make more money. Period. But that money shouldn’t come from the people making $65000 a year - it should come from the people making $2 million an hour.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[saving-word-crawls]

The "Clean Your Room" Crawl

By: syd_blackwell

I have this stuffed in the back of my Google Drive – this doc hasn’t been updated since 2016 – but it’s a quick way to get some words and refresh a space!!

Glad you finally decided to clean your room. Write 100 words as you hop out of bed- and then proceed to make your bed.

Wow! Looking much better with those pillows off the floor. But there’s still trash everywhere. Count the number of pieces of trash as you throw them away, then multiply that number by 100 and write that many words.

Okay, nice. Your room is starting to look less like a pigsty, so that’s cool, but it also looks more like the backstage of a fashion show will all those clothes everywhere. Toss that dirty laundry into the washer, and then sit back down and write for the whole wash cycle.

Okay, now where are those plot notes? Buried under that mountain of old essays and homework, of course. Outline your next scene, and then organize all that junk in your work area. (If you’ve already outlined all your scenes, take the number of scenes you’ve already written and sprint for that many minutes.)

Now we’re looking spiffy. Oh- and your laundry’s washed! Pop that laundry into the dryer and then take a quick glance at the rest of your notes, just to make sure your plot won’t dry up… (If you have no notes, sprint to the next thousand.)

Take a break while your laundry finishes drying! BONUS: Go the extra mile and attempt to sprint to 1k before it dries!

Wow, your laundry’s dry already? Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. Fold your laundry, and then put it away.

You got a great idea as you were folding your laundry. I’m sure you can fit a sock monster into your novel somehow… Sprint to 500. Bonus prompt: A character tells a story about some wacky creature and claims it as true (example: getting attacked by a sock monster, which totally happened).

Oh no. You totally forgot where you put your calculator. How will you know how many words you have left today? Organize one item of furniture (dresser, bookshelf, nightstand, etc.) as you hunt down your calculator.

Nice! You tracked it down! But it seems those dust bunnies have also tracked you down- Sprint for ten minutes to outrun them.

If you get more than 250 words: you’ve found a vacuum! Go ahead and beat up those dust bunnies with it by vacuuming your room.

If you write less than 250 words: Oh no! They’ve got you! Sprint for five more minutes as you frantically search for a vacuum to suck those bunnies up and away.

Wow! Nice job! Have you considered going into housekeeping? Celebrate your clean room with someone else by racing to 250 words.

[nathank77]

5/12/24

10:51 p.m added to

I just saw a mouse scurry passed my room. I'm once again panicking. I was thinking about going to the er bc of a lot of heart palpitations. But all they say is irregular ekg. Pvcs and go home. It's a lot of stress for nothing... added stress... and they may not expedite my appt...

Also I shoved dryer sheets into my clothes drawers.. so it doesn't fucking make another home in one of very few spaces for my things and now I did this:

It ran under that cabinet outside my room.. I used tin foil and put mint Tooth paste on it bc I'm panicking.. last time we had a mouse it made a fucking bed in one of drawers I no longer use bc I can still see the shit it was shredding all over my clothes. And I just got new socks and boxers I can't have one of these nasty germ carriers living in my room.

I hope the mint Toothpaste keeps it out of my room... I hope the dryer sheets in my drawers keep my clothes safe. I only spent 500$ on my new clothes and I don't need some disgusting vermin living in it.

I was panicking when I left the bathroom cause my mom wasn't lying I just didn't get a good look at it she left the plunger in the toilet and towels all around the toilet... and then like 5 minutes later of having heart palpitations a fucking disgusting mouse runs by my room. And all I can think about is it finding its way in my room and fucking make a nest in one of my few drawers.

My rooms a mess I live out of a Laundry basket for christ sake. I have no room for anything half my shit is on the floor... and I can't have this disgusting thing come in here. I'll start panicking. I'm already panicking.

[mint-moon25]

LOVE - THIS - BACKLIT

BLUETOOTH KEYBOARD

OUR - LIFE - A - MIRACLE

WITH - BLUETOOTH - ME

ASKED - GIRL - WORKER

HOW - LONG - NEXT DAY

4 - SIGN - UP - SHEET

SHELTER - SHE - SAID

10A - 11A - 2P

THEY - DON'T - KNOW

CAMILLUS HOUSE

DOESN'T - KNOW

EVEN - 4 - SHELTER

15 MIN - SHOWER

TACKY - AMERICANS

MY - GOAL

SPEAK - TONGUES

$500 BILLION

SING - TONGUES

$500 BILLION - AGAIN

TAX - PAID

2 CHRONICLES - LAST

PART - 'MONEY - YES

ANSWERS - ALL'

NEW - DEMOCRAT

PARTY - NEW YES

DEMOCRATS

NEW - DEMOCRATS

BETTER - LIVING

USA - & - WORLD

FAMILIES - SINGLES

MARRIED - DIVORCED

FAMILIES

NEW - DEMOCRAT - INN

$0.25 - DAILY

WASHER - DRYER

DRY CLEAN - INCLUDED

GATED - COMMUNITY

ELECTRONIC - ENTRY

TIRED - OF PEOPLE 2

DOES - MISSIONARIES

OF - MOTHER - TERESA

SHELTER - 4P - 7A

FRIDAY - 2 - WEDNESDAY

DAILY - SHELTER WOMEN

KIDS - BOYS UNDER AGE 6

NEAR - JACKSON MEMORIAL

HOSPITAL - DINNER - AND

BREAKFAST - CAN WE YES

LEAVE - WHEN - 2B - BACK

ELECTRICITY - PLUGS

HOW MANY - WOMEN

PER - ROOM - CAN WE

LEAVE - CAMILLUS

HOUSE - 10P - CURFEW

ONE - OF - THE - BEST

WEBSITES - DON'T HAVE

THIS - DETAIL - WHAT

DO - THEIR - ROOMS

LOOK - LIKE - HAVE 2

GET - RID - NECK PILLOW

GOT - RID - OF - 1 SOLAR

NO - LONGER - WORKING

HOURS - RECHARGING

JUST - 1 BLUE LIGHT

THREW - AWAY

THREW - BAMBOO BRUSH

LARGE - BULKY - NO - NEED

BOUGHT - LOTS - OF

ANTI - AGING - NEED

SPACE - SO - THE - RUN

DRIVER - DIDN'T - SAY

WHERE - 2 - GO - ON

WEEKENDS

OFFICER - BAEZ

STREETS - NOT - ALLOWED

4 - HOMELESSNESS

NOT - UNDER - BRIDGES

NOT - NEAR - OVERPASS

ABOVE - ROADS

THUS - HOMELESSNESS

NOT - QUITE - LEGAL

BUT - DRIVER - FORGOT

WHERE - I - CAN - GO

WEEKENDS

WHITE - MALE - SAW

HE - SAID - ONCE - I GET

BED - I'M - IN - REPEATS

DAILY - WITH - MOTHER

THERESA - I KNOW WHERE

2 - GO - AND - 4P - DAILY

2ND - BLUE - DOOR

BAMBOO - BRUSH - ABOVE

DOESN'T - SAY - 2 - AIM THE

BRUSH - 2 - THE - HEART

JUST - BRUSH - BODY

B 4 - SHOWER - SEVERAL

TIMES - EACH - AREA

REMOVES - DEAD SKIN

CELLS - ITS - BAMBOO

NEXT - WILL - REMOVE

CELLULITE - BECAUSE YOU

ARE - AWAKENING - SKIN

4 - ME - IT DECREASES

CONSTANT - NEED FOR

LOTION - NATURAL OIL

COMES - OUT - NICELY

THEN - SHOWER - WITH

EXFOLIATES - REVIEW

ENJOYED - SHOWER WITH

THE - CLOTH - SCRUBBER

BECOMES - DIRTY ON THE

EDGES - BULKY - BUT - THE

LOOK - CHANGES

BAMBOO - BRUSH - STAYS

THE - SAME - LOOK - LIKE

SO - GETTING - BAMBOO

BRUSH - ABOVE - NO MORE

CLOTH - SCRUBBER - FOR

LOOKS - WORN - OUT

EVENTUALLY - WAIT'G

4 - LIBRARY - ALSO ME

THREW - 2 USB - OTHER

ATTACHMENT - DON'T

NEED - CHECKING BEST

FASTER - RECHARGER

AND - USB - CHECKING

[sponfawn]

I will add, as an American, there are actually a Number of places in america where we literally are not allowed to just... Dry our clothes on a line outside. Because classism. It's stupid, I know. So a lot of us do have to line dry inside which is not ideal, especially in more humid areas. A lot of us also use laundromats, tho where there are dryers.

But yeah, OP is being classist af. Even in America, a lot of us can't afford a dryer under $500, and/or don't have the room or a hookup for one.

A relative lack of appliances is Like THE europoorism but a microwave or dryer is <500 dollars and lasts like at least a decade so they're not actually a significant expense. And I don't think European living spaces are smaller enough that they can't FIT these things. So what's going on. Are they stupid

[saturnsstufff]

Awsamdude-Taking my Hat Darlin'?

Warnings: sexual innuendos

   There was always a unsaid code around the farms, bars, and just in your small town.

   Never take a Cowboy's hat unless your planning to go home with him.

   But you didn't know this. Although you had lived around the area, you did move away briefly for college. Moving back in with your Grandmother for the summer, so it was quite understandable.

   Your grandmother was a quaint little thing, like every southern grandmother, you were well loved, fed and raised well. She was proud of you, and the woman you had become.

   Moving back for the summer left you excited and a bit sad. The busy college life had became the normal, something you found a little peace in was your daily routine, which was now disturbed and replaced with anew. But by the end you were not disappointed.

    The little snippet of information you forgot, was that your Grandmother lived next to a rather large farm. Which was nothing bad of course, its where your elementary friend Sam lived for a long time. The two of you were inseparable, always walking to the bus stop together, spending holidays together, and anything and everything under the sun.

   All n all you were the best of friends.

   But he didn't attend a college, to you he had practically dropped off all communication it seemed. Part of you worried he didn't want to see you truthfully.

   The Sunday was normal, most of the town being off at Church, well very few stayed home. Of course you had explained to your grandmother that you had to catch up on laundry, and other items you hadn't had time for, so with a sweet kiss to your head and a hug, your grandmother parted off.

   The day was more than hot enough to hang the clothes and sheets out on the line, rather than fuss with the dryer. But well you hanged up the clothes, the last thing you expected to see was a bronze horse riding towards you, well a handsome young boy rode atop, hips rocking along with the easy gallop. His hat hid the sun from his eyes, his hand securely holding the reins well a joyful dog ran beside him.

   It looked like a movie scene.

   "Hey Darlin' did you happen to see a young calf run through here?" His accent ran through with a thick roll, yet his voice was soft and shown his kindness.

   You batted your eyes a bit and looked around a bit. "Not that I remember..." when you looked back to the Boy you noticed him curse under his breath.

   "Alright'... well thank you, if you do- please let me know- my ma's gonna kill me" he said, lightly tugging at the reins to turn the horse. When you expected him to run off he paused a moment. Turning back to face you. "You uh- look very familiar... What's your name?" He asked, confusion lacing through his gaze.

   You paused a moment, noticing he looked familiar too. "(Y/n)... I'm staying with my Grandma currently..." you explained, your mind trying to recall where you have seen his face.

   The boy blinked a bit, his cheeks flushing red well he glanced you over briefly. "Well I'll be darned... Look at you." He said, looking at you in awe.

   Well he obviously recognized you, you didn't recognize him. "I'm sorry, but... you look familiar but I don't know from where." You apologized slowly. The boy didn't take any offense however, instead he grinned, tilting his hat a bit to you.

   "Don't remember me? Sam?" He said amused.

   Your jaw dropped. Last you saw of Sam, he was just a small, slim famers son, he couldn't even look you in the eyes, and now he’s looking down at you with soft gazing eyes. "S-Sam??" You stammered, questions flooding your mind well He couldn't help and chuckle.

   "Yes ma'am. You should stop by my place tonight, were having a bonfire, it would be great to catch up with you again over a drink or two- I'd love to stay and talk but I gotta' find that missin' calf before the coyotes do" he said giving you a smile. With a swing of his hips and a nudge of his boot he took off down the trail again. Leaving you with a open jaw.

   You did end up taking that offer- and about the other 500 ones he offered. Late night bonfires became a thing, a thing the two of you often did together.

