#cried over vacuum cleaners

[keendaanmaa]

😅

[pseudowho]

"Why the fuck...does this vacuum cleaner smell like cheese?"

Kento was yet to arrive home, and you saw this as only a blessing for him. Staring down the barrel of the hoover, the house finally hushed from the sounds of rowdy children, you wore your finest holey tank top, and pyjama shorts which covered asscheek, pussy and belly (but only ever two at a time, at any given time).

Your antiperspirant didn't have the same stamina as you. You swore as you trod barefoot on Lego, staggering and cussing like a mad old witch.

Bra-less, and without the time to scout the laundry pile for underwear, you hoovered crumbs and war-detritus like a skrunkly raccoon; hungry, cross, and in need of a shower. Your mind was lost, running between the alleyways of your chore-list, when the door clicked open, and closed.

You vacuumed, and vacuumed, not even looking up as you heard the rhythmic tack, tack, tack of his brown Oxfords approaching.

"There she is."

As if you were the Venus de Milo.

You grunted, lifting the rug and picking up an abandoned, squashed peach with an ugh! and cursed your sleeping offspring. You stood up with a huff, blowing sweaty hairs off your face, your breasts swinging independently of you.

"How's my darling wife?"

Pristine as ever, crisp and ironed and with the faintest tang of sweat and cologne, you wondered if Kento would ever arrive home looking like he'd been intimately acquainted with a trash can. The day had not yet come. Whiskey-deep eyes drank you in, parched.

Your heart ached with how handsome he looked, and how pathetically mismatched you were against him.

"Kento. You're home."

"Mmmm."

Either in confirmation, or having seen something delicious; you weren't sure. You suspected the latter. You scoffed as his hands reached out to slip round your raggedy waist, and you scoffed, and he shushed you, and you berated him, and he mumbled sweet nothings into your neck until you were finally folded into him, his missing ingredient.

And how he looked at you, as if you'd hung the stars and orchestrated the seasons.

You breathed him in, lax against the brick-wall solidity of him. You could have cried.

You still had sloppy peach remnants in your hand as Kento kissed you, soft and mellow and longing. You huffed against his lips.

"Kento, I am a fucking mess--"

"You're lovely--"

"--I absolutely am not--"

"--ravishing--"

"--you're ridiculous--"

"--gorgeous--"

"You're an idiot."

"I've missed you."

"God, I've missed you too. So much. You don't even know."

"I'm sure I do."

You sighed, nuzzling your face into the hard planes of Kento's collarbones, growling away a day of frustration. His chuckles rumbled up, tickling your nose. You rested your cheek against Kento's chest, your weariness bone-deep, having had no agency over your body or your time since dawn.

You surveyed the carnage together in silence; toys strewn as if the bodies of soldiers, abandoned laundry with stains of suspect aetiology, congealed meals, lovingly prepared and never eaten. You felt the weight of the day threaten to overwhelm you, feeling the panic and anxiety climbing, tidal waves on your waterline--

"Sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea."

The floodgates almost opened. "I can't do that-- you've had a long day-- so much to do--"

"And, I'll do it."

"No you won't, I--"

"Sit down. And I'll make you a cup of tea."

A single, slow kiss to your sweaty forehead. You sniffled, no strength left for another battle. You offered paltry smiling complaints as Kento nuzzled your hair, gripping you closer, growling into your neck as you squeaked and laughed.

You felt the familiar heavy press and twitch of his cock against you, and he groaned as you squirmed in his grasp, giggling. You caught his eye, as he twinkled down at you, pressing one slow kiss to your lips, possessive and full of promise.

"...I'm not apologising for anything. You look incredible."

"Ridiculous man, Nanami Kento."

[queenshelby]

The Client (Rewritten)

Part One: Starting Out

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (37) & Reader (35)

Note: In this fic Cillian is a lawyer, helping the reader after she becomes a victim of domestic abuse.

It was one of those days again where James was seething with anger. Exhausted from overwork, his mounting stress erupted in a torrent of fury directed at you.

"Didn't I fucking tell you to clean up this mess an hour ago?” he bellowed the moment he barged in at 6 o’clock, his eyes ablaze with disapproval. You knew that yet again, your efforts fell short of his demanding standards.

“James, I am sorry. I lost track of time. I was in the garden…” you faltered, justifying yourself, avoiding his piercing gaze as you spoke.

“When I talk to you, you look at me! Understood?” James hissed as he yanked your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his imposing glare.

"I-I'm sorry, i-it won't happen again, I promise," you whimpered in fear, the sting of his slap still fresh on your face as you crumpled to the floor.

Without warning, he had struck you once more, the scalding tears tracing a path down your cheeks.

"Look at the things you make me do Y/N! I don't want be the bad guy here," James muttered, hoisting you to your feet as you wiped away the evidence of your pain.

“I am…” you attempted to speak, but he cut you off abruptly.

"I am sorry. I overreacted,” remorse etched on his face, though you didn't want his apology, refusing to meet his gaze as he enveloped you in a suffocating embrace.

“Okay,” you choked on a sob, swallowing hard. Words failed you, a suffocating fear gripping your heart.

Nine weeks pregnant with your unborn child, the last thing you wanted was to draw his wrath further. It wasn’t the first time his fists struck you, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. Amidst his tirades and vicious cycles of abuse, his apologies felt hollow, the promise of change a mere illusion.

"Come on now, Y/N. Some of the senior associates are coming over tomorrow, and I need this place spotless! You don’t want to embarrass me, do you?” James remarked as he released you, prompting you to nod meekly and reach for the vacuum cleaner.

Without wasting a single moment, you attacked the housework, vacuuming and scrubbing with a frenzied determination. Every inch of the furniture received your fierce dusting, and not even the windows escaped your meticulous cleaning. By around 9 o’clock, you had conquered the tasks, but the exhaustion had already settled in.

As you completed your chores, you ascended the stairs to the bathroom, yearning for a brief respite under the warm water. Wrapping a towel around your trembling frame, you hastened to your bedroom to change into something more comfortable, but your attire failed to appease your husband's dissatisfaction.

“For once, could you not make an effort for me? I am your husband, after all,” James seethed, his breath reeking of alcohol as he barged into the room, making his presence felt.

He must have faced a brutal day, likely losing a pivotal legal battle, a realization that spelled trouble for you.

“Please, James, not now,” you pleaded, your words trembling with fear as he advanced towards you menacingly.

"You are mine. You will obey. If I desire, you will submit. You are good for nothing else," James growled, his tone dripping with malice as he forcefully pushed you against the wall, his grip tightening.

"James, please, I'm pregnant. You know this," you cried out amidst tears, attempting to evade his suffocating presence.

"So what?" James spat venomously. "That doesn't exempt you from my needs. On your knees, now," he commanded, gripping your hair and throat mercilessly, his wrath escalating.

"Stop! Just stop!" you begged, your voice breaking as you struggled against his brutal advances, triggering his unchecked fury.

He suddenly kicked your stomach, first once and then twice and slapped you till your face was bleeding once again.  

He was full of rage, and you couldn't make it stop. You were just going to let him do this to you because you didn’t have any strength anymore to fight him. You started seeing dark everywhere and before you knew it you blacked out.

Hours later, you woke up at the local hospital, engulfed by searing pain and exhaustion. Despite the haunting memories of what had befallen you, you chose to keep silent about the truth.

“I fell down the stairs,” you feebly explained to the nurse, offering a feigned facade. Unfamiliar with your history, she dismissed it as a minor accident.

But beneath her seemingly indifferent exterior, a flicker of concern burned brightly. As she somberly delivered the news of your lost child, you found a peculiar solace in the revelation, casting shadows of doubt on your inner turmoil.

“You appear oddly composed despite your loss. Is there anything I can do for you? I can arrange for a psychologist or call your husband to be here with you,” the nurse endeavored to comfort you, sensing an unseen weight upon your shoulders.

“The pregnancy was not planned. I didn't really want another child, so I will be fine,” you mumbled uncertainly, concealing the painful truth that your husband had manipulated you into this plight.

As you pondered your bleak predicament, the specter of freedom beckoned. Yet, with nothing to your name, escape seemed as elusive as a wisp of smoke.

“But, actually…” you hesitated just as the nurse was about to depart.

“Can you please call my brother for me? I don't have my phone on me, and I don't have a wallet either,” you implored, hoping against hope that the nurse would grant you this one favor and that your brother would pick up your call after almost a decade of silence.

“Of course, use my phone,” the nurse offered kindly, extending the lifeline you sought. With Dermont's number etched into your memory, you dialed it, engulfed by a mix of trepidation and longing.

After about three rings , a rough, familiar voice answered, "Who is this?"

"It's me. Please don't hang up ," you blurted out hastily, anxious the nurse wouldn't witness the conversation unfold given how you had parted ways with Dermont many years ago.

A brief pause followed, and your breath hitched, amplifying the suspense.

"Y/N," he finally said, his tone laced with surprise and perhaps a sliver of compassion. The name he hadn't uttered in so long seemed to weigh upon him, dragging up dusty memories of a shared past.

"I'm at the hospital. Can you come? I need your help. I have nowhere else to turn," you murmured into the phone, your voice cracking with unshed tears.

The heaviness of those words hung in the air, enveloped by a thick silence. You could barely discern whether he was mulling over your request or simply wrestling with the fervent desire to hang up.

"Which hospital?" Dermont asked, his tone now a shade softer. It seemed there was always a piece of him, deep within his heart that wouldn't abandon you despite your troubled past.

"Mater Private. I'm on the fourth floor," you mumbled as you swallowed the lump in your throat, anticipating the decision that could change the trajectory of your life forever.

"All right. I'm on my way," Dermont reassured, trying to hide the unease lacing his voice.

The phone call terminated, leaving you on tenterhooks, the enormity of your actions mercilessly sinking in.

The nurse watched you with gentle eyes, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. A whirlpool of agonizing vulnerability consumed you, spreading barbed tendrils of panic but somehow you knew that, at least for now, you were safe. Dermont would be coming from you and you would not have to face James again. 

Hours later, at Cillian's House....

It was around midnight when Cillian’s phone rang, ripping him out of his sleep.

“Jesus, why is someone calling you so late?” Janette, Cillian's paralegal, yelped while laying next to him. She pulled the doona over her face to cover her ears, trying to block out the unexpected interruption. Cillian and her had been entangled in an on-and-off romance for a few months now. It wasn't anything serious, just innocent fun on restless occasions.

“It’s a friend. It’s probably urgent,” Cillian murmured to her before taking the call and, as Dermont's panicky voice flooded his ears, a sense of urgency gripped him.

Barely shaking off the dregs of sleep, he scrambled out of bed, his actions fueled by instinct.

"What's going on, Dermont?" Cillian asked hurriedly, his mind shifting gears as he mentally prepared to handle whatever crisis his friend was in. 

“I urgently need an AVO. It can't wait,” Dermont nervously admitted and Cillian could hear the strain in his voice. 

"What the fuck for?" he wanted to know, thinking that Dermont had gotten himself in trouble and what he heard next made him forget all about his restless night.

"It's for my sister, Y/N. I swear, she needs it urgently. She's at the hospital because her sick bastard of a husband did beat her up again," Dermont explained and the sudden mention of your name made Cillian bolt upright. 

"How bad are her injuries? Is she alright?"  Cillian queried urgently, concern etching lines onto his face. The strong defenses he had erected around his heart began to weaken, an unspoken history pulling him under. Despite having lost touch with you just over sixteen years ago, memories of you remained vivid.

Dermont sighed before replying, "The doctors and nurses managed to deal with the damage. She's alive but she her entire body is covered in bruises,"  Dermont's voice cracked, conveying his helplessness at the distance that had grown between them after all these years.

"Did she report him to the police?" Cillian asked through clenched teeth, his cool demeanor betraying an intense surge of anger.

"Not yet. She's scared, man. She is really scared," Dermont whispered, the weight of his words settling menacingly in the air. 

"Listen, there is nothing we can really do tonight. You need to take her to the shelter on York Street. She'll be safe there. They provide emergency accommodation in cases like this. Come to my office with her tomorrow morning, at 8 o’clock and we'll start the paperwork,” Cillian advised, his mind racing through scenarios to ensure everyone's safety.  "Oh, and Dermont, get her a prepaid phone. She shouldn't be using hers in case her husband is tracking her," Cillian added as an afterthought, knowing that dangerous men like James often went to great lengths to control and harm their victims.

"Thanks, man," Dermont responded appreciatively, the reality that his friend was offering a much-needed olive branch sinking in.

"Of course. I will see you both tomorrow," Cillian agreed as he terminated the call with a sense of purpose coursing through his veins. As he glanced at Janette, who had since emerged from beneath the covers, a spark of clarity illuminated his eyes.

"What happened?" she wanted to know as Cillian climbed back into bed beside her.

"My friend's sister needs an AVO. Her husband has been beating her for a while I think and she just ended up in hospital tonight," Cillian pensively uttered the words as he slipped back into bed, disrupting the tranquility of the room that suddenly seemed tainted by the overwhelming gravity of the situation.

Janette blinked, slowly awakening to this revelation and the evident distress on Cillian's face. 

"I don't get it," she said softly. "Why are you even getting involved in this? You no longer do this kind of work and should refer her to Legal Aid rather than taking this case pro-bono which I know is what you are going to do." 

Cillian let out a sigh before replying, "Because he is my best friend, and I knew her from when we were young. We basically grew up in the same neighborhood."  he clarified, while absentmindedly toying with a loose thread on the blanket.

"Okay sure," she replied, immediately lapsing into a trance-like silence. With furrowed eyebrows and a partly sealed mouth, Janette's disapproval lingered uncomfortably in the room. "But honestly, do you even think that she will accept your help? If her husband has been doing this to her for a while, then she might even go back to him after a you bring a lawsuit," Janette interjected, the skepticism evident in her voice. "She's obviously got mental issues. Women who allow men to do this kind of stuff for a prolonged period of time usually have other things going on with them Cillian and you may not be able to save her," Janette persisted, exposing her doubts about the situation at hand.

Cillian felt a pang of defensiveness on behalf of you which was something he hadn't seen in over a decade and a half. "She isn't that type of woman, trust me. I knew her quite well," he stated emphatically, as he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before sighing deeply. "Let's just get back to sleep, alright?" he then murmured, draping an arm around Janette's waist. But his mind remained restless, preoccupied with thoughts of your predicament and, to make matters even worse, when had fallen back asleep, Cillian's thoughts drifted back to their shared past, resurrecting memories of a time when life seemed infinitely simpler.

One evening in particular entered his mind. It was a cold autumn night just over sixteen years ago. You had just turned 18 the month before and Cillian was visiting Cork during his Semester break.  It was Dermont's 20th Birthday and Cillian had traveled all the way from Dublin to join the celebration. 

Spotting you in the corner of the room that evening, Cillian's pulse quickened as usual. He had been feeling this irresistible pull towards you for years, but never had the courage to utter a word about it. 

"Hey," he finally said, approaching you timidly, holding a little parcel in his hand. 

"Oh hey. I didn't even know that you were coming," you responded excitedly as you spotted him.

Your smile was as dazzling as ever, bathing his heart in warmth.

"Well, I wouldn't miss your brother's birthday for the world," Cillian replied with a wink, handing over the present wrapped in shiny blue paper.  "And this is for you I suppose. I am sorry it is a bit late. So, happy belated18th birthday," he told you, his heart pounding in his chest like a wild drum.

"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," you smiled as you unwrapped the gift with your slender, small fingers revealing a bracelet featuring your favorite animal.

"Oh wow, Cillian. Thank you," you exclaimed, that warm smile lighting up your face once more, sending a flutter through Cillian's heart.

"I'm glad you like it," Cillian replied, his own mouth curving into a grin as he marveled at your unbridled delight. "I first thought getting you jewelry was weird, but I don't know, when I saw it, it seemed really fitting somehow,"  he confided, a certain vulnerability in his voice which you found both surprising and endearing.

Your fingers grazed the intricately designed silver badger, its keen little eyes gazing back at you, seeming almost fiercely protective. 

"It's perfect," you told him before leaning in to kiss his cheek.  The gesture was innocent, yet it ignited a lingering warmth between you two - a feeling that left Cillian both thrilled and lovesick.

The night wore on, and the party dwindled to a close, but that brief encounter remained etched in Cillian's memory. He sought you out a few times that evening and, eventually, he found you outside, enveloped by the chill of the night. The atmosphere was saturated with a heavy silence, the hushed rustling of leaves playing an eerie melody in the darkness. The soft glow emanating from the house cast shadows upon the garden as he hesitantly approached.

"Avoiding the drunken crowds?" Cillian asked as he sat down next to you on the big swinging bench which you always assumed to be from the seventies. In his hand, he held a pint of Guinness and you reached for it to take a sip.

Your fingers made contact with his, setting off a current that surprised both of you. "I almost forgot that you are old enough to drink now ," Cillian mentioned, trying to bring the electricity in the air back down to normal levels.

"It's not my first sip of beer, but don't tell alright?" you chuckled , before cautiously taking a mouthful of the bitter drink.

Cillian's lips spread into a warm smile, enjoying your carefree laughter. It was a sound he wished to hear more often, although he realized he knew very little about what made you truly happy. "Scout's honor," Cillian nodded, the corner of his lips twitching in a soft smile.

The frosty night descended around you, weaving in the shared quietness and the stirring breeze.

As you handed the beer glass back to Cillian, you brushed your fingertips gently against his, the little shock still radiating like a cozy secret between the two of you. Cillian studied your face, reading the emotions swimming at the surface of your eyes. Something so genuine and comely: it was invigorating, and he couldn't seem to glance away.

"I know I've never said this, but honestly, I always quite liked you, you know ," Cillian quietly admitted, baring his soul to you. Opening up to his best friend's younger sister—the girl he pined for relentlessly throughout adolescence—felt both breathtaking and slightly terrifying.

"Really?" you queried, attempting to keep your wavering voice steady. "Why didn't you say something?" you asked, the words barely audible, as a nervous flutter rose within you. Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve, mirroring the tumultuous storm brewing within your heart.

Cillian let out a soft chuckle before answering, "I'm not sure, really. You were young, and I was neither mature nor brave enough to express my feelings. I don't know,"  Cillian said with a shake in his voice, bashfully lowering his gaze. The vulnerability emanating from his statement filled you with a deep warmth, especially when he raised his eyes to meet yours again.

As you stared at each other, a wave of intensity rippled between you. "I kinda liked you too , y'know," you confessed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the depth of Cillian's ocean blue eyes.

"In fact, I always had the biggest crush on you but just when I was ready to tell you were dating Siobhan O'Connor and  I hated that. I thought you would never notice me," you admitted nervously.

Cillian looked taken aback, as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

"What? That can't be," Cillian countered. "Of course, I noticed you! You had always been the most beautiful girl at every party we went to," Cillian cheerfully insisted, causing a soft blush to grace your cheeks. 

"Do you still think so?" you asked, your voice barely audible as a shiver of anticipation coursed down your spine. You shuffled closer, your breath hitching when your thighs brushed tantalizingly against Cillian's. Suddenly, he felt like the only solid thing in a world of chaos.

Cillian's gaze dropped to your lips, and in that moment, he knew that you two had been dancing around each other for far too long. 