   But soon those turned into dinner dates, and trips to the local bar for dancing. But you would never forget the one night...

   You and Sam had been out dancing, which had ended with you having a few shots of whiskey- and then having the confidence to try and ride the mechanical bull.

   Sam was not going to stop you, with him having a few drinks, if anything, he wanted to see how your hips swiveled, and kept time with that bull, and boy he wasn't disappointed.

   His eyes were glued to your body the whole time, even when he took a sip he would make eye contact with you over the edge of his glass. Any onlookers would have assumed the two of you were personal.

   Well- almost everyone.

   One woman had been looking Sam up all night, to her, he was the best thing she had ever seen. But when you had hopped off that bull and strung yourself on Sam's arm- she was livid.

   She couldn't help but try and up you, so she hopped up on the bull and -sloppily, tried to copy you. But to her dismay Sam didn't pay her any mind, his eyes glued to you.

   So she tried again. Only this time she took it too far for Sam.

   You had been dancing against Sam, his hands holding your hips, holding you both together. Without a second thought she had roamed up and started to try and dance against him, shoving you from his arms.

   Of course Sam wasn't having it, but what made him livid, is when she took his hat and put it on her head. His jaw went from slack to tightened. He didn't lash or yell but his face said it all. So you took the stance for him.

   Without a second thought you took the hat from her, putting it on your own head, not missing a beat when grabbing his arm and pulling him away from her sharply. "I suggest you find someone else... This ones mine."

   Sam couldn't help but feel a bit turned on by your forwardness. When the woman stop and stuttered, Sam wrapped his arms around you tighter, his own way of showing his possessiveness.

   "Now, now... No need to get protective there Darlin'..." Sam cooed into your ear, his breath hot against your ear and neck.

   By the time the two of you had decided to leave, it was nightfall, the Peeper's were out and croaking well the dew hugged the grass, showing the signs of a colder summer night.

   When you had walked up to Sam's truck, like usual he had moved to open the door for you, but paused short before pushing the handle. With a confused look, you glanced up at him.

   Taking the cue that he wanted to talk. You turned to face him, his hat still firmly rested on your head. "Baby girl... do you know what it means when you steal a Cowboy's hat?..." he asked, tone low and flirty.

   You felt heat rush your cheeks, or maybe it was the warm liquor running through you, either way you shook your head slowly. Earning a chuckle deep from Sam's throat. "It means you intend to take that Cowboy home... and uh... well" he said, risking a glance up towards his hat. "You takin me home?..."

   Well you faltered with words, Sam watched your eyes glance to his lips. Picking up the cue of what you had in mind.

   "Did you want a kiss?..." he asked quietly. "Or is the liquor talking?..."

   "I want to kiss you..." you said quietly, hoping for him to lean closer.

   Thankfully he didn't hesitate, with your back pressed to his pickup, he kissed you, his warm firm hands holding your hips gently.

   Yet all your brain was saying, was "Never take a Cowboy's hat unless your planning to go home with him"

[revengeoftheantichrist]

Red Flags

Warnings: Serial killers, breaking and entering, torture, manipulation and broken bones AN: Huge thank you to @9layerdevilfoodcake and the lovely Carissa for bouncing some ideas and beta reading this while I was struggling!

AO3

Michael had enough. He was tired and hungry, getting nothing more than delirious in this forest. He stood on shaky legs, not caring about the blood of the goat he just killed. He didn’t know where he was going, just letting his feet carry him to wherever they pleased. He no longer cared about the destination. His surroundings faded into nothingness, until a familiar white-picket fence came into view. He finally focused on his surroundings, immediately starting to sob when he recognised where he was. His childhood home, his grandmother’s house. His body must have craved the familiarity and the warm embrace that only she could provide. But like every other mother figure in his life, she was dead, and he blamed himself. With bleary eyes he pushed open the squeaky gate. The smell of roses made the memories rapidly flash through his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door.

The house had been untouched for years. Dust and cobwebs everywhere. He thought of his grandmother watching the house fall into this state of decay. Watching.

He felt the eyes of the house next door on him. He refused to look out the window. He didn’t want to see the looks of disgust and pity. He wiped his eyes and stood a little straighter. This was his house now. He could do whatever he wanted here. No one to answer to, no more deadlines and most of all, no more older blonde woman dictating his life. ////

He stared at himself in the mirror. The stubble and lack of sleep seemed to age him. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, it was wild and uneven. The more he looked at himself the more his face began to morph into the women in his life. He hated it. He didn’t want to look like the woman that threw him out at his lowest. Or the woman who, even in her death, could not accept him as hers. He carried the ghosts of next door with him, and he’d do anything to alleviate himself of that burden. He could only change his appearance for so long. Hair dye would eventually fade; contacts would need to be removed and he wasn’t willing to put himself under the knife.

The smell of blood on his clothes pulled him out of his thoughts. The mirror reflected the decrepit house he was in, turning his nose in disgust. With the last of his strength, he mustered a tiny bit of magic, using a spell to clean the house. He walked through the house as it returned to it’s former glory, remembering his own attempts at interior design when he was younger, looking up the beams and archways where he would nail his ‘gifts’ to his grandmother. Times were simpler then. He shook his head of the nostalgia, hoping the plumbing was still working; he needed a nice hot shower.

//// None of the clothes in the closet fit him anymore, he didn’t realise how much he had grown. For now, a towel was the best he could do until his other clothes were out the dryer. He spent his time scouring the house for legal documents, anything that entitled him to some money and the deeds of the house. He needed to get this all under his name, just in case his grandmother used that stupid medium to undermine him. He tugged open the last drawer. Bingo. Everything he needed conveniently placed in one place. Money, a will and the deeds of the house. He would need to go to whatever legal office to get it sorted. The dryer still had time to go. With a big sigh, he sat on the couch. The one that faced the ‘other’ house. He gave a smile to those still watching him. He must have looked demented by the reactions he got from them. The exhaustion and hunger were catching up to him, succumbing to sleep on the couch.

////

It was morning when he woke up. He let his towel fall with a big stretch. Thus was his house; he could do anything. Even walking around naked. He kept the blinds and curtains that faced that house open. Let them watch. He pulled his warm clothes on. The detergent brought back memories, he’d buy a new scent when the time came. He grabbed some cash and whatever documents he needed for the day, venturing out into the big bad world.

////

Humanity deserved to perish simply for the time it took at the bank. The manger was an old lady, greying blonde hair and a pair of ill-fitting glasses. Michael thought she was extremely rude and didn’t hide his distaste when he spoke to her. She asked far too many questions for such a simple procedure. “Young man, aren’t you far too young to be accessing these funds?” she asked, looking over her glasses. “I can’t control when my entire family dies now can I,” he spat back, sick of her already. She continued to look him up and down as she typed away. Printing something off, she slipped a booklet of paperwork to him. “Everything has been approved, your card should arrive in the next few days. Can I do anything else for you?” “I’d like to take out some cash.” “How much?” “$500.” She paused, “what are you planning on doing with that?” Michael was getting beyond irritated, his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temples. “There’s no need to be so rude young man,” she huffed. Michael gave her a sarcastic smile before snatching the money and walking out of the bank. The world would be better off without her. He’d deal with her soon. ////

Michael returned home with numerous bags of clothing and food. He would learn how to cook for himself, takeout was not sustainable. The pantry was stocked with basic essentials, but most of it was stocked with candy and other snacks. No one could stop him from indulging in his gluttony now.

His wardrobe was full of blacks and reds, the perfect colours for him. He was most looking forward to the black jumpsuit. It stood out to him in the store, a style he had never tried before. His fingers drifted over the seams when he tried it on, turning and admiring the various angles in the mirror. He looked up to the clock through the mirror, it was almost 5pm, if he didn’t leave now, he would miss her leaving. ////

Michael waited for the old bank manager to leave. Biding his time in the shadows. He watched her as she said her goodbyes in her shrill voice, then as she walked to her car. Michael stalked behind her, waiting for her to get in. As she got comfortable, she dropped something by her foot pedals. When she reached down to grab it, Michael took the opportunity to get in the car and lock the doors. He smiled at her when she screamed. The parking lot was empty, no one would hear her. “Shhh,” Michael put a finger to his lips, the other hand held up a gun. It was one of Constance’s that she had hidden in the house. The woman suddenly stopped, her shaking hands on the wheel. “You’re going to drive, and I’m going to give you directions,” he said, his tone left no space to argue. She nodded, tears in her eyes, hoping he would let her go eventually.

////

They pulled up outside the murder house. Michael got out first, taking the keys from the ignition. The woman stayed in the car, still shaking. She wasn’t given much time to think, Michael dragged her out of the car and up the steps, his hand over her mouth. Her legs flailed around, heels falling off and feet dragging on the ground. Sill, Michael paid her no mind, not even as she thumped down the stairs when he threw her into the basement.

He felt eyes on him again as he went into the kitchen, looking for something sharp. When he got to the basement door, it was blocked by none other than Dr. Harmon himself. “You don’t have to do this kind, you know you’re better than this,” he tried to convince Michael. “You didn’t have to cheat on your wife, now here we all are, miserable in the same fucking house,” Michael spat back. “He didn’t give Harmon a chance to respond, teleporting into the basement where the woman cowered in the corner.

“Please, I’m sorry if I did something, there’s other ways to solve this,” she cried. “I need to get home to my grandkids,” she tried to appeal to his softer side. He continued to stalk towards her, ignoring her and inspecting the sharp knife. “You’re far too old to still be this rude. I think that it’s a habit that can’t be solved anymore,” Michael replied, sounding disappointed. The woman couldn’t back away any further, stuck to the wall. Michael got down to her level, wiping away her tears. “You have grandkids?” She rapidly nodded, hoping he changed his mind. “I had a grandma too. Looked just like you,” he took a blonde hair and sniffed it, it didn’t smell like her. “At least she had basic manners. And, she wouldn’t be caught dead in this hideous number,” he pointed out. He had to give Constance credit where it was due. “Do you want to know what happened to my grandma?” he whispered in her ear. She was too shaky to respond. “I killed her too,” he whispered again, this time his voice cracked a little; remembering the day he found her dead in this very house. Even if she was a ghost, she could have at least spared him a hug. His eyes began to well up. The woman took this as an opportunity to reach out, placing her hand on her face. He snapped back to her, taking her hand in his. “But no one can ever replace her,” his voice still shaking. He felt like a little boy again. He could feel the pity from the woman. She wasn’t scared of him anymore and he didn’t like that. He was no longer a child. He had a greater purpose. Without hesitation, Michael sliced her throat, letting himself be covered in her blood. He looked at his reflection in the knife. Maybe this was the look for him, covered in blood. He licked his fingers, tasting the liquid. “I’ll save the heart for later,” he thought to himself, before ripping it out and making use of one of the fridges. This was one way to pass the time and maybe, it would finally get his father’s attention. //// A car was found on a random highway. In it was the mangled corpse of the owner, and a simple letter signed by ‘the Alpha’. This marked the beginning of a new wave of violence in southern California. A serial killer was on the prowl. The victim profile was quite strange. Typically, killers would choose young women. However, this killer liked older blonde women, usually grandmothers or mothers. It scared you regardless, worried that one day the preference might change. You worried for your co-workers too, many of them fitting the description. The thought that you might have even interacted with the culprit made your skin crawl. ////

Things would inevitably go wrong if one were fuelled by bloodlust alone. Michael had broken into the wrong house. The woman that pissed him off at the supermarket lived a few doors down. Regardless, he was curious as to who lived here. The home was so different to what he was used to. The interior design choices were not the standard ‘live, laugh, love’ and farmhouse kitchen with seashell bathrooms. This house was nice, it had a younger feel to it, the heels by the door further proof of his theory. He quietly made his way up the stairs, looking into every room and taking it all in. He finally found the occupied room. The dark-haired woman was fast asleep in her bed. Comfortably sank into her pillows. He adjusted the blinds a little so he could see better. The way the moonlight reflected off her face took his breath away. His fingers twitched, he wanted to take her home this instant. He could take care of her, he knew he could. He liked a challenge however, he wanted her to come to him. He didn’t know how long he stood and stared at her, only leaving once she stared to stir. He’d be back. ////

Michael’s heart was jumping out of his chest when he arrived back to the murder house. The residents were surprised he didn’t come home with another victim or even a drop of blood on him. His face was flush and he was in deep thought. Luckily for the residents, souls were not congesting the house, as Michael would make sure to burn the new souls as soon as he could. He whispered nonsense to himself as he made his way up to the attic. His trance was interrupted by his foot hitting a box. Had it always been there? He slowly took the lid off, finding an old camcorder and lots of tape. Was he living in the movie ‘sinister’? He was the scariest thing in this house, no ghoul could ever top him.