"Yes, I do. You are beautiful,"  Cillian whispered hoarsely, leaning in to cup your face gently. Your eyes fluttered shut, and his lips met yours in a searing kiss that turned the world upside down. Every fear, every moment of hesitation dissipated like smoke in the night, replaced by the thunderous wave of desire.

You hesitated at first, unsure of how to react to the sudden turn of events as you had never been touched with such tenderness, and it took a moment to adjust.

Yet, as Cillian deepened the kiss, you realized that something seemed to awaken within you—a heavy hunger you didn’t know existed.

With shaky hands, you reached for his face, tracing your fingers his jawline. Cillian reacted with a low groan, tightening his arms around your waist. You tugged at the bottom edge of his sweater, desperate to feel more of him pressed up against you.

"Do you want to go to my room?" you murmured, pulling away just enough to speak. Your voice was barely above a whisper, but Cillian heard you loud and clear as if it was the most reasonable thing anyone has ever asked him. Albeit sensing your nervousness, he nodded and, shortly after that you led him to your room while everything around you seemed to blur.

You locked the door behind you, taking a brief moment to survey the room that was once yours but now seemed foreign.

The single bed was pushed against the wall, and a vanity littered with makeup and hair supplies occupied the other corner. But all of that faded into the background as you turned to face Cillian.

"We probably shouldn't tell Dermont about this," you murmured with a hesitant smile and Cillian chuckled softly, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face.

"Probably not," he replied, caressing your cheek gently.

As he leaned in to kiss you once more, you could feel the heat rising between you two. Your breath hitched as his hands roamed your body, and you clung to him greedily, running your fingers through his hair.

Cillian's fingers found the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to touch the warm, smooth skin beneath.

You shivered nervously  , but didn't stop him. Instead, you pulled him closer, your fingers digging into his back.

Cillian kissed you harder, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands moved up to cup your breasts, and you arched your back, moaning into his mouth.

You could feel his hardness pressing into your hip, and you reached down to touch him over his jeans.

Cillian hissed, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. "Fuck, Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

You bit your lip, feeling reckless and wild. "I never, you know , did it before," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to, with you."

"Are you sure? We don't have to,"  Cillian said, searching your face for any signs of hesitation or uncertainty. But you only saw concern and care in his eyes - a stark contrast to the hunger and desire that had consumed you both just moments earlier.

"I'm sure," you whispered, reaching up to pull him down onto the bed with you for another kiss. Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. Cillian's hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your waist and hips before settling on the button of your jeans.

With trembling fingers, he undid the button and slid the zipper down, revealing the lacy red thong that lay beneath.

You watched him, your breath hitching as his gaze dropped to your lower half. Cillian swallowed hard, his throat dry as he saw the dampness seeping through the fabric of your underwear.

"Fuck, Y/N," he whispered, his voice ragged. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband of your jeans and dragged them down your legs, leaving you laying there in just your thong and your snug fitting t-shirt.   The anticipation coiled tight in your belly while you watched him stand and remove his own clothes, letting them fall to the floor where his shoes already lay discarded.

His body was lean and covered in freckles. Your eyes were drawn to the firm muscles of his abs, your gaze tracing the lines and ridges formed by his body. Then they wandered lower, to the bulge pressing against the fabric of his briefs. 

You quickly sat up and pulled off your t-shirt , tossing it aside with eagerness, revealing your bare breasts for the first time to his gaze. 

You sat there nervously  , anticipation and excitement coiling in your belly. Your nipples hardened under his gaze and you couldn't help but feel self-conscious.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," Cillian said, as he knelt on the bed and crawled towards you, trailing his fingers over your skin. You inhaled sharply and leaned back to allow him access. He gently caressed one breast and then the other, before leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth. You gasped as his hot mouth closed around it, and your body trembled under his touch.

The sensation of his tongue swirling around your nipple sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pooling in your core.

You let out a low moan, arching your back as he teased you. Your hands roved over his back, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your fingertips. Cillian's hand traced a path from your breasts, down your stomach, until he reached the apex of your thighs.

He hooked his finger into the hem of your thong and slowly pulled it down your legs, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver of anticipation run down your spine as he stared at your naked body, taking in every inch of you.

His gaze was intense, filled with desire and longing.

His eyes met yours, and he leaned in to kiss you deeply.

His tongue plunged into your mouth, dancing with yours in a sensual rhythm that mirrored the movements of his fingers.

Cillian gently explored the folds of your pussy, discovering your slick wetness and groaning into the kiss.

He slipped a finger inside you, and you gasped at the sensation, your hips bucking upwards to meet his touch. He added a second finger, stretching you open and preparing you for what was to come.

Cillian broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck and over your collarbone. He suckled at your breasts, teasing your hard nipples with his tongue before continuing his journey down your body.

He planted soft kisses along your stomach, inching lower and lower until he reached the apex of your thighs. You spread your legs wider, allowing him access to the most intimate part of your being, the scent of your arousal heavy in the air.

Cillian wasted no time in exploring you further, spreading your lips apart with his thumbs and diving his tongue into your wetness. You cried out, your fingers finding their way into his hair, holding him in place as you ground yourself against his face.

"Holy shit, I didn't expect that," you panted, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as his tongue flicked expertly against your clit.

Cillian groaned against your wetness, his hands spreading you wider open as he feasted upon you. The sensation of his tongue delving into your most intimate places was almost too much to bear, and you struggled to keep your sanity as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Don't stop," you pleaded, your fingers tightening in his hair as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

"Cillian, please, don't stop." Your voice was a breathy whisper, urging him to continue his assault on your senses.

Cillian eagerly obliged, redoubling his efforts and bringing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. His tongue fluttered against your clit, and his fingers plunged deeper inside you, curling up to stroke the sensitive spot within.

The sensation was indescribable, and you felt your orgasm building, spiraling higher and higher until it threatened to consume you entirely.

"Cillian!" you shouted his name as your release crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your body shuddered, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Cillian didn't relent, his tongue continuing to circle and flick against your sensitive clit, drawing out your orgasm for what felt like an eternity. When you could finally take no more, you pushed his head away gently, panting and gasping for air. He looked up at you with satisfied eyes, crawling up your body to kiss you deeply, sharing the taste of your release with you.

It was the strangest but most satisfying experience , feeling his face slick with your desire, knowing that it was because he had pleasured you in the most earth-shattering way possible.

He brushed the hair away from your sweaty forehead, murmuring sweet words of love and adoration.

"You taste fucking delicious," Cillian whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as his lips traced the shell of your ear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close for another searing kiss.

As you were kissing, you reached into his briefs , wrapping your fingers around his thick shaft. Cillian hissed, his hips bucking forward as you began to stroke him firmly.

"Goddamn, Y/N," Cillian growled, his blue eyes dark with desire as he watched your every move. "You're going to make me come like this."

"That's the idea," you purred, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the bead of pre-come that had gathered there.

"No, really," Cillian tried to sound stern, but even he could hear the barely concealed desperation in his voice. You chuckled and continued your assault, your hand moving faster and faster along his length. "I wanted this for so long. I need to feel you. All of you,"  Cillian moaned, as you released his manhood from the confines of the briefs. His cock was thick and pulsating with need, and you couldn’t help but marvel at its size and girth. Cillian leaned back, resting himself on his knees, giving you the perfect view. His muscles rippled in the dim light, and the sweat glistening on his skin only added to his allure.

He pushed his briefs all the way off , tossing them to the side and leaving him completely bare.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, mesmerized by the sight of him fully naked before you. He was a work of art, and you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the male form before you.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cillian asked, his voice low and husky. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Y/N."

But you knew what you wanted.

"I want to, Cillian. I want all of you," you whispered and, with that, Cillian was on top of you, his lips crushing down on yours in a passionate kiss.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, and you couldn't help but squirm underneath him, eager for him to enter you.

"Please, Cillian," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you inside me."

Cillian didn't need any further encouragement. He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip brushing against your slick folds. He hesitated for a moment, savoring the feeling of your wetness against him.

Then, with a slow and deliberate thrust, he entered you, filling you up completely. You gasped as he bottomed out inside you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

"Shit," you whispered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't move yet," you begged, still adjusting to the sensation of him inside you.

Cillian obeyed, resting his forehead against yours, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back. You could feel the pulse of his cock inside you, and it sent waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

"How does it feel?" Cillian asked, his voice strained. You could see the strain in his eyes too, the effort it took for him to hold back.

"Strange. But in a good way," you replied quietly, your breath hitching as he shifted inside you, causing your walls to clench around him.

"Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?" Cillian whispered, concern etched on his face.

"No, no, I want more," you reassured him, your hands roaming down his back and gripping his firm buttocks.

Cillian took your cue and began to move, slowly at first, allowing you both to adjust to the sensation. With each thrust, his cock hit a sensitive spot inside you, eliciting a gasp every time. The smell of sweat and sex filled the room, and your bodies slapped together, creating a primal symphony that echoed through the space.

"Oh god , don't stop," you panted, your legs tightening around Cillian's waist as he thrusted into you gently, but precisely.  Your bodies melded into one, slick with sweat and desire, every movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Cillian's thrusts became more insistent, and your moans grew louder as he hit that spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"I can feel how wet you are for me, Y/N," Cillian whispered, his voice husky with lust.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring the corners of your mouth as he continued to thrust into you.

You moaned against his lips, your legs wrapped around his waist as you took every inch of him. The friction of his cock rubbing against your sensitive walls was driving you crazy, and it didn't take long before you felt another orgasm building inside you.

Cillian must have felt the same because he started to build his own rhythm, driving himself harder and faster into your writhing body.

"I am so close. Oh god fuck," you panted, your fingers digging into Cillian's back as your body tensed up and you released a loud moan . The intensity of the orgasm shook you to your core, making you dizzy and disoriented. Your walls clenched around Cillian's cock, the sensation sending him over the edge.

With a loud groan, Cillian came inside you, his cock pulsing as he filled you up with his warm seed. He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling as he caught his breath. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies slowly came down from the intense high.

Cillian's breathing was heavy, his heart pounding against your chest. You could feel his sweat mingling with yours, creating a sticky mixture that coated your skin.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "That was intense," he gasped and you moaned loudly again as he slowly pulled out.

"Yes it was," you agreed, shivering as the cool air touched your wetness. You could feel Cillian's warmth seeping out of you, merging with the sticky fluid that dripped down to your thighs. The sensation was oddly comforting and erotic at the same time, causing you to lick your lips in anticipation.

Cillian leaned in to kiss you once more, but before you could reciprocate, there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Y/N, are you in there?" you heard your brother ask and you quickly covered Cillian's mouth with your hand before responding.  "Yes, Dermont, what do you want?" you said, trying to compose yourself. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you could still feel Cillian's warmth seeping out of you.

Cillian shot you a puzzled look, but you just shook your head slightly, indicating that he should stay quiet. He looked confused but thankfully didn't protest.

"I was looking for Cillian. Do you know where he went?" your brother asked and you were quick to respond.

"Nope , I haven't seen him," you lied, trying to hide the panic in your voice. Your heart was racing, and your body still hummed with pleasure from the intense lovemaking session you had just shared with Cillian. You could feel a blush creeping up your neck as you tried to remain calm.

"Alright," Dermont said, sounding disappointed. "Well, I'll catch up with him later then. If you see him, let him know that he left his  phone in the living room," Dermont said, his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

As soon as you heard the front door close, you let out a sigh of relief.

"That was close," you whispered to Cillian, who was still lying on top of you and  he chuckled, his breath hot against your ear.

"Too close," he agreed and then he kissed you once more before having to say his farewell for the evening. It was one and only time you had slept with each other before Cillian returned to Dublin for his studies and you went to Australia for your gap-year and whilst Cillian had promised to wait for you, life had other plans. 

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[hannahssimblr]

“Granny?” Ivy cries. “I hate granny.”

“You’re not supposed to hate your grandmother,” I point out as I unwind the vacuum cord. “Even if she is… the way that she is.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Alright, well maybe don’t tell the truth in front of mom and dad.”

“Ugh! For how long?”

“I don’t know, a few hours. Five, maybe.”

“Five hours?” 

“Bring a book.” I find a socket behind a potted plant and fumble with the plug. “Or you can have my iPod. Actually, you can have and keep it.”

“Okay, but whenever we put on music at her house, she complains and says it’s the devil’s.”

“Not all music, just the Rolling Stones.” I point out. “Actually, Mick Jagger. She said he was the devil personified, remember?” I think she came up with that line in the sixties, thought it was poignant, and hasn't stopped saying it for the rest of her life. I don’t even listen to the Rolling Stones. She just assumes all my music must be theirs, because she hates it with the same vigour as she did Beggar’s Banquet. 

“‘Oh, what are you reading, Ivy? Something by some old cowboy?’” Ivy says in this plummy, pretty spot-on impression of Granny Hyland, who also likes to call everyone she doesn’t like a cowboy, for reasons I could never grasp. That includes me, of course, that time I shaved my head.

“‘I’d prefer that children didn’t speak at the dinner table, and that they ate all of their disgusting, soggy peas and carrots that I’ve put no salt on. And don't scrape your cutlery on my ugly plates!’” Ivy goes on. A direct quote, probably. 

I swear I can see Granny now, sitting there, all thin and powdery in her musty, Glasnevin Victorian that one of us is one day cursed to inherit. She’s always seemed so old, even though she’s still only in the first half of her sixties. How she would sit there at the table, gripping her knife and fork over Christmas dinner with those weird, rheumatic hands and jawing on about manners, she was like a turn of the century relic. 

My decision to throw a party tonight has condemned my sister to an evening of that, and for that, I’m guilty. 

Ivy throws herself onto the settee, her hair spilling over the floor. 

“Move your rat tails or I’ll suck them up in the hoover,” I mutter.

“Why are you hoovering? Irene does that for us.”

I sigh. “I guess I’m the cleaner today.”

“Why?”

“Because mom and dad said so.”

She frowns. “Why would they say that? If they want the house cleaned, they would just phone her to come and do it.”

“Yeah, I know, but they’re teaching me a lesson.”

“A lesson about what?”

“I don’t know, hoovering, I suppose. Move.” I scoop her hair out of the way, then hit the wrong button on the hoover. The cord retracts and tightens. 

Ivy sits up. “Who’s coming to your party? Anyone cool?”

“Define ‘cool’.”

She shrugs. She doesn’t really know what cool is in an Irish way, only in that glossy, American tween show way she knows from watching TV at her friend Ella’s house. I’ve wanted to tell her nicely that if those smiley kids wearing belts on top of their t-shirts from her beloved Camp Rock went to school here, they’d have the contents of the canteen bins chucked over them while inside the bathroom stalls, but they’re cool to her, so I just let her enjoy it before she realises. 

“It’s just gonna be some people from school, that’s all.”

“What about your friends from summer?”

I laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask them. They probably won’t come.”

“Why?”

“Because they live far away, and it’s short notice.”

“You should ask. You’re going away tomorrow. Maybe they’d come because it’s the last chance to see you.”

“It won’t be the last chance. I’ll be back.”

“Yeah, at Christmas,” she says, as though Christmas is the year 2036. 

“Uh, yeah. Christmas. It’s not that long.”

“It is! It’s ages away! And also-”

“Ivy! I’m hoovering now. It’ll drown you out even if you keep talking.” With my foot, I whack the button, the correct one this time, and the machine roars to life. Ivy yaps on, but I just move my hand like a sock puppet. “I can’t hear you!”

She sticks out her tongue, and I stick out mine, but when she’s turned away and become interested in a bird out hopping around on the patio furniture, I pull my phone from my pocket and tap out a hasty message. 

Having a goodbye thing at my house. Will you come? 

It’s several minutes before Evie replies, and by then, I already assume that she won’t, in that kind of sad, desperate way, familiar to me only from my pubescent MSN days. By the time my phone vibrates, I jump. 

Okay, what time? 

I type back:

Seven. Look, I know you’re in Offaly, obviously, so you’re welcome to stay if you need to. There’s a few people crashing here. 

She won’t come. She definitely won’t come. Especially not if she has to sleep in my house. Who am I kidding? There’s all that stuff about her strict mother, and being around boys, and-

Ping.

Yeah, sounds cool. I’ll be there. 

Oh. 

Cool. See you later.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[probablyasocialecologist]

Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project knew from the start that this place was not all that isolated and was far from uninhabited. There were, in fact, dozens of families within 20 miles, largely poor families of ranchers and farmers, many Hispanic and Indigenous, who unwittingly went about their daily lives in the first fallout of the atomic age. Now, those who were infants and children downwind of the detonation of the “Gadget”—a code name for the plutonium bomb used in the Trinity test—are nearing the end of a decades-long battle to be recognized and compensated for generations of illness they trace to exposure from radioactive fallout.

[...]

The reactions of Manhattan Project observers at the Trinity site are well documented. “Words haven’t been invented to describe it,” physicist Val Fitch said of the enormous fireball. General Thomas Farrell said the awesome roar “warned of doomsday and made us feel that we puny things were blasphemous.” “A few people laughed, a few people cried,” Oppenheimer recalled years later. “I remembered a line from the Hindu scripture . . . Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” Physicist Kenneth Bainbridge said, “Now we are all sons of bitches.” Less documented are the reactions of the many New Mexicans who lived near Trinity. They had no warning, no context for the star-level explosion that shook their homes and startled them awake that morning. Worse, in the weeks after the test, they were never advised that their land, crops, livestock, and water may have been irradiated. A 2010 report to the CDC used archives at Los Alamos National Laboratory to re-examine the extent to which New Mexicans were unknowingly exposed to radioactive contamination from Trinity. Its findings revealed a shambolic and sometimes cynical effort to track the Gadget’s fallout that windy morning using “crude” and “ineffective” measures. Spotlights were deployed to try to follow the 230 tons of sand and ash falling from the mushroom cloud as it dispersed over southern New Mexico. Film badges designed to detect and measure radiation had been sent to nearby post offices before the test, but because of the Manhattan Project’s secret nature, there was little explanation on how the badges were meant to be used or why, and so they were deployed incorrectly or not at all. Some soldiers assigned to chase and monitor the radioactive cloud couldn’t relay their findings to headquarters in Albuquerque because they were not equipped with long-distance radios; other monitors attempted to gather fallout samples with domestic Filter Queen brand vacuum cleaners. (These samples were later lost or destroyed.) At least one monitor left the area after his superior declared tracking fallout a “waste of time,” while another soldier misplaced his respirator and took the official but scientifically misguided precaution of breathing through a slice of bread.

[dark-elf-writes]

Blaming @musicfeedsmysoul12 and the “humans are space orcs” post for this taking over my brain with a vengeance but I would kill for a 500 episode series of Sarek and Amanda’s relationship from the beginning because seeing a Vulcan coming to terms with all the illogical that is humanity would be so fucking funny.

This man would make it through her first period and look like he just escaped an active war zone. She has pack bonded with their vacuum cleaner that she put plastic eyes on and cried when it broke. She got wine drunk and drew eyebrows on their Shelat with an eyebrow pencil and is scream laughing on the floor. She told him to “shut up his eyebrows” during an argument. Despite the fact that he is three times as strong as the average human male and would have gladly helped her she decided to rearrange their living room while he was at work. When they’re on earth there is one (1) pigeon she has beef with that made its nest near the Vulcan embassy she can pick it out without fail every time. She has asked him which of two identical shades of pink lipstick looks better and got mad when he told her they were the same. A human man twice her size made a rude comment about Sarek when they were out in public and she lectured that man until he cried.