The box gave him something to do for the rest of the night. Returning with some snacks and in his pyjamas. The entertainment didn’t last long. It was just shitty home movies from former residents. It got worse when they’d come forward and explain them. He turned his face in disgust at the last one; a homemade sex tape. He gagged before turning it off. The sun was rising, telling him to go to bed. As he put the camcorder way, he had a genius idea.

////

You felt weird when you woke up. It was as if someone had been watching you. Your blinds were slightly open, and your bedroom door ajar. Had someone been in? As you walked through the house, something just seemed a little off. Things were ever so slightly out of place. There even seemed to be less fruit juice this morning than you were sure you had last night. Maybe it was the paranoia of the current situation getting to you. You sighed and shook your head before going to get ready for the day.

////

You hated working in the family and wills sector of the legal profession. You were hoping to make the move to fashion law soon, just waiting for the right opportunity. You really weren’t made for the requests of dead people and their bickering relatives.

You greeted one of the partners. Ms Grace everyone called her. She was your mento and a mother figure to you out here in the big bad legal world. Hopefully, she’d give you a good reference when you left. “New client for you today, just… entire dead family,” she whispered the last bit, making a cutting gesture with her hand. “That sounds horrible.” She nodded, before letting you set up for the day. ////

It was afternoon before said client showed up. Your office phone rang informing you of his arrival. A tall, blond man sat in the waiting room; his eyes widened in recognition when he saw you. You decided to ignore it. “Hello, are you Mr. Langdon?” “I am.” “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, in Y/N and I’ll be taking your case,” you held your hand out for him to shake. It was comfortably warm. “Please, call me Michael.” You nodded and smiled, before leading him to your office. “Any refreshments before we get started?” He shook his head. From the outside, his case looked simple However, the deaths in his family left a convoluted mess, but you were sure Mr Langdon would get what he wanted. He was the only legal and living heir after all. You chatted away as you printed off and filled out the relevant forms. The conversation came easy. It had been a while since someone had caused butterflies in your stomach.   You weren’t unprofessional however, keeping it professional with clients. When all was done for the session, you saw him out and waved him off. The interaction with him had left you a little flush. The receptionist giving you a knowing look.

////

This was totally unplanned. Michael wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. He thought that maybe his father had a hand in this, a reward for his hard work. He made his way back home, keeping the packet you gave him close, it still faintly smelled of you. He sat on the couch facing the other house. Images of you occupying his mind. It all got too much, lazily stroking himself to the thought of you that afternoon. ////

He left the house again, camcorder in hand. He pressed record as soon as he got inside your house. Filming every little detail leading up to your room. Even filming himself waving in the hallway mirror, as if he were recording and innocent home video.

He slowly opened your door. You accidently left the lamp on that night, giving him the perfect lighting. He zoomed in on your face before getting closer. Your duvet was blocking the view, reaching forward to carefully move it a little. Running his thumb over your lips and getting it on camera. He groaned at the softness. His fingers skimmed over your face, neck and collarbones. He watched as your nose crinkled a little at the touch. Cute. His evening plans were abruptly cut short when your phone began to ring. At this hour? Who was it? You began to stir at the invasive sound. Michael didn’t have time to run, transmuting out the house as fast as he could.

////

In his free time, Michael indulged in all that his family would disapprove of. And nothing could vex Constance Langdon more than her shitty grandson doing all types of drugs. He liked the feeling weed gave him. It helped him relax after the adrenaline rush of a kill. Sometimes, the murder house had a horrible stench of weed and rotting flesh, prompting the residents to keep the windows open. He even tried other things, like Acid and MD. He didn’t like the restlessness they gave him. He especially hated when his face would morph in the mirror, turning him into the people he hated the most. He wondered what it would be like to get high with you. He wanted to melt into you just like he did the floor when the THC finally got him. If he couldn’t get to you that night, he would replay the tapes on the big screen and jack off, wishing you were there. The residents of the house watched in disgust and horror. They may have done terrible things but surely, they weren’t this bad.

////

Mr Langdon’s case had successfully ended, he had gotten what he wanted. You bumped into him a week later, on your lunch break. “Oh? Y/N? so nice to see you,” he stood in the line at your favourite coffee shop. “Like wise,” you smiled up at him. “Would you like anything? I insist. It’s the least I can do.” You tried to reject his kindness but didn’t want to hold up the line, giving him your order. You both sat at a quiet table, waiting for your drinks and pastry. “I don’t usually see my clients on lunch breaks.” “Former client,” he pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee. You watched him add five packets of sugar and wondered why he didn’t just get a sweeter drink. Your conversation continued, with your shoes constantly touching under the table. It felt very childish, but maybe you were missing the playfulness in life. Your phone alarm went off, indicating you had to get back to work. As your phone was unlocked, Michael took it and tapped his number in, leaving you at the table with a wink.

////

These interactions led to casual dates. The murders began to slow down, making you feel a little safer. With this in mind, you accepted Michael’s invitation when he invited you over. You were nervous as you waited for him to open the door. The evening breeze did little to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Michael opened the door and you sighed in relief. “You look… beautiful,” he stuttered. “Not too bad yourself,” you smiled back.

He moved aside to let you in, leading you to where he had set up. “I didn’t know you could cook.” “I’m a man of many talents.” He looked out the window, making sure the other house was watching. They looked nervous, hoping you would leave in one piece. They watched you laugh and talk. This could not have been the same boy that had terrorised so many. He was confident, suave, and personable. Worlds away from the awkward, nervous cry baby of a serial killer that they had become used to. He cleaned up well, even tidying up his wild hair. They wondered how long it would last. How long would it take for you to see the real him? They hoped you got out before it got to that state. The time flew by, and you both seemed to get closer by the second. You didn’t notice until your noses were touching, conversation halting. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost hesitant. You took the initiative and captured his lips. All of his hesitation melted away, his hand reaching around you and pulling you closer. The kiss got more heated, indicating that it would lead to something else. However, luck was not on your side. You phone ringing and interrupting you. Michael wanted to smash that phone; this was the second time it had stopped him. You apologised before picking up. Michael watched your expression change and brows knit in annoyance. You put the phone down, apologising. “I’m so sorry Michael, but I’m going to have to go, I’ve been called into work tomorrow and this is an important client, I hope you can understand.” “Of course, I’m sure you’re busy and I won’t keep you. Do you want me to drop you off?” He didn’t know why he asked that question, he didn’t have a car. “Oh thank you so much for understanding, and the offer. I drove here myself so there’s no need to worry about that,” you smiled at him. Michael helped you with your belongings, leading you out the door. You turned to thank him again, before he leaned down to give you another kiss, causing you to blush. He walked you to your car, taking in the interior. He waved you off with a smile. He knew you’d be back soon. ////

Michael shut the door behind him. He thought the night was a success. He opened the cupboard and pulled out your jacket. He hid it away, so you’d forget about it. The designer logo stood out to him. He buried his face in the fur, taking in all of it. Your scent, your warmth, everything. He had been so close to you. He wanted to watch the tapes with this in hand, for that he would have to venture next door. He wasn’t prepared to finally come face to face with his grandmother, looking down on him, cigarette in hand. “Michael fucking Langdon,” her southern drawl was harsh. He hadn’t been spoken to like that in years. He gulped as he watched her slowly walk down the stairs. “Why haven’t you grown out of that terrible habit of yours. You just have to destroy pretty things.” She stopped at the step just above him, still looking down. She gently stroked his face like she used to when he was a child, and he leaned into the touch. The peace was disturbed by a loud slap echoing through the house. Michael’s face turned to the side. He held his cheek, slowly turning to the woman with bleary eyes. “You have some nerve coming back to this house with that attitude of yours, clearly the ‘Church’ didn’t teach you any manners” Michael was trying to find his voice, to finally face the woman that he blamed for half of his problems. “And now look at you, that poor girl doesn’t even know the half of it.” She snatched the coat away from him. “Look at this Michael, this is Prada. And did you see the car she drove? What makes you think you deserve her? Look at yourself,” she gestured towards him. “Hair unkempt, Jobless, all you eat is candy and human flesh. What are you going to when she finds out the truth?” Michael hadn’t actually thought about that. He had neglected himself and his appearance for a while now. Did it really matter that much?

////

“Look, Y/N, all I’m saying is that you can do better. Look at you, you’re beautiful and well dressed and have such a good job. And him, well… he’s a little scruffy and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even have a car,” Ms Grace did not approve of your relationship with Michael. She thought you could do better. “I see where you’re coming from but he’s charming. Although I do agree he could clean up a little better. I’ve seen him all dressed up and he looks so good. I just don’t understand why he chooses to look like… that most of the time,” the last bit was more meant for yourself. Your conversation was interrupted by Kevin, a colleague from another office. “He should take a page out of Kevin’s book,” Ms Grace pointed out. Kevin raised a brow at the conversation he had just become a part of. He too was on a lawyer salary, a well-dressed man that anyone would swoon for. “Who’s ‘he’?” “Y/Ns …. Boyfriend?” Ms Grace replied. “Nothing to concern yourself too much with Kevin, you know what Ms Grace is like,” you interjected. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. He must be something to reach those high standards of yours,” he pointed out. “Oh he’s something alright,” Ms Grace muttered. You huffed at the conversation. You didn’t think you were a superficial person, but your colleagues thought otherwise. //// Michael had heard enough. Sometimes he would scry into your workplace, just to check on you, to see if you thought of him as much as he did. The conversation reinforced Constance’s criticisms from the other day. He hadn’t felt this self-conscious in a while. He was not one to idle, immediately finding a hair stylist with an availability. He wanted a transformation that would floor you. With that in mind, he headed to ‘Gallants’. //// The hairstylist was truly annoying, yet he seemed to have magic in his hands. The final reveal shocked Michael also. The confidence he had at Hawthorne seemed to return. He held his head just a little higher as he walked out. He felt everyone’s eyes on him, people stopping to stare at the angelic looking man that strutted down the street. On his way to his next destination, he stopped at the sight of a certain symbol. An inverted cross. His feet had a mind of their own, leading him inside. His scar began to tingle. The congregation turned to stare at the man that had just walked in. They knew. It had to be. The high priestess getting on her knees before him. He could get used to this. //// He reached his final destination for the day. He didn’t usually kill men, but if they got in his way, he didn’t care who he killed. He waited for Kevin to come home. He was going to kill him here. He wasn’t worth the effort of taking him all the way to the murder house. Michael didn’t even give the man a chance to scream. Getting rid of him with a snap of his fingers. //// The murder house watched Michael carefully curate his image the next few months. An entire new wardrobe, his old clothes dumped in the murder house. They watched the elaborate skincare ritual every morning. Carefully peeling away masks and applying serums. How very American Psycho of him. You loved the new look. You made sure everyone in the office new you’d made the right choice. Michael loved the new attention, but he made sure you knew he only had eyes for you. He even planned on offering you a better job in Kineros’ legal team, just so he could keep you close and get you out of the sector you complained about so often. //// A strange thing happened one night. Michael took the camcorder down into the basement with him, setting the lens to record his newest victim. After he was done, he burned the footage onto a disk. What was he up to? //// You were on autopilot as you opened your door. You felt numb. Ms Grace had become another victim to ‘the Alpha’ along with one of your neighbours. You spent the entire day in police interviews, trying to make sense on the situation. As you walked into the house, you stepped on something. A thick envelope, labelled only with your name. You picked it up with shaky hands and opened it. In it was just an unlabelled disc and a sticky note saying ‘love from the Alpha’. It made your blood run cold. This had to be a joke. Some was messing with you; it could be the only explanation. You ran to your DVD player, you had to see what was on the disc, you hoped it was some shitty quality movie ripped from the internet. The video came on, starting in a dark room. The camera turned to a woman tied up, it zoomed in on her face and you immediately recognised her as Ms Grace. Your eyes widened and you felt ill, running to the bathroom to be sick. It was still playing when you came back, changing to a different video. It was dark again but it all seemed so familiar. The camera panned up and you gasped, your hands covering your face. It was a video of you, sleeping in your own home. You no longer felt safe here. You quickly took the disc out and grabbed your essentials, running to your car. As you pulled out your street, you had no idea what turn to take. Turning right would lead to the police station, you could submit the disc and ask for protection. However, they rarely did anything about stalking cases, and the disc had your finger prints all-over it. A left turn would lead to Michael. You felt safe around him and you were sure he could offer you comfort at this time. The beeping behind you made you make your decision. //// You pulled up outside Michael’s house. You rapidly knocked on the door, there was no answer. No light was on in the house. You prayed to whoever that would listen that he didn’t have any other plans for the night. As you lost hope and looked around, your eyes fell to the imposing structure next door. You remembered a conversation where he had said he was restoring the home. A light was on. With a deep breath, you ran up the steps, repeating your previous actions and hoping for a response. A shocked Michael opened the door. You immediately wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest and sobbing. You didn’t notice the feral look he had going on. Hair dishevelled and blood-stained clothes. He gently put the knife down and wrapped his arms around you, cooing and shushing you. Telling you to calm down and it would all be okay. He was glad you were wearing a dark colour; you hadn’t noticed the stickiness of his hands and the stain they left. He gently moved you into the house, shutting the door. He used his magic to shut the basement door too. Your face was still buried in his arm as he walked you up the stairs. You should have paid attention to your strange surroundings. The ghosts of the house looked at you with the greatest of pity, wishing they could do something.