And all of this culminates as him explaining humans to little Spock who is solemnly nodding along with his every word like it’s gospel.

[dragonjesterwrites]

Late af but have a Valentine's Day oneshot I whipped up in like an hour and some change

Please enjoy 2k words of Sun and Moon getting jealous of your new Roomba lmao

~~~~~

"Hey, loves, I'm back!"

You stooped to pick up the hefty box by your feet as the front door swung open, the keys still in the lock marking the movement with their jingling. The indoor air that rushed briefly over you smelled like freshly baked, warm cookies, and beneath that, tinges of lemon and pine.

Sun rounded the corner in a flash of yellow, skidding to a stop in front of you and bouncing up and down on his heels. "Welcome home, Sunshine! Whatcha got there? Do you want me to carry it in? And how was work?"

You let out a warm laugh and leaned up and over to kiss your hyperactive partner, enjoying the excited nuzzling he immediately reciprocated with. "I've got it, love, thank you. Work was great, and as for this-" You shifted the box in your arms as you carried it in, toward the living room. "-Well, you'll see in a minute."

"Ooh, a surprise~!" Sun exclaimed, hanging back for a moment to pull the keys out and close the front door before bounding over. "Can I guess what it is? Can I?"

"Yeah, you can guess. We have time until Moon gets here. Where is he, anyway?" You asked, setting the box down and looking over your shoulder from your crouched position.

"He's in the garage, organizing the bins- we spent the whole day cleaning and baking!" Sun told you, and you stood to survey the house. The pillow fort on the couch had been redone, neater and cozier, the gleaming floors swept and mopped, the bookcases and coffee table free of dust- even the walls and ceilings looked clean.

It looked amazing, and you turned and hugged him, standing on your tip-toes to pepper appreciative kisses all over his faceplate, smiling when he giggled and wrapped his arms around you tighter.

"Thank you, love, the place looks great." You finally said, pulling back and resting on your feet.

"Aw, you're welcome, Sunbeam!" He replied, dipping down to gently bop his static grin against your forehead. He let go of you fully then, and turned to consider the box, bringing a thumb and finger up to the bottom of his faceplate while his rays pulsed slowly in and out. "Now then… let's see…"

You watched in mild amusement as he knocked on the top of the box, then retracted his rays on one side so he could press his audio receptor to the top of it. "Hrmmm…"

He lifted his head back up and shook it, rays popping out with a ping, then placed one hand flat on the top and tipped it forward, lowering himself further to inspect the bottom. He didn't find anything, given that you'd put the original box into a plain white one so they wouldn't know what it is, and he let out an agitated whine that you had to stifle a laugh at.

"Oh, I simply don't know!" He cried, sprawling out onto the carpet, lanky limbs askew and one hand cast dramatically across his forehead. "Won't you tell me, Dewdrop? Else I fear I shall die of curiosity."

"You'll be fine." Moon called out, the garage door creaking distantly, and you grinned as Sun gasped in excitement, shooting up at the hips before scrambling to stand, apparently recovered from his syncope.

Moon arrived and paused to dip down and nuzzle against your neck, purring quietly, before reaching the box and peering down at it, faceplate tilting this way and that.

"Alright, I give up." He said after about five seconds, turning to you. "May we open it?"

"You barely even tried!" Sun scoffed playfully, then looked at you too. "Can we?"

"Go ahead." You said, a bit eager yourself, and Sun quickly knelt down and tore the lid off of the white box, the tape strips giving way with a series of split-second snaps!

Moon pulled the box out and set it down, and they both fell quiet and still as they examined it.

It was a robotic vacuum cleaner, not top of the line but very well reviewed all the same. You figured it would give you all some more free time, especially Sun and Moon, as they often cleaned while you were at work. You'd also gotten it because you'd seen others name theirs, give it 'treats' in the form of sprinkles or crumbs, and otherwise bond with it like a family pet, and thought it was adorable. 

You waited excitedly for their response, but the silence dragged on, and you felt yourself falter. "What do you think?" You asked after another few seconds, and they seemed to snap out of it then.

"Oh- yeah, I like it." Sun said, giving the box a single pat.

"Mmhmm. Definitely could be very helpful around the house." Moon added.

You wavered, hopeful but still unsure. "It's not, er- offensive, or anything-?"

"No, no, not in the slightest." Sun assured you with a shake of his head. "We like it, really."

You weren't entirely convinced, but you supposed you should just take them at their word and shrugged it off. "Alright, I'll get it set up then! It won't need to clean yet, since you two already have-" You paused to kiss them both briefly, making them both purr, a touch loudly, you noticed- "but just to help it map out the floors. You guys wanna watch a movie or something while it does?"

"Ooh, yeah, let's do that!" Sun said, springing to his feet as his excitable energy abruptly returned, relieving you of the last of the worry that had tensed you up.

"Awesome. You guys kick back and get settled in, I'll take care of the vacuum and the movie."

Well, not exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for, you thought as you finished setting up the movie before kneeling down to open the second box, but maybe they'd like it better after awhile. Maybe they'd even name it.

~~~~~

"Idiot." Sun muttered as the robot vacuum hit a wall for the nth time that morning, clattering loudly.

"Moron." Moon said, throwing a piece of popcorn at it.

It bounced harmlessly off of the vacuum's outer shell and came to rest in front of it. The vacuum paused in its crawl across the floor, as if to consider the offending debris, then maneuvered around it, prompting Moon to grumble and get out of his seat to pick it up himself.

"See? He can't even do his job right." Sun exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air before tightly crossing them. "Needs us to do it for him."

Moon merely grunted in agreement as he passed by, dropping the popcorn piece in the trash bin. The vacuum's whirring got louder as it rounded the corner, trundling in towards him, and Moon had to resist the urge to hiss at it.

"I don't know why our Sunshine got you when they have us." Sun continued sullenly, glaring at the table as the vacuum made a left to go under and began to clatter about below. "We're more sophisticated, more handsome, and we don't run into things constantly."

"...They were trying to do something nice." Moon reluctantly pointed out as he retook his seat. "Now we have more free time." 

"Yeah, I know." Sun sighed, sinking down until the bottom of his faceplate rested on the table. "I just- you saw how they were cooing over him- it- the other day."

"Mm. I remember." Moon replied, recalling perfectly the way you had spent a good half hour fussing over the vacuum after it had gotten clogged- one too many popcorn kernels, apparently. Once you'd cleared it out, you'd reassured it with petting and sprinkles, and even knelt down to give it a little kiss.

He shot the plastic beast a sour glare as it finally freed itself from the tangle of dining chair legs and skittered away.

"I don't know, Moony." Sun sighed, catching Moon's attention. "Maybe being jealous of it is- is silly. It's not sentient like us, after all. What if-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the vacuum bumped into the bookcase, and a framed picture of him and Moon fell, smashing upon contact with the ground. The vacuum crawled on top of the mess and then let out its stuck chirp before beginning to rotate idly on top of the shattered glass, crunching it and driving it into the carpet.

Sun let out a wordless shout of indignation and stomped over to the bookcase, Moon following quickly behind.

"Don't hurt it." He warned, even as murderous intent lit up his own circuits.

"I won't." Sun replied, grabbing the vacuum up off of the floor and carrying it away.

Moon bent down to pick up the picture and frame it was encased in, shaking off the glass before setting it on the bookcase and going to the kitchen for the better vacuum.

By the time he'd lugged it in, Sun had returned, notably without the vacuum, and Moon paused to cock his head at him. "What did you do with it?"

"Put it in the bathtub- no water. Best time out spot I could think of." Sun told him, inspecting the picture frame himself, and Moon nodded as he moved to plug the regular vacuum in.

But before the triple prongs reached the outlet, the sound of a key turning a lock made them both stop and whip their heads around.

"Hey guys, I'm back." You called out, sounding far more tired than you had the past few days. Sun immediately headed over, and Moon looked between the vacuum and the direction of the door only once before getting up and joining you both.

You were in the middle of a yawn as he turned the corner, and he had to resist the affectionate urge to pick you up and carry you to bed for cuddles and a nap. "Long day?" He asked instead, and you chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah. Looking forward to chilling out with you two and Jerry. Where is Jerry, anyway?"

Jerry was the name Sun had suggested for the vacuum. Fitting, if perhaps, Moon acknowledged, a bit cruel- Jerry had been a Parts and Services tech. His constant incompetence and tendency to break things had eventually gotten him fired, but not before he'd wooed half the human staff, something Moon hadn't been able to comprehend for the life of him. You were… admittedly not aware of who Jerry was, having been hired long after his departure, but what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. 

Although… he did feel a pang of guilt, as you had taken his and Sun's suggestion as acceptance of the vacuum, and they hadn't corrected you in any way.

"Er- Jerry is in time-out." Sun said, beginning to fiddle with his wrist.

"Time-out?" You frowned. "Why?"

"He bumped into the bookcase and broke a picture." Moon explained, and your frown deepened.

"He didn't do it deliberately. He's not sentient- right?" Sun and Moon both vigorously shook their heads at your mildly hesitant question. "Okay, so I don't think he's gonna learn anything from time-out."

"No." Sun muttered. "Suppose not."

You were quiet for a minute, and Moon found himself unable to meet your gaze, shifting from leg to leg as you considered him.

"You're jealous of Jerry." You finally said, making them both wince. It wasn't an accusation, but it wasn't a question either.

"Yes." Moon admitted.

"...How'd you know?" Sun asked.

You chuckled quietly, and then Moon felt a warm hand take his, and he looked up as you led them both to the couch.

"Well, for starters, all you do is glare at it." You began after you were all settled in. "One time, Sunny, I heard you hiss at it. I know where the name Jerry came from- Abby told me. Then there was the time you tried to assassinate it with popcorn kernels, Moony-"

"I wasn't trying to kill it." Moon protested, faltering when you and Sun turned to look at him. "I was just… throwing them at it."

"You hate it." You concluded, and they both nodded.

"Yes, okay, we hate it. We got jealous, and it was stupid, but- it bumps into everything, including us, and it doesn't clean as well as we do, and we just- we just felt like we were being replaced." Sun finally admitted.

He'd started off loud and ended quietly, and the expression on your face was one Moon could only describe as heartbreak.

"I'm sorry. Come here." You said, tugging at them, and they followed your urging, laying down and wrapping themselves around you.

"Don't apologize. We're the ones that should be sorry." Moon mumbled, clutching at you as you petted the rim of his faceplate.

"Yeah. We'll leave Jerry alone. And… maybe rename him." Sun suggested sheepishly, but then he made a curious noise as your laughter gently shook them.

"I mean, it's kinda funny. He does miss a lot of stuff." You said, and Moon leaned into the kiss you pressed against his forehead. "But hey, listen. I'd never replace you two, never. You're my soulmates, and Jerry's a piece of plastic. Tell you what-"

You shifted, and Moon unwound his arm from around your back so you could pull out your phone, watching curiously as you opened it up and began to tap away at the screen with one hand. "I'll call Abby and see if she wants Jerry. Lord knows it could help her with Sweet Potato and Gingerbread."

"Starlight, are you sure?" Moon asked hesitantly. Abby's two cats were fluffy little things, both adorable and extraordinarily messy, and the vacuum certainly would take some stress off of her, but Moon knew the vacuum had eased your worries too, not to mention cost you a pretty penny.

"Yeah. I'll pick up the slack. I'm thinking we can have cleaning days, where we put on music and tidy up the house together." You said, smiling kindly down at Moon. Stars, you were lovely.

"That does sound like a lot of fun." Sun said with a content sigh, sitting up some where you lay on top of him and wrapping his arms around you tighter.

"Awesome." You angled your head back, and Sun extended his neck to meet you halfway, gently pressing into your kiss before you moved back and glanced back down at the phone. "Let me call Abby, and then we can maybe make some brownies? I grabbed a box from the store on my way home."

"I love you." Moon said, and you laughed- such a pretty sound, he thought.

"I love you, too."

[mamawasatesttube]

Can I request konbart and 86 please?

86. "Don't be scared; I'm right here."

"You're doing it again," Bart complains.

On the big common room TV, a zombie looms out of the darkness and slams into the hallway window—classic jumpscare. Bart doesn't flinch; he just opens his inventory, grabs the wooden planks, and boards up the window just as the zombie crashes through. Then he sticks his tongue out at it, for good measure.

The TTK holding his waist in a vice-grip, however...

"Kooooon." Bart reaches over and smacks one rock-hard (ow!) shoulder. "You're squishing me!"

The TTK loosens immediately, and Kon lifts his head from the pillow he's been hiding his face in with a sheepish look. "Sorry. It's just—that's so creepy, dude! How do you not freak playing it?!"

"You're scared of the zombies?" Bart can't help it; he laughs. "The zombies are the least scary thing in this whole game! Just wait 'til you see Mr. X."

"What the fuck is Mr. X?" Kon grips the pillow tighter, his eyes wide. Bart wonders just how much superstrength its seams can take before they give. "Bart. Who or what is Mr. X?"

"You giant baby." Bart grins. Leon keeps traipsing down the corridor; the unfortunately-bisected body of Officer Elliot lunges at him from the floor, and Kon yelps, clutching at Bart's shoulder again. In any other circumstance, it'd be cute; as is, Bart has to laugh at him. "Aw, don't be scared. I'm right here."

His distraction costs him; another zombie looms out of the shadows, and on the screen, Leon cries out as it sinks its teeth into his neck. Aw, grifenuggets. Bart's trying to go for that good good Hardcore mode S rank; he can't afford to waste heals on these chumps!

"This hallway sucks ass," he moans, knifing two of the zombies to death (redeath?) and then booking it outta there, pronto. "It gets worse once Mr. X is in here, though."

Kon stares at the screen with deep, deep suspicion. Bart can't wait to see him jump when Mr. X finally shows up in the station. "Bart. Who the fuck is Mr. X?"

"Oh, don't worry about it!" Bart sing-songs cheerily. The funniest part of this is, Kon was nowhere near this freaked out when they all ended up in that haunted house that was like actually full of malicious ghosts last week (...long story), but the scary video game? Ohhh, noooo. Superboy can't handle that.

It's like when he makes fun of Krypto for being scared of the vacuum cleaner, Bart thinks with glee.

Guess what, Kon? Mr. X is the vacuum cleaner now.

"I'm very worried about it!" Kon huffs. His TTK tightens a little around Bart's ribs again, and then Kon tips over into his side, rigid as can be. He's still clutching his pillow like a lifeline—better it get crushed than Bart's organs, though.

How indignant would he get if Bart told him he's being really cute right now? Like, in a really stupid way, but still. Cute.

"Sounds like a personal problem," Bart says instead, and keeps playing with a grin as Kon splutters at his side.

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

[desultory-novice]

More Fan Game Ideas

….I’ve seen a lot of fanart of characters babysitting Kirby, or Kirby being portrayed as near the infant or toddler stage, ala the anime. Due to my long history with the character, and having never watched the anime, my own personal Kirby skews a bit older (though it depends on the game/where it falls in the timeline, too.) 

Brief aside: while the Japanese uses “若者” (“wakamono”) for Kirby, roughly translated as “youth” or “adolescent”, the actual range that word covers can run almost up into middle age! (I’ve always considered the closest parallel to “wakamono” being an old person calling anyone from a younger generation "sonny") Anyway, semantics aside, it's not the word you'd typically use for a toddler, but for this fan game? Toddler Kirby IS our hook! 

One day, notorious pranksters Marx and Magolor team up to pull one over on Kirby by using some random Ancient artifact just lying around (seriously, those things are everywhere!) Let's call this one "The Dream Bottle." And it turns Kirby into a tiny infant, complete with pacifier and silly curl of hair from that cancelled Kid Kirby game with the really cursed Kid Dedede design! Success! Now that Kirby is (relatively) powerless, nothing can stop them from ruling Popstar!!

…That is, until a much greater and more dangerous threat than the two of them combined show up and REALLY threaten the planet! Ack! We need Kirby! In fact, the villain of the week :cough: I mean game may even DEMAND that Kirby appear and fight them! Disobey, and they'll destroy Popstar bit by bit until Kirby (at full strength!) is brought before them for a REAL fight!!

("Hey! You can't do that! That's OUR planet!")

Ah well! Prank time is over! Unfortunately...The Dream Bottle is empty now and it needs to be refilled with, uh, liquified "Star Essence” or something! And they have to fill the whole bottle to restore Kirby to normal! But alas, it's a very hard to acquire substance! It’s scattered all over the galaxy, but you can typically only find a spoonful per planet! And of course... say it with me now... 

It’s jealously guarded by all sorts of mean baddies!

Dedede, Meta Knight, and the rest of the cast stay behind to defend Popstar and hold off/mollify/distract the main villain while Marx and Magolor get sent :cough: booted :cough: off planet to FIX THEIR DARN MISTAKE!

And oh yes, they have to take Kid Kirby with them. (They have the bottle, after all.)

Thus, you have a game that's a magical adventure galavanting across space using the Lor to move from star system to star system as Marx and Magolor collect drops of star essence to fill this silly magical baby bottle all while having to look after a toddler Kirby! …Who, needless to say, is almost CONSTANTLY hungry! (Marx and Magolor too overpowered to lose to common enemies? I agree! But Kid Kirby's shouts and cries when they've gone too long without food? Now THAT's something that'll damage your health!)

The main gameplay cycle would be the swappable character mechanic, switching between Marx and Magolor on the fly. But one of them would always have to be the “babysitter” - carrying Kirby with them. When the one in the lead is also the babysitter, it massively limits their attacks and ability to defend themselves. But it unlocks new abilities for them! 

Magolor is able to use Kirby like a handheld vacuum cleaner to draw heavy obstacles closer or as a bellows to blow out fire, and Marx can use a puffed up Kirby for additional lift or toss them up in the air to hit overhead switches.

...Btw, in case it needs to be said: DO NOT ATTEMPT ANY OF THIS WITH A LIVING HUMAN BEING IN REAL LIFE!! (Marx and Magolor only treat Baby Kirby like this because they are a) ex (?) villains and b) terribly irresponsible.)

Ahem! For the end game, either the villain steals the Dream Bottle just as the two finish filling it up because they finally accept Kid Kirby as THE Kirby they've been looking for and realize they are fine with defeating them in this weakened state! (At which point, Marx and Magolor have to take out the boss because of the "I'm the only one allowed to defeat you!" clause.) Or there's some other final challenge you have to complete, and a restored Kirby defeats the villain threatening Popstar with such ease, it barely even looked like a threat in retrospect! "What did they come here for, you think....?")

Anyway! I adore talking and thinking up game ideas! I only wish I had the skills (......and the time......) to make ANY of this a reality, because to be honest, I had a lot of fun conceptualizing this one! (And would love to play it, ahaha!)

Meanwhile, here's some quick sketches to end the post!

[lolwatermelons]

Valdangelo Singing (fluff wip)

(T rated - the full piece is too short to post to the archive imo so i wanted to leave a slice of it somewhere)

Nico finally lets out a breath and sinks onto his butt by a series of bushes. Leo plops down right across from him and places his ankles right between Nico’s own. They share a tender smile before they look up at the splattering of stars across the unpolluted sky.

“We’re soaring, flying, there’s not a star in Heaven that we can’t reach—”

“Leo," Nico warns, though he’s fighting a smile.

Leo laughs and reaches out for both of Nico’s hands. He accepts and the sweet feeling of warmth courses through their bones. It’s nice because the chill of the evening is starting to make their teeth chatter.