He sat you down on the bed, kneeling before you and taking your hands in his. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?” he asked gently, wiping your eyes. You sniffled and calmed your breathing, trying not to freak out again as you explained the situation to him. “I… I think he’s after me,” you whispered. “Who’s ‘he?” “The Alpha, he’s after me, I know it.” Michael paused, you must have seen the DVD. He had to stop himself from laughing. “Why do you think that hmm?” his thumb stroked your cheek. “Three people I know have died and then I got this DVD in the mail,” you paused, “It… it’s a video of Ms Grace tied up and then one of me sleeping,” you began to cry again. Michael sat on the bed next to you, pulling you in for a hug, you buried your face into him again, taking in his scent and trying to calm down. “You’re the only person I feel safe around,” you mumbled. Michael smiled into your hair. He had you exactly where he wanted. ////

You decided to wash your face after you had calmed down. Wetting a towel with cold water, you placed it on your eyes in an attempt to de-puff them. The ghosts thought this was the perfect opportunity to warn you about your possible doom. Vivienne pulled open the shower curtain behind you. Revealing a bathtub full of ice and another victim placed in it. However, their plan didn’t seem to work. You didn’t even look back at the sound, having walked out the bathroom just in-time. Michael was sitting on the bad, waiting for you. He had changed into more casual clothing and was rolling a joint. “It might help you calm down,” he smiled up at you, twisting the end off. You sat back on the bed and joined him, relaxing into the headboard. The conversation was casual and mundane, something you really needed right now. Between the sound of his voice and the passing of the joint, you had no idea how much time had passed. All you knew at this moment was that you wanted to be as close to him as possible. Hands began to wander, and your lips met for a heated kiss, you ended up straddling him. You let yourself be lost in the haze, not knowing exactly when your clothes came off, just that you enjoyed the feel of his skin on yours. You lifted your hips, moving to finally having him inside you, to be as close as you could be. You waited a little, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you got used to his size and took it all in. The feeling of his hands rubbing up and down your spine was blissful. His hands finally rested on your hips, gripping them and encouraging you to finally move. You complied, taking your time. You moved away from his shoulder. He took the opportunity to leave marks all over your breasts. It just felt so good. You could feel that you wouldn’t last much longer, your movements becoming sloppier. Michael rested his hand on your throat, his face morphed into something a lot more vicious than you were used to. It must have rang some alarm bells, but you weren’t listening. His grip on your neck tightened, and his hips began to thrust up, meeting your movements. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as his grip tightened once more, causing the coil in your belly to snap. Your legs shook, walls pulsing around him as he followed not long after. He pulled you into a deep kiss by your neck, slowly moving you off him and onto the bed. You lay there catching your breath, staring into his eyes. Just for that brief moment, nothing else mattered, forgetting about the serial killer that was on the hunt somewhere. You got closer to him and got comfortable, your head resting on his chest, being lulled by his heartbeat. “I was thinking,” he started. “Hmm?” you mumbled back, enjoying the vibration of his speech. “Maybe you should take a break from work for a while and stay with me for a bit, just until things calm down,” he suggested. At that moment in time, the combined high of weed and sex made it seem like a genius idea. Surely it was the most obvious solution? “Yeah it’s a good idea,” you yawned. The exhaustion caught up to you, your heavy eyes falling shut. Michael squeezed you just a little tighter and smirked up at the residents that had surrounded you. Their looks of pity towards you were something else. Michael buried his face into your hair, turning off the lights around him. It was the most blissful sleep he had had in years.

////

You woke up sometime the next afternoon. Michael was nowhere to be seen. After using (the now empty) bathroom, you ventured through the house. It looked different. It looked complete in a way. The tarp, random cans of paint and building materials that you were sure where there last night, were gone. It was as if it had been transformed overnight. The strangest thing was how familiar the décor and interior looked. It looked like a bigger version of your own home. It felt familiar yet uncomfortably so. Quite frankly, it looked like your dream home, styled as if it was going to featured in Architectural Digest. You knew it didn’t look like this last night, nothing close to it. Then you thought back to the wardrobe upstairs, the one you had sleepily pulled your current clothing out of. It was full of your own clothing. Clothing that you didn’t bring with you. Did Michael do this while you were asleep? When did he get the time? You scoured the house for your car keys and purse. Only finding pieces of familiar décor instead. Your stomach got the better of you, heading to the kitchen and hopefully finding something to eat. The pantry was stocked full of your favourites, pulling out a box of your favourite cereal. It was at this moment you were sure that all the pieces were taken from your home. One of the cereal bowls had the same chip that yours had. The nervousness and paranoia of last night began to seep back into you, your face visibly twisted in those emotions. As you mindlessly ate your cereal, the basement door creaked open. You stopped mid chew to look. You quickly swallowed and slowly walked towards it. Telling yourself that there was nothing to fear, and that you were just going to shut it. You heard a thud as you reached the door. Maybe Michael was down there and needed some help or something. You slowly walked down the steps, being careful not to make any noise. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your scream and prevent you from vomiting from the smell. The image forever burned into your memory. There was blood everywhere. Michael had his back turned to you, you were sure he hadn’t sensed your presence yet. You slowly backed away, trying to be quiet and not alert him. You let out a shaky breath when you were back in the hallway. You didn’t care about finding your things now, you had to get out of here. The front door wouldn’t budge open, the backdoor was no different. None of the window’s downstairs would open either. You then remember one of the windows was cracked open in the room you were sleeping in. You may injure yourself, but it looked like your only way out. You pushed the window up even further, making enough room for you to jump out. You hoisted one leg over the ledge, looking out for your landing spot. You prepared yourself to move the other leg, but it wouldn’t budge. You tugged at it a few times before looking back. Those blue, rage filled eyes were staring back at you, holding your leg, and preventing you from getting out. “Get. Back. In.,” he said, through clenched teeth. You shook your head, looking away from him. You didn’t want to think about who’s blood he was covered in. “Please let me go,” you whispered, hoping he’d take mercy on you somehow. His grip just got tighter. You mustered up all your strength, kicking him off you. He let go of your leg, it gave you enough time to jump. You felt the wind rush around you as you fell. You hit the ground a lot harder than you thought. Your head ricocheted off the ground painfully. You ignored the crunch your legs made. Everything hurt so bad, the pain wouldn’t even let you scream. You knew you had calculated your fall right. The ghosts thought you did too, all watching with various shocked expressions. You tried to move and look around you and stay awake. You could only look up. Through your darkening vision, the last thing you saw was Michael leaning out the window, smiling down at you. The cat had caught the canary.

////

You groaned in pain as you opened your eyes.

The light was blinding, difficult to adjust to.

Where were you? Why were you here? How long had it been?

As you looked around, the room looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Oh? You’re finally awake, It’s been a few days, I missed seeing your eyes” a male voice spoke from beside you.

You slowly turned your head to the voice.

The man looked familiar; you raked your brain to figure out who it was.

He placed his hand on your cheek, you hissed and flinched as he stroked scabby and bruised skin. “Look at you. If you had stayed inside, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

His eyes finally met yours and everything came rushing back.

A feeling of dread overtook you. You tried to shuffle away from him, but something was preventing you from moving.

You tried to figure out what it was. Looking yourself over, noticing the blanket was bulky.

You momentarily forgot about the predator in the room, pulling the blanket away and revealing your legs, both in casts.

One of the casts had been signed, ‘get well soon, Love, your Alpha’.

You wanted to sob, but you knew any sudden movements would be painful.

Michael rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket back over you, tucking you in.

“If you’re good, you’ll get your painkillers. If you’re bad…,” he leaned over you, putting his weight on your legs, “I’ll cut them off next time,” he grinned.

He got onto the other side of the bed, holding you close to him, squeezing you just a little too tight, and giving your forehead a kiss.

Not even the apocalypse could get you out of his grasp now, he’d kill you both before anything tried to take you from him. Wherever you were, that was his sanctuary. Even if it meant eternal torment in the pits of hell, it didn’t matter, as long as it was with you.

[bopinion]

2021 / 08

Aperçu of the Week:

"Peace is found only in the woods." (Michelangelo)

Bad News of the Week:

The Forest Status Report 2020 came out a few days ago. In a nutshell: the German forest is suffering. While forests in Asia and South America continue being hurt from - often illegal - deforestation, ours are the victims of climate change and misguided cultivation. The three main aspects destroying our green lungs are, on the one hand, persistent drought and increasingly frequent storms and, on the other, the monocultures that allow many pests to strike in the first place.

Only 21% of the tree crowns are still intact. The damage is therefore even visible. And at four-fifths, it is unmistakable. It is all the more incomprehensible to me that the public is not shocked and demanding action. After all, the forests are so important for the German soul - as already described by the Brothers Grimm. Since we only know about floods from the news, for example, it is easy not to feel affected. But what happens on one's own doorstep should be close to one's heart, shouldn't it? I want you to panic!

Sidenote: In France, the government is acting stupidly (extending the lifetimes of nuclear power plants without a final storage solution), in Belgium, it's mainly the young population (parties without masks and distance in the parks). What's going on there? But human stupidity is probably not news....

Good News of the Week:

In just 30 days, the Biden administration was able to return to parental care all 500 nearly forgotten migrant children who were cruelly separated from their parents under the Trump regime (yes, that's a dictator reference!). This was done to scare off non-existent refugee treks from Central America. And ended up in cages - unfortunately, not just proverbially. And the Trump administration, which was conspicuous not only in the Corona context in 2020 primarily for its inaction, found itself unable to accomplish this. So it was probably not just a fashion faux pas after all that ex-flotus Melania committed with her parka "I really don't care, do u?" at the Mexican border of all places.

Still, I can actually hardly believe that Trump really existed. And he was exactly as it was feared he would be. The flirting by him and frighteningly large parts of the Republican Party with a renewed candidacy in 2024 reliably causes me sleepless nights. Any, really any alternative would have been better than a second term for Trump - there's a potted plant in my office that would have filled his job better and more worthily. And yet, the Biden-Harris team is not only the lesser of two evils, but actually apparently a choice that is good for the U.S. - and the world that is so affected by it.

Sidenote: "Skolstrejk för Klimatet" enters week 132 The it-girl of all green hopefuls is not giving up. We can all still learn a lot from Greta Thunberg - especially perseverance. Hopefully, one day she will look back with satisfaction on what she and her mostly young comrades-in-arms have achieved. Thank you, Greta!

Personal happy Moment of the Week:

Our "household appliance pitch weeks" have unfortunately continued: after the dishwasher and clothes dryer, our ceramic cooktop in the kitchen also broke the other day. However, after two of four hobs were still working, the successor was waiting in its original packaging for ten days before I could bring myself finally to replace it yesterday. And it was a bit more complex, since among other things, the electrical connections had to be reversed, the cutout in the countertop had to be enlarged, the neighboring drawers had to be removed, and all moisture and heat seals had to be renewed. So I'm all the happier that everything worked out. And that I was able to inaugurate the new hobs - only the Québecois will really understand this - with poutine.

As I write this...

...I'm recovering from 17,000 steps around a bog lake near us, where today we enjoyed the first signs of spring with good friends.

[firstwaterfilters]

The Truth About Water Filters

Next time when a young person asks what kind of adult you are, please say something like this: “Suddenly, you are worried that the water filter is dirty, you chose the wrong water filter, or you need to replace the water filter, but you don’t remember Where is it. This book tells you how to do it. You don’t remember where to put the replacement water filter, so you press the reset button and you will worry about it again a few months later.”

Most people have a good chance of having some kind of water filter in their homes, but this seemingly simple devices-they just filter water, right? -very complicated. There are many legal questions about water filters. You should ask them if you want to ensure the health of the whole family. Do you really need to use a water filter? Are they worth spending such crazy money? Do you really need to replace them? Do they really make your drinking water safer?

This is an interesting trivia-the water filter is not a modern invention.

According to Lenntech Water Treatment Solutions, the foundation of water purification can be traced back to 2,000 BC. Records from ancient Greece, Egypt, and India indicate that they knew the importance of clean water and usually boiled and filtered it through sand or gravel. In 500 BC, Hippocrates developed a water filter that we recognized. He called it the Hippocratic Sleeve, which is essentially a cloth bag into which water can be poured to filter out sediment.

Rome built a huge aqueduct and infrastructure system, but the fall of Rome destroyed most of them and left many things on hold. It was not until 1627 that Sir Francis Bacon tried to filter out salt from the water through sand.

By the 1700s, some houses were using filters made of sponge, charcoal, and wool. It was not until Scotland built the first water treatment plant in 1804 that filtration began on a municipal scale. In 1854, the cholera epidemic swept through London and found that even if the water seemed safe to drink, it was not necessarily clean. Australia’s water filter company said that Queen Victoria really increased the visibility of household water filters, especially the pottery forms made by Royal Dalton. The carbon filter came out in 1862, and all that is left is to perfect the ideas that people have worked on for hundreds of years.

There are several different filters, but most filters follow the same general principles. According to Explain That Stuff, most filters have two parts that work together to remove impurities from the water. First, there is a physical part-water is filtered through a fine mesh, which usually handles larger impurities.

Another method is chemical filtration, which sounds similar at first glance. However, here, water will flow through something (such as activated carbon), where a chemical reaction will occur, causing impurities to be pulled out of the water and into the filter.

Frigidaire said the activated carbon filter is the most common filter used in households. That’s because it has the best of both worlds. Larger particles will be captured on the surface of the charcoal, and the carbon will absorb some other unwanted pollutants in the water, especially lead and volatile organic compounds or VOCs. Then, a chemical reaction also took place here, and it was this kind of reaction that helped to remove the chlorine in the water.

This is a simple question: Why do you think most people choose to install a water filter in their house or choose a water filter?

According to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, one of the most common reasons people start researching filters is that they don’t like the taste of water. Sometimes, when you drink tap water, you are tasting chemicals that make it safe. Since this is a popular complaint, many of the most popular refrigerator and jug filters are designed to improve this taste.

Another common reason for using water filters is that households may be concerned that lead can seep into the water from pipes. They may also worry that arsenic will enter the water source, although this is usually a bigger problem for those with private wells. Nitrate can also enter the water system of a well, and anyone dealing with a medical condition affecting their immune system should choose a water filter very carefully.

When choosing a water filtration system, there are many more options than you think, and CDC says that not all options are the same. It all depends on your needs and how much time and money you are willing to spend.

For example, look at those water filter tanks. Of course, they are easy to use and do not require any special requirements, but if you drink a lot of water or make a lot of lemonade, iced tea, or any kind of water-waiting for the water to flow through the filter, it becomes very, very boring.

Refrigerator filters are great, and most filters also filter the water used in the ice maker. But these edr1rxd1 water filters need to be replaced regularly, which may increase costs. If most of your water comes from a tap, you can also install a tap-installed filter. However, some installations require professional installation, and you may find that it greatly reduces the water flow. Some may even require modifications to your existing pipeline, so the first thing is to determine how far you are willing to go. The same is true for the filter under the sink, but if you want to save space and filter all the water, it might be worth it.

Then there are many options for the water treatment system throughout the house, which may be convenient for people who use wells or especially hard water. It will treat all incoming water, but it may require not only professional installation but also regular maintenance. Take the time to weigh the pros and cons!

The light in the refrigerator flashes again, which means the filter needs to be replaced. But the water flowing from it tastes good, so is it really necessary to replace the filter?

Home Revolution provides a useful analogy and says that you should think of the water filter as a lint tray in a clothes dryer. It will collect various variants, and if you don’t empty them, terrible things will happen. The same thing happens to your water filter, if you don’t make changes, its efficiency will be reduced, and you won’t even be able to use the water filter. The photo here shows a clean and dirty water filter-do you want to drink from dirty filtered water?

Different water filters have different service lives, so you must consult the accompanying literature to see how often the water filter needs to be replaced-usually, this is based on time or the amount of water filtered. To

According to Fresh Water Systems, if you do not replace the refrigerator filter, it is likely that all the contaminants captured so far will actually overflow and eventually return to the water. That will definitely make you sick.

If choosing a water filtration system seems overwhelming, then this is a way to help eliminate those systems that are not worth the time. According to the CDC, one of the best things you can do is to look for “NSF” marks. This means that the product has been evaluated by the independent research company NSF International, which tests various products to ensure they meet public health standards, and its label will inform you of the results.

NSF International regularly tests products and conducts on-site testing to ensure that they continue to meet the standards, and the health of your family is involved, which is exactly what you want.

NSF’s specific criteria for testing water treatment products include distillation, cyst reduction, reverse osmosis, and taste and odor-in other words, no matter what you want the water filter to do, NSF can tell you how good it the water is. If you don’t see their approval seal, please keep looking.

Water filters may filter out a lot of bad things, but this does not mean they are clean. According to a study by the University of Michigan (via Michigan NPR), the opposite is true.

The researchers studied the number of bacteria coming out of the water filter and said: “The number of bacteria coming out of the water filter has increased relative to the number of bacteria entering the water filter. We found that the number of these bacteria can increase at most 100 times. .”

Although they emphasize that not all bacteria are dangerous bacteria, there are some follow-up footnotes on this. If you choose an entire house filter to remove chlorine from the water, the CDC warns that you have a chance to eventually increase the number of bacteria and bacteria living in the pipeline. To

This is worth thinking about, and so is this important warning from the CDC: For those with compromised immune systems (such as those undergoing chemotherapy or other cancer treatments), water filters are essential. However, because bacteria accumulate in the water filter, those people should not replace the filter cartridge. Even healthy individuals should wear gloves when replacing ink cartridges and wash their hands thoroughly afterward.

The term “sticker impact” hasn’t even begun to explain how you feel when you buy those replacement filters. Whether they are canister filters or refrigerator filters, it seems that their prices are very unreasonable. What happened here?

Glacial Pure said in the now-deleted blog post that there are factors that make the cost of replacing the filter high, and the cost of the high-quality raw materials needed to ensure that the filter operates as expected are only part of the story. The production of water filters also requires a lot of research and development. Once completed, a lot of testing must be carried out before being put on the market. This is not just a test problem, but a series of test problems, including special tests for heavy metals, residual chlorine, particles, etc., etc. To

You would think that all these seem to be excused. This is forgivable. Consumer Reports has studied whether expensive water filters are really better. They found that they are absolutely, and there is only one aftermarket filter with legal credentials and test results (and a lower price tag), and that is Culligan. Even they did not get the same certification as the more expensive models, which shows that the water filter is definitely worth your money.

When you think of something that is often counterfeited, you may not think of a w10295370 water filter. But you should-Sharon said that the counterfeit water purifier industry poses a major health risk.

It turns out that this is a lucrative market. After all, water filters are expensive, and they are one of those things that people are willing to try to make cheaper. There are many such things that are difficult to study-which means there are many things on the market that have not been evaluated.

There is a bigger problem-not only can they not really improve the taste of water or remove pollutants, but they can actually leak pollutants into the water. According to the Association of Home Appliance Manufacturers, it was discovered that the forged filters could leak arsenic and other carcinogens.

It is estimated that there are millions of such fake water filters on the market, and the situation is so serious that the US Customs and Border Patrol have begun to capture them. Between 2016 and 2018, they grabbed more than 150,000 people before reaching the intended Amazon seller. They warned consumers to be vigilant. These fakes usually try to imitate legitimate companies, but if they don’t look right, they may be incorrect.

[keywestlou]

Ho Ho Yogi Bear

DAY 11…..Greece the First Time

Posted on June 7, 2012 by Key West Lou

Ho ho Yogi Bear! I am having a terrific time!

Donkeys have become a part of my life all of a sudden. First in Navaro when I discovered horse meat and donkey meat were sold in butcher shops for human consumption. Donkey was viewed to horse meat as veal is to cattle meat. Now donkeys in Santorini.

Before I made the trip, many told me to be sure to ride the donkeys up and down the hill. The hill that in reality is a mountain of lava.

I saw the donkeys yesterday for the first time. I was taking a walk along the other road. The road that runs between the cave hotel apartments and lesser accommodations. Actually the other side of the road is where the working people of Santorini live. Much like Stock Island is to Key West.

All of a sudden, I came upon eight donkeys on the side of the road. All saddled up and ready to go. What beautiful animals! I am a horse lover of sorts. The horses that race at Saratoga. Especially up close. Magnificent beasts. So too were these donkeys. Beautiful shiny coats. Ears standing straight up. Big bright eyes. Muscular legs. Very muscular.

These donkeys carry people up and down the side of a nearby lava mountain. On a path running along the side. Along a five foot wide path has been constructed 2,000 feet plus long. It consists of 500 plus steps. The steps of varying widths. A short 3 foot wall on the ocean side.

The ride did not appeal to me. I did not wish to be an ass on an ass. I was fearful of either the donkey or me or both of us falling over the wall. I raised that issue with the man in charge of the donkeys. I think I insulted him. He told me very firmly that no donkey or person had ever even fallen off the path into the ocean.

The path was made of dirt and rocks.

I had Nikos give me a ride in his car down the mountain.

The volcano sitting out in the water is like a magnet. It draws me to it. I have decided to visit the volcano in the next few days. I want to look into the opening and its depths. I want to view the smoke and sulfur and whatever else my eyes can see.

The volcano is not too high. Most of it sunk into the sea. So I should be able to walk to the top.

There is an added attraction. There are springs periodically spraying water and smoke. Baths from the emissions are available on site. I want to bathe in these waters. Supposedly healthful, I will be doing it merely for the experience.

Santorini is the largest of the several islands which were born 3,500 years ago when the volcano had its major eruption. It is big. How large, I am not sure. Larger than Key West I do know.

The whole island has a mere 13,000 permanent residents. Compared to Key West which has 19,000.

Santorini is the name of the whole island. There are several villages and towns located on the island. I am staying in Oia, one of those towns. People are nice here. Just as in Key West.

Sociable, helpful.

I spoke of beauty parlor proprietor Catherine Risvani yesterday. Catherine owns the only beauty shop in Oia. One to a town, I guess. Called Hair & Soul. It is a beautifully done small place. Two chairs, two sinks, a manicure station and a counter. Two lovely ladies working for her.  Catherine gave me a manicure this week.

Catherine is lovely in appearance. A typical Grecian beauty. Tall, thin and blond. Hair swept up and somehow tied in back. Interestingly, I have yet to find a Grecian woman who wears her hair down. Catherine also has high cheek bones. Another trait of Grecian women.

The bill for the manicure was 20 euros. About $28 american money. I was out of euros. I asked Catherine if she took credit cards. No. So I took out one of my $100 bills and told her to hold it while I went to the ATM machine for euros. She would not take the $100. Strangers though we were, she trusted me. In a tourist town. Typical of the Greeks here.

Which brings me to Nikos and Maria. Proprietors of my cave accommodation. Nikos and Maria are around 60. Own the Filotera Cave Houses aka Filotera Villas. A superior accommodation. Consistent with historical Santorini.

They and their son Adonis work their asses off. They have staff, but work along with staff from very early morning to late at night.

When I first arrived and met Maria, she was in a dress and apron. Smiling always. She does not speak English. I no Greek. Yet we have had several conversations. Each of us has spoken our native tongue. We understood each other!