“Okay, what about this?” at this point, Leo takes off his outermost layer and drapes it over a shivering Nico, who blushes but accepts.

“Use the sleeves of my sweater, let's have an adventure, head in the clouds but my gravity centered, touch my neck and I'll touch yours, you in those little high-waisted shorts!"

“LEO!” Nico snaps. His face is bright red and Leo can tell even in the darkness.

Leo puts his hands up and giggles. He knows his boyfriend is just shy, and he clears his throat while he sings, “Okay okay: I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust—”

Nico sighs even though he adds, “I wanna be your Ford Cortina, I will never rust…”

“If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot!” Leo finishes with jazz hands.

Nico doesn’t fight the hands that come near him and he lets out involuntary cries as Leo dives and starts to tickle him mercilessly. They’re a squirming, laughing mess on the red stone, and with the midnight blue above them, it’s more than Nico could’ve ever asked for.

[ekkoh]

15 Questions and 15 Mutuals

literally LOSING MY MIND that i was tagged in this 😭 thank you @outer-edges

Were you named after anyone?

no, but my older brother told me i was named after a vacuum cleaner brand and i believed that for a couple years. 💀

When was the last time you cried?

today!! i cried over the end of nimona. one thing you should know about me is that children’s animated movies are constantly destroying me. (see: puss in boots 2, both spiderverse movies, the sea beast, fantastic mr. fox, i can keep going—)

Do you have kids?

nope! no nieces or nephews either. idk what i’m gonna do when i become an aunt bc i don’t know how to talk to kids. 😭 i feel like kristen stewart in that snl duolingo for kids sketch.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

not online but i feel like A LOT in person. maybe too much.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

this is weird but… hair color? where i live, natural brunettes are dwindling because everyone’s dying their hair blonde. 😭 whenever i meet a natural brunette in the wild i always feel an instant kinship. we are bonded for life. we can never dye our hair.

What's your eye color?

blue!! i’m irrationally proud of it because my entire family has brown eyes. i’m cool. i’m ~different.~

Scary movies or happy endings?

HAPPY ENDINGS!!!! this is because i don’t watch scary movies, ever. any movie that is slightly “scary” is off-limits bc i am a huge coward. i can’t even watch the nightmare before christmas.💀

Any special talents?

i’m really good at hitting all the best rides at disneyland without waiting in lines longer than 15 minutes. it’s an art form that i’ve mastered.

Where were you born?

CALIFORNIA!!!! (california gurls we’re unforgettable)

What are your hobbies?

i love creating incredibly specific playlists for incredibly specific emotions. i collect pins!! one of my prized possessions is a limited edition tangled pin. i also like to write fic, although real ones know i only write it in my head because i’m always disappointed by my skill when i actually type it out. 💀

Have any pets?

an orange cat named winston! not from new girl, i just thought it was a cute name. he is my light and my life, and yes, he is dumb.

What sports did you play/have you played?

i did jazz and hip-hop as a kid, i was a cheerleader (backspot) for one year lol, and i played volleyball (middle) for two years. i sucked at everything. i’m not athletic. 😭😭

How tall are you?

my government height is 5’6.5” but i like to tell people 5’7” because it’s a neater number. 💀 my height is actually one thing about me that i love. i’m on the tall side but not super tall, y’know? great for concerts. i can see the stage but i’m not feeling guilty bc i don’t block other people’s views.

Favorite subject in school?

ENGLISH NATION RISE UP!! i was the kind of girl that everyone hated in english class bc i was always commenting in discussions. also, not to brag (i’m bragging) but i always got the highest scores on essays.

Dream job?

this sounds stupid bc i literally worked at a dinosaur museum and then quit because it sucked but. i want to be a museum tour guide because i love teaching people about things i’m obsessed with. not a dinosaur guide though. i hate dinosaurs. (sorry to the dinosaur kids)

no pressure tag @sotvtaughtmehowtofeel (if you’ve already done this i am so sorry don’t look at me i would be so embarrassed)

[sciencestyled]

Under the Microscope: Inside the Ridiculous, Bizarre, and Downright Insane Hidden Lives of Everyday Stuff

Alright, listen up, you glazed-eyed collection of academic zombies! Today, we’re going where no sane person has dared to go—into the minds of mundane objects. That's right. Under my trusty microscope, I’m cracking open the bizarre, microscopic underbelly of things you’d never expect to have so much going on. You think a grain of sand is just, you know, a grain of sand? WRONG. That grain is the molecular Coachella of unimaginable chaos. Every single speck is a micro-universe of scandal, drama, and more than a few horror stories that’ll make you look at the world with an entirely different brand of existential dread.

Now, before you roll your eyes back into your cerebral cortex, let me warn you. I know this sounds boring. But buckle up because what I’m about to show you is nothing less than an HBO drama unfolding on the head of a pin. And I mean the really juicy kind of HBO drama, not one of those "two noble houses vie for power" snoozefests. I’m talking “real-life soap opera meets horror flick meets Reddit conspiracy theory.” It's all happening at the microscopic level, and the only ticket to the show is your undivided, albeit mildly skeptical, attention.

Now, look at your hand. No, really, look at it. See that skin? Yeah, well, newsflash—your epidermis is teeming with microscopic beings you couldn’t see with even the most intense Instagram filter. Little critters. Some that make a Kardashian family feud look like an afternoon tea. You’re essentially a walking reality show, a real-life “Keeping Up with the Keratinocytes,” except with far more biochemistry and way less photogenic appeal. Those cells are slapping each other around, regenerating like it’s their job (because, spoiler, it is), and they do it all while making your skin feel all smooth and flawless—or, you know, just kind of oily and blotchy if you’re anything like me.

Let's zoom in on that blade of grass you stepped on last week in that forgettable patch of green outside the library. You probably thought it was just some leaf, minding its own business, right? WRONG AGAIN. Blades of grass are essentially the seedy underworld of the plant kingdom. These guys are dealing in molecular weapons-grade photosynthesis. They’re armed with chlorophyll and they know exactly how to use it, sucking in sunlight and carbon dioxide like some sort of mini vacuum cleaner that’s operating on a level more advanced than your average high school science teacher can wrap their heads around. This photosynthesis stuff is why grass grows back every time you trample it, which is basically the plant equivalent of that one person who insists on getting back together with their toxic ex every other weekend. “This time it’ll be different!” cries the grass blade, oblivious to the foot that’s already poised to stomp it into oblivion again.

Alright, so how are we supposed to peep into these wild microcosmic scenes? Enter the microscope. Yes, the unsung hero of science education. That clunky, ancient-looking apparatus your high school lab partner kept banging into like an oblivious pigeon. This tool is basically like having your very own cinematic lens, and it’s the only way to peel back the visible world and see the raw, unfiltered microscopic drama going on in everything from your pet’s fur to the dusty corners of your backpack. Without microscopes, we’d be living in some nightmarish oblivion, blissfully unaware of the billions of bacteria that just hang out, throw parties, and generally make a mess of things all over our belongings.

But don’t get sentimental, folks. We’re not here for a heartwarming “microscopes help us learn” tale. Oh no. We’re here for SCIENCE—Science, with a capital S, the kind that makes you question why you ever thought biology was tame. Let’s take dust, for example. Microscopic dust mites are the original freeloaders, literally crashing the parties that are your bedsheets. These miniature freeloaders are so small they’re practically invisible, but their lifestyle would make any basement-dwelling, Mountain Dew-drinking gamer blush. They’re feasting on dead skin, reproducing faster than a viral TikTok trend, and they don’t pay a single cent in rent. Forget microscopic marvels; we’re talking microscopic lawlessness. They’re organized chaos on a level that would make most punk rockers look like members of a monastery.

Then there’s the hidden social network of grains of sand, each one intricately designed by nature as a unique, tiny fortress. Every granule is like a lonely little piece of geological art, shaped by eons of erosion, water, and time. But hold on, don’t romanticize it too much—these grains of sand are actually like the cast of an awkward middle school drama club, stuck together, shuffling around, trying not to touch each other too much. If you think sand is peaceful, you’ve obviously never zoomed in to the molecular level where grains jostle for position like a YouTube comment section after a controversial makeup tutorial.

And then we have the molecular shenanigans happening inside something as mundane as a drop of water. Under a microscope, that droplet transforms into an Olympic stadium packed with microbes, each competing for survival. You've got paramecia darting around like they're late for a meeting, amoebas engulfing their prey with a terrifying casualness, and the odd tardigrade—those creepy, eight-legged creatures that look like they’ve been cast as the villain in a low-budget sci-fi movie. These little critters aren’t just swimming around, minding their own business; they’re playing out a microscopic Hunger Games, fighting over resources, slashing at each other, sometimes even reproducing with what can only be described as microscopic enthusiasm.

And this, my friends, is where our so-called "science education" gets it wrong. Textbooks paint such a polite, “See Dick Run” picture of these organisms. But the truth is, microorganisms are out there living life in a way that would put any "Real Housewives" cast member to shame. This is gritty, no-holds-barred reality, and it’s happening on a scale so tiny, you’d never know it was there without a microscope.

Now, here’s where things get really fun. We’ve talked about what’s happening in skin cells, grass, dust, sand, and water, but how about a nice, friendly peek into your lunch? Ever wondered what’s REALLY going on in that hastily made sandwich you scarfed down on the way to class? Under the microscope, your average bread crumb transforms into a kind of microbial Woodstock. It’s teeming with yeast cells, sugar granules, and the occasional rogue spore. They're all hanging out, vibing together in a way that defies logic and probably every health code imaginable. When you eat that sandwich, you’re basically inviting an entire ecosystem to crash at your place—and they’re the worst kind of guests. No respect for personal space, no awareness of hygiene, and don’t even get me started on their “contributions” to the digestive process.