I figured after first meeting Maria that she was the typical Mama Mia. A dress and apron. Always cooking and cleaning. Always watching the grandchildren.

Was I wrong!

The next time I saw Maria she was in peddle pushers and a tee shirt. Directing the employees.

Nice people these two.

It was Maria’s birthday the day I arrived. She sent a piece of birthday cake to my rooms. Nikos picked me up at the airport. Nikos drives me where ever I have to go. And picks me up. Their caves are lovely and clean. Very clean. Take a look at them. www.filoteravillas.gr, www.filoteravillas.com and www.santorini.com/hotels/filoteravillas. These sites will give you a flavor of cave living. They will surprise you!

The second day here, their son Adonis showed up with a bottle of wine. He said it was from his father’s vineyards. A special brew. Please enjoy it. I did, the next day. A cross between a white and red. A distinctive special taste.

Yes, Nikos and Maria besides owning the cave villas also own a vineyard and wine producing facility on Santorini. They ship world wide.

Nikos and Maria live across that street I mentioned earlier. In a small apartment less accommodating than the caves. In November, it gets cold on Santorini. They move to their home on the other side of the island. When it gets colder, they move to their home in Athens. During the winter months, they generally take a one to two month trip to the Caribbean or South Pacific.

It gets better.

Santorini and the Greek isles are not the United States. Many amenities we are accustomed to do not exist or are not provided. Like my clothes getting washed and ironed.

I was warned before I embarked on this odyssey that such would be the case. I came prepared. Purchased shirts and shorts at Orvis. That special material that is light, easy to wash and dry. Generally requiring little or no ironing.

I wash my own clothes. For real. Easy. In the bathroom sink. Drop some dish washing fluid on the clothes. A bit of water. Wash with my hands. Then shake dry.

The clothes still need hanging. Dryers are not common place on the island. Could not hang the clothes in front of my cave accommodation. It would not look right nor would it be proper.

There are clothes lines across the street at the cheaper accommodation. I hung my first washing there to dry. When I returned that evening, Maria came out to greet me. She insisted on ironing my clothes. My savior in disguise!

If you ever plan to come to Santorini, stay with Nikos and Maria. You cannot do better. Their telephone number is 003022860 71110. Fax number 003022860 71555. E-mail Filotera@otent.gr.

Enough for today.

There is much still to share.

This afternoon I am going to a beach somewhere on this island. Where I am guaranteed seeing bare breasted women. And, if I am lucky, some bare assed ones.

Enjoy your day!

As I have said in the past, vaccine distribution to Monroe County and Key West is not good. We seem to be forgotten. It appears political pull helps in getting enough vaccine to take care of an area.

Monroe County and Key West seem to be lacking in that regard.

I am happy for the person in Pensacola who was reported to have had excellent service. Not the case here. And none of us are doing anything wrong!

This morning’s Citizens’ Voice had two interesting comments re vaccine distribution/availability.

“Citizens of Monroe County should be outraged that the Medical Center at Ocean Reef, a private club, was allowed to administer 4,000 vaccines that were not available to the public, only to club members. This represents over 85 percent of the vaccine provided  Monroe County.”

“Now I know why after five tries I am unable to get an appointment for the vaccine: politics trumps health.”

Eugene Robinson is one one of the Washington Post’s finest columnists. He also has a touch of Key West in him. Every year, he and his wife spend one month in Key West. Normally January. They were not here in January. Probably the virus.

Robinson’s Washington Post column this morning is titled “To Rebuild the Grand Old Party, First Tear It Down.”

A passage from the column: “Before a sane, responsible political party can rise like a phoenix from the ashes of today’s dangerously unhinged GOP, there must be ashes to rise from. The nation is going to have to destroy the Republican Party to save it.”

Biden has been impressive so far. As he will continue to be. I have faith in the man.

He is moving fast. The  stimulus package, foreign matters, vaccine, etc.

It is very true that you cannot please all of the people all of the time.

Biden spoke before the National Prayer Breakfast. Called out white supremacy and domestic terrorism. And a multitude of other things.

Brian Burch is the President of CatholicVote. After the Breakfast, Burch slammed him for backing abortion and transgenderism. I do not know if Biden mentioned either during his talk. I suspect not.

One old, the other relatively new. Burch forgets that Biden, as with any President, represents all the people and not just one segment.

John Kennedy had a similar problem. Directed primarily at his Catholic faith. His response simple and understandable: “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and to God that which is God’s.”

Christopher Plummer died. An outstanding actor. His age at death 91. Did not pass away under normal circumstances. He fell and struck his head. The blow to his head resulted in his death.

One of Plummer’s most famous roles was that he performed in The Sound of Music.

His movies many. However, Plummer most enjoyed his Shakespearean performances. He considered himself a Shakespearean actor rather than a movie one. His famous Shakespearean parts were his performances in Hamlet, Macbeth, Richard III, and as Mark Anthony.

He won his first and only Oscar at age 82. He also was rewarded with 2 Tony and 2 Emmy Awards.

John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was published this day in 1937.

Steinbeck had a marked influence on my young life. My parents had purchased several volumes of Steinbeck’s works. For their enjoyment, not mine.

I was about 10. The books attracted me.

I would sit in a huge easy chair in the living room. A thick red dictionary at my side.

The first work I read was Of Mice and Men. Obviously I did not understand everything. One thing the book did however was to increase my vocabulary and expose me to a world I did not know. Some of which I was happy not to have experienced.

Over a period of time, I also read The Grapes of Wrath and several other Steinbeck works whose names at the moment I cannot recall.

Looking back, the reading I did probably was not uncommon. There were no television or cell phones in those days. Yes, there was radio. However radio did not particularly turn me on except for baseball.

Enjoy you day!

  Ho Ho Yogi Bear was originally published on Key West Lou

[putschki1969]

Hello there! If all goes well I will be travelling to Japan this summer (planning to attend some YK Lives). It will be my first time. Do you have any tips for a first-time-traveller? Thank you!

Hello there!

YAY! Your first Japan trip! BANZAI!

You must be super excited! And also worried due to COVID 19. I really hope things will have calmed down until summer. So far they have not postponed any of the YK FictionJunction lives so that’s a good thing. However, they are currently looking for a transfer date for the very first performance which was supposed to take place on July 11 in Kanagawa. I will be keeping my fingers crossed for you and of course I will post an update as soon as we know more about these FJ lives (that have Keiko and Hikaru as vocalists).

As for tips, here is what comes to mind right off the bat〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

Meticulously plan your trip: When you are travelling for the first time, having a detailed itinerary is KEY. In particular, I would advise you to pay a lot of attention to opening hours and time tables. It will save you a lot of time and it will help you avoid trouble/stress.

Bring a lot of cash: There are many places in Japan that don’t accept cards and usually it’s cheaper to exchange your currency to yen in your own country (speaking from my own experience). Don’t worry though, there are enough places in Japan where you can withdraw yen with your cards (7/11 ATMs, International ATMs - e.g. there’s one at Akihabara Station).

Get yourself a prepaid/rental SIM card for WiFi: Having internet at all times is a life-saver. During my first Japan trip I barely had any WiFi, it was hell. I don’t even know how I survived. I recommend you get one in advance and don’t wait to buy it at the airport (because those are overprized). There are rental services that will send the SIM to the airport and have it ready for you to pick up when you arrive. You will have to return it at the end of your rental period via mail (just drop it in a mailbox). There are also pre-paid SIMs that are sent to your home and they only work for a limited amount of time once you activate them. I order mine from a German site so that probably won’t work for you but I am sure a service like that is available for your country. 

Install Google Maps on your phone: Getting from A to B in a foreign country is always a bit intimidating (especially in Japan). This app will help you navigate your way around the rather complex public transportation system. It provides all the info you need (intervals, platforms, stations, ticket fares etc.). While the app may not be as useful in other parts of the world, it’s super reliable in urban Japan.

Get yourself a Suica as soon as you arrive in Japan: Suica cards can be purchased (500 yen deposit) through ticket machines in any JR Station. It’s a prepaid e-money card for almost all kinds of public transportation (and other stuff). Depending on the length of your trip and your itinerary you should add around 5,000 to 10,000 yen to your card.

Consider getting a JR Pass: If you are planning to travel longer distances by train you should look into different JR Pass options. Riding the shinkansen (Japanese bullet train) is convenient and pro-environmental but unfortunately very expensive. It can really pay off to invest in a JR Pass instead of paying for every single train ticket.

Bring a few small disposable ziplock bags with you: While travelling you will be producing a lot of garbage (more so than usual because the Japanese love their elaborate packaging). However, you will quickly notice that there are not a lot of public trashcans in Japan. I always carry a small ziplock bag with me to collect all of my junk. You are responsible for your rubbish, bring it home and dispose of it in your hotel (or wherever you can find a trash can), do not llitter under any circumstances!

Find all kinds of stores for used goods in the area you are staying in: You can make awesome deals at used goods stores in Japan and the items are usually in great (almost unused) condition. I am mainly talking about Kalafina-related stuff here (which you can find in stores like Mandarake, K-Books, Boof-Off, Surugaya, etc) but in general I would say that Japan is a thrifter’s paradise.

Bring your own pain-killers and meds: When people are on holiday in a foreign country they are prone to get sick so you should bring the meds you are already used to. NOTE: Be careful with prescription drugs though! Do some research!

Always have a small hand-towel in your bag: You will be hard-pressed to find paper towels or hand dryers in a majority of Japanese bathrooms so you better carry your own little towel/handkerchief with you unless you wanna spend your entire trip drying your hands on your clothes.

If possible, get a traveller’s insurance: I pay all my flights with VISA so that usually includes some sort of travel insurance but you might wanna look into some other options. You wanna be prepared if something bad happens to you in a foreign country

* This list is not exhaustive. Just a handful of random tips I find useful.

[tsubaki3192]

Luck. 1

[Various Ikesen x ??! MC/Reader]

Chapter 1: Nope.

Masterlist (TBA)

Notes: .... Should I keep Yoshimoto in? IDK how to write him, tbh. Pronoun (Y/N) will be used. IDK if Kennyo will be a love interest... Yet.

Tagging: @unstoppablelinda, @otome--fantasy.... 

(Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

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

Nope, nope, nope.

There was absolutely no way this was happening to you. 

Absolutely not. 

You were dreaming. You had to be dreaming. It was simply impossible for you to have fallen through some strange space-time continuum (a black and streaky grey, you recall) into some strange 500-years-ago dimension where the famous figures of the Sengoku Period were the same age, if not slightly older than you were.

Then again maybe it wasn’t impossible. Then again you had forgotten who you were; what you are. 

And then again- “Hey!”

And you fled, feet pounding against the mossy (unevenly paved?) ground beneath her. And it was only right you had done so, given-

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

“Hey, wake up! It’s dangerous to be sleeping during a fire!”

Following that strange warp you had passed through (and you stand by the black and streaky grey), you had been brought to a temple blaze with a man (laid in full Japanese medieval armour, might you add) at the centre of the room.Though your instincts told you to flee, your rather sensitive ears had heard the subtle yet distinct sound of geta against the somewhat crumbling tatami mats (or was it wood? There was too much ash to see clearly).

And then the sharp, metallic sound of a blade drawn. 

“Come on! We need to get out of here!”

The sword-wielding figure froze, unexpectedly finding another within the room- You. And if luck hadn’t given you it’s control, then you and the armoured man would’ve been killed- slaughtered- with no evidence of family. But no. Your curse (hex?), now applied to the supposed assassin, caused the beam to fall from above him. 

But he managed to step backwards in time, away from the crashes above. 

And if you needed to sigh exasperatedly, now was the time to do so. Apparently, just apparently, heat from a rather heavy (and uncontrolled) fire wasn’t something to wake from, but the crashes from a falling wooden beam was?

And though he was still disoriented, you grabbed the hand of the now-standing, once-sleeping male and tugged him towards the open doorway, forcing him to leap from the balcony. And you could only hope your bad luck tendencies wouldn’t appear during such a precarious deed.

Then, just moments after you landed on the ground and strode away from the building-

“Someone tried to do me away as I slept? How audacious. You there, woman. Release my hand.”

It took you several moments to realise exactly who he was speaking to, and exactly what he said. It wasn’t a request, but an order and certainly one you would’ve absolutely despised, if it weren’t for the fact his eyes glowed just as red as your own would, under some rather specific circumstances. 

“Who are you?”

Your narrowed eyes watched him skeptically, watching for any signs of danger (to yourself or he?). But your instincts informed you otherwise and your shoulders partially relaxed under his rather intense gaze. 

Yet your question floated through the air, undeniably stubborn.

“Do you mean to say you saved me without expecting a reward of some kind? I am-”

“You know what? I’m not interested after all. I believe I’ll dislike whatever I hear from you.”

You had decided he was someone you exhaustedly didn’t want to deal with (too loud with far too much ego), shrugging off his hand before he could say much else to you. But he only stared at you incredulously and continued speaking as if you hadn’t interrupted him with your unnecessarily rude comment. 

It had taken you several moments of ignorance before you realised just who you had impudently spoken to.

“You’re… who?!”

“Oda Nobunaga,” the man replied, watching your expression change amusedly, “The man who will unite this country under one flag.”

But you just silently eyed him from top to bottom shamelessly, blinking unamused. And you sighed. Of course he was. It wasn’t as if you didn’t recognise the name, nor the nameplate nailed to the wall of the crumbling temple behind you. Honnōji. Oda Nobunaga. They were both names you well and truly recognised from your high school history textbook.

But he was much younger than your textbook had mentioned he was when he supposedly died, and... Oh wait. ‘Honnōji’ and ‘Oda Nobunaga’ were two names that went hand-in-hand with ‘death’.

…. Did you… just… prevent the death of the so-called ‘Devil King’?

Oh shit.

And it was ‘oh shit’ indeed when another voice on horseback- the undeniable clops of a horse’s hooves rang through the crackling of the nighttime blaze- called the man now standing beside you almost hurriedly.

“My lord!”

If you had thought the so-called Nobunaga’s voice was far too low and almost didn’t match his face, then this newcomer’s voice was like a cool breeze on a hot Summer's day - that was, refreshing and sweet to the ears. 

The Oda-claimed man standing beside you had also been muttering something about, to quote him, “impudence”, but you had blocked out the sounds favouring your thoughts over his shockingly deep voice. And it wasn’t until moments lated that the late-teen, early-twenties-looking male with the surprisingly silver hair and lavender eyes had introduced himself as “Ishida Mitsunari”, to which you accidentally blurted a quick “You’re the tactician” before slamming your hand over your mouth.

Oops…? 

You peered at the indigo-kimono-clad male standing in front of you, slowly but steadily, relieving your lips the pressure of your hands. And if you had thought the damn man with the crimson eye and limitless ego had been attractive, then this guy was an angel.

“It’s, um, nice to meet you, Ishida… -san?”

And true to your word, you sounded unsure of yourself, unable to deny the fact that you were unsure of what to call him. Your head cocked itself slightly towards your right shoulder; your expression scrutinising your word choice. The said ‘Ishida-san’ just smiled at your expense, uttering a quick “Mitsunari is fine,” with that naturally angelic smile of his.

And if your impudence hadn’t already amused the one called Nobunaga, then your unease, indecisiveness and knowledge did. 

“How interesting to know-”

“Milord, if you don’t mind, I’ll retrieve a new set of clothes for her. ”

For the first time that night, you took a glance towards your clothing eyeing the char, grime and ashes caught in between the pleats of your plain drawstring tee and up the leg the casual deep-blue jeans you wore. Perhaps you really did need a change of clothes. And though you couldn’t say you hadn’t worn kimonos before, it truly wouldn’t your first preference of clothing. 

Then again it was the Sengoku Period, and all they wore were kimonos, much to your irritation.

(You had also ignored the fact that the ‘Nobunaga’ had began speaking simultaneously with Mitsunari and that he was now staring, again incredulously, at the said tactician.)

“Listen!” you sighed exasperatedly, sighing as you gazed into the distant mountains, “I’m not really from around here… As in this time period. I’m from approximately 500 years in the future, if I’m not wrong.”

And as if you had uttered something completely absurd (for the record, your words did sound rather strange after they left your lips), the two warlords, as far as you could identify, blankly stared at you. And-

You deadpanned. A storyteller, the raven-haired one had called you and ‘a storyteller’ was what the other man believed, though you weren’t sure if he really was gullible or bound by obligation (most likely the latter, but who were you to judge?). And despite your protests, you were whisked off to a nearby tent and handed an indigo kimono, no doubt belonging to the gentle male (given both colour and scent) who had brought you there, to change into.

When you exited, having finally managed to shake most of the ash from your hair, Nobunaga had been waiting for you outside. And much to your chagrin, he eyed you from head to toe and hummed almost contentedly. 

“You clean up well.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned your head away but followed him into the supposed main tent (the largest of them all) anyway, still disliking the whole scenario you had unwillingly been tossed into. But it wasn’t long after you were handed a glass of water that the tent flap opened again. And your eyebrows furrowed in increased discomfort as you realised you had not heard his footsteps-

“Milord, I see that you are well.”

“Mitsuhide.”

Your head shot up as you narrowed your eyes for a split second, analysing the male for any sign that he was the one who had planned the murder (history said it was him, after all) and sighed, not in relief but for the curious glance he had given her. If anything, he couldn’t have been the one who had planned the murder of the Nobunaga you had save (or ‘rescued’, as you smugly preferred to put it). If he had taken a bath between the time you had disappeared with the said lord, how on Earth did he have the time to dry it? Hair dryers certainly didn’t exist in this period, so on that basis, he was ‘innocent’.

But this once again new guy… If you had thought Mitsunari was an angel, then this man’s white hair, tantalising golden eyes and overall aura reminded you of your kind- A kitsune. You closed your eyes and leant your head back against the tent wall and a quiet sigh escaped your lips in an attempt to calm yourself down. 

And you almost lost the gratifying sensation a split moment later when Mitsuhide parted his lips, apparently wanting to say something to you.

But-

“Nobunaga-sama!”

At the sound of the suffix, your face near-blanched and paled in disgust, though you couldn’t deny that the new voice was far more attractive than you had anticipated it to be and you somehow figured- no, knew- he was a charmer, whether intentionally or unintentionally. The voice, however, had sounded rather flustered and you had heard the sound of hooves from perhaps a 100 metres away. 

But the sight of his ruffled caramel-blond locks and the sweat dripping from his face when he entered was a set for sore eyes.

Damn, why are all these guys so good looking?!

“Hideyoshi,” Nobunaga greeted, although somewhat curtly and you gasped quietly, mentally punching yourself in the face almost immediately after. You really shouldn’t have been surprised. It was the Sengoku period after all, and Hideyoshi was Nobunaga’s right-hand-man, or so to speak.

“Oh great. Here comes ‘Toyotomi Hideyoshi’...”

It had been uttered from beneath your breath as you sighed now uninterested, but apparently even mentioning his name had been enough to capture his attention. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in your appearance, frowning even further at the sight of your displeased expression.

“Outspoken, are we? Have we met?”

And with a scowl, you couldn’t help retorting a quick “Oh, buzz off,” as irritated as you already were. You turned away from him, as in back facing him and all, huffing quietly as Mitsunari giggled at your expense. The kitsune-male only raised an eyebrow are your snark, finding you as amusing as his banter with Hideyoshi.

“Leave her be, Hideyoshi. She is the one who saved my life.”

Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide eyed you over - something you hated by now, but couldn’t do anything about - and glanced back at Nobunaga in interest.

“Such a slender thing! But it appears your courage makes up for it…”

If you had a choice, you would have cursed Mitsuhide with all of your ability, before baring your bite in his arm and disappearing in a flash of blue-white fox fire. ‘Slender thing’ or not, you were well and truly able to obliterate him on the spot if you really wanted to, though you were pretty sure you had a higher likelihood of dying from these other warlords standing ahead of you. And your history knowledge told you that you had not yet met all from Nobunaga’s end of the war.

Just how many vassals and retainers he have exactly?

But then again, as you watched Hideyoshi supposedly opting to argue with the said kitsune-like man there was just something very specific you knew of. And if you had the chance to interfere, you would’ve, save for the fact that they were so adamantly yelling at one another to the point you almost wished for some kind of headache relief.

(Did you even have a box of painkillers with you? You really weren’t sure-)

Glancing around your feet for distraction, you spied your leather-brown satchel laid at your feet and sighed. You had unconsciously clung onto the said bag (perhaps in fear? Then again your kind didn’t exactly fear fire) and only released the item when you had rested beside you. 

But you were thankful for that fact, for multiple reasons. First-

“Give us some time alone. There is something I’d like to speak to her about.”

...Nevermind the ‘first’, you had more ‘threatening’ things to deal with. From memory, ‘time alone’ with a warlord, let alone any male during Imperial Japan, was essentially agreeing to something you’d rather not think about (definitely not, considering what your occupation had been- a police officer-cross-detective).

As Nobunaga excused his fellow warlords from the tent, your hand reached towards your bag, pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and scribbled a short note. And before the Oda lord could face you, you crushed your bag against your chest and fled through the same entrance, hoping to never see them again, no matter how impossible you knew it was.

But the piece of paper flittered to the ground, folded and addressed to a single man she had met that night.

‘Akechi Mitsuhide’.

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

-and as much as you’d like to say your endeavour was successful, there was just this one thing: It was the centre of town and there were people about (the whole ‘temple on fire’ thing, remember?). It wasn’t as if you could just POOF! into a fox and expect to get away, right?

And so here you were, geta pounding loudly against the dirt floor as you ran towards the forest where you ironically felt most safe. But your thoughts were preoccupied with a host of strange thoughts and analysis of the people you met earlier. They appeared much different from how your history books stated, though there wasn’t much you could say considering how frantic you thought you were.

Nobunaga, the man you had rescued, was… Much younger than you thought. You had sworn your history book had stated he was nearing, or at, 45 years of age when his death came around. But here he looked to be in his mid-twenties, if not slightly early-twenties. His crimson eyes and raven hair seemed to stand out most amongst his equally black, ruby and white clothing. 

Hideyoshi, on the other hand, appeared to be skeptical of you and frankly, you couldn’t complain. His lean figure was something you had exactly expected, though his caramel locks had been somewhat surprising for the time period. He appeared to be just as protective (and loyal) as the history books stated he was. However-

-You hadn’t even ran 200 metres into the forest when you came across a clearing, occupied by a rather scarred monk with an attitude, might you add.

“My name is Kennyo,” he had introduced, staff jangling as he moved, “A travelling monk. May I be of assistance?”

Your almost imperceivable shake of the head torments you even further as your intruding thoughts (ones of doubt, anxiety and mental discussion) abruptly ceased. His hardened expression... appeared to be almost forced, as if he wasn’t used to being cruel; as if he was forced to hurt you. And if your kimono had been shorter, you’d probably kick his normal expression back to his face. Literally.

He had stopped in front of you, eyeing you carefully before continuing his words.

“You should return home quickly, Demons lurk in these woods at night.”

If the whole ‘travelling monk’ attribute hadn’t made you skeptical of him, then his last statement had. Demons? How could he possibly know about them? You, for one, could be classified as one if you weren’t careful but for he to address the demons would mean he-

...Oh yeah. He’s a monk...

Hurriedly, you rushed a rather flustered-yet-sarcastic, “Thanks for the warning!” before delving deeper and deeper into the darkness that enshrouded them. And you had to thank him- mentally- for not following you as you travelled further away from him.

But your feet (or rather, you in general) had come to a sudden stop as you were tackled unwillingly to the ground by someone far heavier than you were (and was that muscles you felt?). You groaned at the impact, before rapidly finding your will to sit upright; shoving the man from your chest. And unfortunately for you, it earned you a rather heavy glare from the chocolate-haired boy… Dare you say. 

(The truth was, he looked to be your age, but you refused to acknowledge the fact.)

“I save you, and this is what I get?”

Your head whipped around at his exasperated words, unsure of how to respond to his exasperated question. And you blinked blankly at the sight just behind you- A wide expanse of a forest, beyond the clifftop you now sat upon. 

Oh.

Not that it really mattered to you (you wouldn't have died anyway), but it seemed to terrify(?) the crimson-clad male that you would so willingly leap off a cliff, despite how unaware you were. Despite your nature to tease the soul out of the male, it was perhaps better courtesy to thank him for saving you the trek back up-cliff (though you wouldn’t let him know that. Ever.) So you did, though he, for some reason or another, seemed to doubt your gratitude for several seconds before nodding and shifting away from you with a blush on his face.

Oh. OHHH.

For sure, you would be teasing him the next time you met, that is, if you ever did. After all, he appeared to be blushing because of your proximity rather than his actions, and if anything, he reminded you of a shy, athletic, college boy. And just as you were about to ask for his name, you were interrupted by a rather amused (more mature and somewhat sultry), “Yuki, we leave you for ten minutes and you’ve found yourself a girl?”

And for once, you stared; anger, amusement and irritation suddenly drained from your thoughts. If the other warlords you had met that night were ‘good looking’, this guy was hot. Frat boy hot. 

If your jaw hadn’t dropped before, then it would now. 

How the hell were you supposed to handle all these good-looking men?

Something told you that even if you ran away now, they would find their way back to you no matter how far you fled. But you just stared at the newcomer (or rather, you were the newcomer, but screw logic for the moment-), from the smirkingly egoistic smile on his face to the crimson-maroon colour of his kimono. And his open chest. You didn’t deny that. 

And given your initial impression of him (a flirt, and you were sure you were correct), it was easier to just turn around and leap off the cliff. But again, you didn’t want to insult this so-called ‘Yuki’ for saving your life, so you just huffed, crossing your arms indignantly.

There was, after all, no room to flee (unless you wanted to scare the shit out of the men in front of you by leaping backwards… Something you were tempted to do-).

And as you contemplated, he muttered something about “Honnōji” and “ghosts” and something- something- “seen?”. He was probably flirting with you, if you knew him well enough (and for the record, you didn’t). But your ears had caught onto something else, directing your attention elsewhere for the moment: Another rustle in the bushes, and a flash of white-

Oh. This guy… seemed cold, to say the least, which somehow had become a rather fresh change for you given how warm the other men you had met seemed to be. From top to bottom, his aura and style alluded loneliness and the freezing temperatures of blue. And he was heterochromatic, simply an aspect of him that added to his mysteriousness.

“Your ability to spew cheap pick-up lines never ceases to amaze me.”

…And you were right. Which was rare, considering your luck, or lack thereof, you usually had. 

“You there, could you step into the light? Thank you.”

Amusedly, you hadn’t even shifted (or spoken, but whatever), but you complied out of curiosity rather than obedience. The raven-haired man standing beside the freezing-looking male was pretty, you didn’t- couldn’t- deny it. His braided hair, completed with a stunningly pink kimono, was nothing to laugh at either. He was one of those… ‘art appreciation’ people. Not that there was anything ultimately wrong, you’ve just had several pretty interesting run-ins with people of his kind, that was all. And-

“Would you be willing to exchange your kimono with one in my collection?”

Your eyebrows furrowed themselves, mind immediately either leaping to a single question (rare, for someone of your profession): Was he… flirting with you? To exchange a kimono to one from his collection… Didn’t that mean he was claiming you? Maybe? Maybe not? It was difficult to tell with this guy. 

But all you did was give him a gentle smile, refusing politely with a shake of your head. And before you could take a step backwards (and off the cliff), a large hand, though heavy, clasped itself over your shoulder, drawing you close to a very warm wall.

“Sorry Yoshimoto, I saw this angel first.”

Okay, that was the final straw- you really were going to leap off the cliff, accidental or not. There was no way you were going to spend the night warming their bed, as their words implied. And perhaps it was because of your exhaustion, or perhaps not, but your irritation originating from the interaction with Nobunaga’s men had once again risen. You slipped from his arm and backed towards the edge of the cliff. 

“What are you doing?!”

Your heels hung off the precariously crumbling edge as the athlete yelled at you with eyes wide. And you just stared at ‘Yuki’s’ concern (which, you had to admit, did touch you slightly), before whispering a quiet ‘sorry’ at him and tilting your entire body backwards.

And in a split second, the men rushed to the edge of the cliff, unable to do much save for watch you fall without so much of a scream. And as if to spite you, the one who had clasped his hand over his shoulder, peered over the edge of the cliff and waved at you (winking, might you add), though a clear sign of worry and doubt was evident on his handsome face. 

“Takeda Shingen! Remember it!”

But you had disappeared within a blink of an eye, leaving almost nothing behind (a faint blue tinge, maybe, but it was far too faint to be considered much else than a trick of the eye). And for several seconds, the men blinked confused at your sudden ability to fade. And then-

“Why-? How-?”

The questions fell from Yuki’s lips almost innocently as he gaped in surprise at his lord’s strange actions. But the lord just smiled almost nervously in response, as if doubting his eyes, and responded to his question somewhat smugly.

“-Did I know that she would be alive? There’s no way a person would so confidently fall from a cliff- suicidal or not- unless they knew they were going to survive.”

[sikeno5697]

How To Use Automatic Washing Machine to Wash Clothes?

Washing garments is one of the hardest work for any individual in the planet. As of late I have bought a LG top stacking, completely programmed machine ($375) and I was extremely astounded, being a first time client I truly didnt realize how to utilize a clothes washer. I prefer not to let it out however its reality.

On the off chance that you are intending to purchase a programmed clothes washer… here are the highlights that is an absolute necessity have for a decent clothes washer

1. Wash mode

2. Flush mode

3. Turning mode

4. Dryer

5. Top stacking or front stacking.

6. Choice of cold and boiling water.

The best clothes washer is front stacking type however it the most costly ($500) and the weakness is you need to lean down everytime to load or pull out your garments. The savvy and spending type would be top stacking machine.

The most effective method to arrangement a clothes washer

1. Interface the machine to control attachment.

2. Interface both hot and cold bays to water pipes.

3. Ensure you place the waste water outlet in suitable spot.

4. Include a decent washing powder.

5. Force on the machine

6. Set the water level physically (in the event that it doesnt start)

The benefit of utilizing boiling water to eliminate germs. In my LG clothes washer it takes around 40 minutes

Washing Mode

In this mode most clothes washers basically whirl or pivot the garments in the wake of absorbing the water blended in with washing powder. It completes not many turns and does some internal twirl to eliminate the soil or stains in garments.

Flushing Mode

In this mode the machine first deliveries the waste water totally and afterward fills in new water to re-clean the froth and washing powder in the garments. This is called flushing. It cleans washing powder left in your garments incorporating any fades with new water.

NOTE: In many machines the turning would work just on the off chance that you have associated the hot or cold water delta.

Turning

When the washing is done, the machine pivots the garments and this cycle totally kills about 80% of the water in the garments. On the off chance that you live in a bright spot (with great daylight) take off the garments and dry it physically under sun, else on the off chance that you live in a cool nation, you may require dryer.

Dryer

When turning is finished, the machine dries your garments by allowing in hot air and does expanded turning to dry your garments. Note that power utilization would be more in this mode and on the off chance that you need to cut your capacity charges stop with turning.

Here I am sharing what I have gained from being a noob in washing. I truly enjoyed my machine and it infact eliminated earth and stains well indeed. Infact my garments smelled pleasant.

Clothes washers are extraordinarily helpful and simple to-utilize family apparatuses, however can take a touch of becoming accustomed to. On the off chance that you've recently gotten your first, or are stretching out into doing your own clothing unexpectedly, have no dread. You can undoubtedly figure out how to work a clothes washer, realize which cleanser and cleansing agent is best for which sorts of articles of clothing, and keep your garments' tones from draining or demolishing your whites.

Most garments are machine launderable, however consistently check the tag for additional guidelines. Some garments may recoil in the event that you utilize warm or boiling water to wash. Some may have the option to deal with fade and some may not. Also, a few articles of clothing can't be washed in a machine, for example, certain silks and delicates. Continuously check the name cautiously.

Set aside garments that are named as "hand wash just" or "launder as it were".

In many shirts, dress consideration names are situated within left half of the shirt or inside the neck region.

In many jeans, dress consideration marks are situated within the rear of the jeans.

[miscelunaaa]

spin cycle 5 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: drabble series, slow burn, idiots to lovers, fluff, lil bit of angst, eventual smut

summary: This random guy has started doing laundry at your favorite laundromat each week (at the same time as you, no less!) and to be honest, it’s going to be a problem. You’re just not sure how yet.

rating: 18+ for eventual smut

word count: less than 500

warnings: A wild namjoon appears. Boys with girl problems. Swearing, as always.

notes: Hello again! Not sure who all might’ve seen it yesterday, but I posted an update about plotting out the rest of this. It’s a whopping 18 index cards which means it’s time to strap in for the long haul. The slow burn is real! Let’s hope I can make it as delicious and delightful as possible. Also, shout out to @thatlongspringnight and @namjin-fangirling-again for helping answer some highly scientific questions I had while working on future chapters 👀 I really appreciate your help! As always, thank you so much for reading. Please drop a comment or an ask if you’d like. I’d love to hear from you :)

series masterlist | read on ao3

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“You did what?”

“I folded her laundry.”

“You folded a complete stranger’s laundry? In public?”

Jungkook shrugs at his roommate. “Yeah. Why, is that weird?”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose before sighing, “Yes, that’s weird as hell!”

“What was I supposed to do? Let it get weird and gross in the washer? She fell asleep and like super hard too, I didn’t want her to have to wash it all again!”

“Wait, so you put it in the dryer for her and then folded it?”

Jungkook nods, watching as Namjoon gnaws on his bottom lip. The man only just got home, and he’s been acting weird lately. Instead of talking about his own catching-feelings debacle, Namjoon is deflecting, choosing to focus on the events of Jungkook’s evening rather than those of his own.

To be honest, Jungkook wants the help.

He doesn’t think you’re a problem, per se. He just doesn’t know how to approach you at all.

“A few hours were not going to make or break her laundry, you nerd. You like her, don’t you?”

Namjoon is good at going for what he wants. Jungkook is also good at it, in his own way. He’s worked hard for his body, his art, his job … He’s just so shy that he’s not good at going for people he wants. But he’s got little ways of trying.

When he first met Namjoon, back in high school, he’d been so in awe of this tall, lanky, brainy kid that all he’d managed to say was “thighs” because that’s what he’d been looking at instead of making eye contact. They could laugh about it now, but it took years for the teenager to grow confident in speaking to others. Now that he’d bulked up and gained some self confidence, Jungkook had gotten to the point where it was easier to talk to strangers.

But, of course, you’re different.

Jungkook is used to girls fawning over him. It had happened throughout college and it happens whenever he and Joon went out to bars or clubs. But you … you’d barely looked at him when he first walked into the laundromat.

He found it was a welcome change. He didn’t have to worry about you showering him with un-asked for or un-wanted attention. He liked to think of you as a compatriot of sorts. Two lovers of the laundry arts, united only by their enthusiasm and ardor for clean clothes and also for the wee morning hours.

“Look, she fell asleep on her computer. I think she’s having a rough few weeks. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”

Namjoon gives him a long look from across their kitchen island. Jungkook squirms under the gaze of his roommate, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie sleeve.

“Dude, you’re so whipped for her already, I can tell.”

“Asshole. You’re one to talk.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

© miscelunaaa 2021. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: 1.17.2022. updated 4.2.2022 (front matter clean up). 

[nice-bright-colors]

Update Part Deux:

Yesterday the new washer and dryer were installed. Washer spins faster and removes more water out of the clothes. The dryer actually dries. However does make a loud squealing noise when it first starts. I guess I got very accustomed to the high efficiency German models I had in my condo. Sigh.

Tomorrow the furniture gets delivered. That should be fine, except I’m pretty certain everything will not fit but maybe only one way in the living. I keep telling myself it’s only a year in this apartment. It’s only a year.

The (3) small children under the age of 6 that live above us left today for Thanksgiving somewhere else. I’m thankful for that. Those kids have a lot of energy and heavy feet. I’ve already started looking at real estate in a few towns around here and this one. There’s a ton of new construction going on right now. As much as I’d love a single family home, what they are building is too much house for just the 2 of us. Plus, I’m not really grooving on “starting in the low $500’s”.

The new bed, is just, (wipes tears from eyes)....I spent the last 3 weeks sleeping in a chair or on the floor. When we lived at Temp Home I slept in a chair in the living room, because the sofa and mattresses sucked. For the better part of the last few years I slept on our old sofa or my chair. Finally, a comfortable mattress, and a size that fits the 3 of us. I haven’t slept this well in years. Highly recommend Lull.

All that is left is a standing desk that I’m going to get the Office to pay for. Right now I’m still working off my Dining room table. It will get there, I just need to have some patience. I really wanted this all to be done within week 1. Oh well. At least I have a fireplace to keep things warm.