So, the next time you’re handed a microscope and a sample slide in the lab, don’t groan. Remember that you’re peering into a hidden world, like you’re watching “Keeping Up with the Bacteria” or “Real Microorganisms of Silicon Valley.” It's pure madness in there. Every squiggle, every speck, every grain—it’s all part of a drama so intricate it makes Shakespeare look like a two-bit soap opera writer. Every day, we walk around blissfully unaware that our stuff is ALIVE—well, kind of.

In conclusion—if I have to spell it out for you—microscopes are the window into a madness so intricate it’d make your average Marvel plot twist look like a nursery rhyme. They’re the gadgets that reveal a mess of epic proportions happening all around us. Every speck, every cell, every microscopic beastie is part of an endless cascade of tiny, barely-there catastrophes that somehow make up our world. So next time you casually brush some dust off your sleeve, remember: you’re wiping away entire civilizations, epic battles, tragic romances, and god knows what else. And that, my undergrad compadres, is the kind of science education that’ll really keep you up at night.

[jellostories]

AJ the Very Whimsical, Ch. 27: Vacuum-Packed

It was only a quarter to 1:00, and AJ had already gotten herself neck-deep in trouble. And it was all thanks to her mother’s vacuum-cleaner, a phone call, disobedience, and poor impulse control* .

~~~~

For context:

Like everything else they owned, the Arquettes’ vacuum-cleaner was old, worn-down, and thrift store-quality. Twist often joked that it’d probably been a decent vacuum in a previous life, and the sad thing was there was a 97% chance she wasn’t wrong. To name just a few reasons why the vacuum was more-or-less a hunk of junk: the hose had several holes that’d been covered up with swan tape**; one of the wheels on the tank had fallen off; several of the stickers spelling out the name of the vacuum’s manufacturer had peeled off, so instead of “STUCKMANN APPLIANCES”, it said “S_UCK____ APPL____ES”; and it made a weird, wheezing noise whenever it sucked up anything larger than a cockroach. 

Finally, one cloudy August morning, Blaze decided she’d had enough of this Stuckmann Dust Army Tank of garbage and that she’d be writing the manufacturer a strongly worded letter, which she would then read live over the headphone***. She marched into her bedroom where the computer was, snickering like a teenage prankster.

Meanwhile, AJ was left in the TV room with the offending vacuum, at which she looked curiously. For some reason, Blaze hadn’t put vacuuming on AJ’s daily chore list. She watered the plants on Mondays, dumped the trash on Tuesdays, cleaned the bathroom on Wednesdays, dusted the furniture on Thursdays, did the dishes on Fridays, and vacuumed the house on Never-days. Blaze’s reason for this? “Eet’s too dangerous, Crumpet.”

This left AJ with a burning desire to at least hold the vacuum, just to see what it was like, but even if she made a small mess on the floor, Blaze still refused to let her use the Dust Tank.

But now that Blaze was distracted, AJ thought with a sneaky smirk, maybe it was time to take this patched-up vacuum for a spin.

The silly girl snuck towards the Dust Tank, occasionally stealing glances at the staircase for fear that Blaze would burst open her bedroom door and come storming back into the TV room. Thankfully, however, she didn’t, thus allowing AJ to successfully make it to the Tank. 

AJ flipped the switch on the actual tank of the vacuum, making it roar (and wheeze) to life and start sucking up every dust particle floating in the area.

“Le tch,” the silly girl scoffed with (probably) unwarranted cockiness, “zis zing works just like a regular vacuum! What was Mommy so worried about?”

Just then, the Dust Tank let out a koff and began sucking things up with greater ferocity. It sucked up the crayons AJ had left on the piano bench coffee table, a few of the videotapes sitting on top of the dresser video cabinet, some socks Blaze had dropped in front of the laundry room door, some logs from the firewood rack, etc. All of it went straight into the vacuum’s large hose and into its tank, which enlarged accordingly.

“Sacrebleu****!” AJ cried. “‘Ow beeg eez zis zing!?” 

The silly girl felt the cold hand of panic wrap around her throat, which became tighter with every item the Dust Tank sucked up. She had to do something!

AJ leaned over the vacuum’s hose and squinted at the power switch near the top of the tank. There were four modes, which the dyslexic girl read thusly: “FFO”, “WOL”, “HGIH,” and “REPUS HGIH”.

Figuring the best course of action was to just wing it, AJ flipped the switch from WOL to REPUS HGIH.

Instantly, the vacuum’s sucking power increased tenfold, allowing it to even grab the furniture this time. First, it sucked up the grandfather clock Blaze had inherited from her great-great grandparents, then the coffee table, then the cardboard box in the entryway AJ and Blaze kept their shoes in, and then, finally, the Dust Tank turned its hose on the silly girl herself.

“Oh, merde*4,” AJ thought fretfully as the vacuum began sucking her up, head-first. “Zair go my dreams of becoming a famous fashion designer and finally keessing a boy…”

~~~~

A few minutes later…

Blaze exited her bedroom and walked down the staircase with a smug look on her face and three pages’ worth of angry words in her hands. Haha, oui! As soon as she was done reading this to their customer service representatives, Stuckmann Appliances would taste the full wrath of Angel “Blaze” Arquette, Sr.!

But first, Angel “Blaze” Arquette, Sr. had to taste Stuckmann Appliances’ partial wrath first. As soon as her feet touched the TV room at the bottom of the staircase, the Dust Tank exploded with a mighty BOOM, sending everything it’d sucked up flying across the room in a dusty heap.

AJ landed on top of her mother, looking dazed, exhausted, and incredibly dusty, but otherwise fine. Normally, Blaze would’ve been glad to see her daughter relatively unharmed, but this time, she looked rather cross.

“Oh, uh, s-salut*^, Mommy!” the younger Arquette said nervously after she noticed her mother’s expression. “I was just, uh, you know — dusting out ze reeffraff!” AJ chuckled weakly.

Blaze’s emerald-green eyes narrowed into slits. “Deed you seriously zink zat lame pun was going to get you out of trouble?”

AJ sighed. “Oui, eet really deed suck, deedn’t eet?”

Blaze quickly hid a chuckle.

Footnotes

*:  An impulse is when you do something without thinking of the consequences first.

**: As opposed to duct tape, which obviously the previous owner couldn’t afford.

***:  In this world, telephones work a lot like video game headsets. You put the headset on, dial the number on the cradle, wait for the person you’re calling to pick up, and gab away!

****: “Holy cow!”

*4: “Shoot.”

*^: “Hi!” 

[amnestria-the-elf]

Back to Yesterday, Chapter 2: Pacemaker

Linda's back at it, folks! Today she and Gale are chilling at camp when an unexpected arrival shows up. Linda cleans everything and offers some helpful advice to Gale. Excerpt below. Read the whole thing on AO3.

*~~~*

She worked her way around the campsite, eyeing each of her companions’ tents critically, trying to determine where to start. The pale one’s tent was mostly neat and orderly, though it looked like he’d spilled some wine the night before. Linda dragged a fingertip over the stain; damn, it had already dried. She frowned. Without any club soda and baking powder the stain would never come out now. Well, nothing for it. She made a mental note to remind the pale one to be more careful in the future.

Her eyes traveled over to Lae’zel’s tent and her nose wrinkled in disgust. A pile of dirty rags lay haphazardly on the ground, that disgusting replica of a squid-person stood prominently in front, and her bedroll lay messily unmade. Linda nodded. This would be the perfect project for the day.

“Gale, can you set some water on to boil? A lot of it,” Linda asked.

Gale looked up from his book, his eyes a bit unfocused. “Hmm?”

“Can you boil a lot of water for me?” Linda repeated, gesturing towards the pile of nasty rags. “This is an infection waiting to happen.”

“Oh,” Gale said, blinking, “Of course.” He waved a hand to fill the cauldron with water and light the fire underneath. 

While she waited for the water to boil, she studied the rest of the area around Lae’zel’s tent. The animal skins were acceptable enough, if a bit dusty. Without a broom or vacuum she resorted to beating them to get the dust out. She coughed at the cloud of dust, but it was worth it as she arranged them back on the ground, visibly cleaner than they were before. She ducked into Lae’zel’s tent and made up the bedroll, then stood back to admire the overall effect. She frowned as her eyes traveled over the positively awful taxidermied heads that Lae’zel kept proudly on display, but there was no accounting for taste. At least Lae’zel could enjoy a clean living space.

She gathered up the nasty rags and dumped them in the boiling water. She poked them in with a stick and sat down to wait. Gale was watching her with a bemused expression.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you always clean people’s tents without their permission?”

Linda shrugged. “I like to be useful. Besides, you know what they say: clean house, clean mind. I know this isn’t a house, but we should still care for it.”

“That’s– gah!- very pragmatic of you,” Gale said with a strained voice, and winced as he pressed his hand against his chest.

“Gale, are you all right?!” Linda exclaimed, reaching a hand out to him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s– ah– nothing to– worry yourself about,” he replied, gasping for breath and doubling over.

“Gale, sit down!” she cried, and grabbed him by the arm and practically threw him down on the ground. She stood over him and pushed his shoulders back against the log, then turned, wildly scanning the campsite for what she needed.

She bustled over to Wyll’s tent. He had neatly rolled up his bedroll this morning, and she grabbed it and hurried back to Gale. 

“Bend your knees,” she commanded. He complied, and she shoved the bedroll underneath them. “Now relax, and try to breathe.” She wrung her hands, feeling helpless. “Damnit, if only I had my aspirin…”

Gale was breathing deeply, looking less distressed now. He cocked his head slightly as he looked up at her. “What is aspirin?”

“For your heart attack,” Linda replied matter-of-factly. “Prevents irreversible heart damage.”

He shook his head. “I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Of course you are. I know the signs when I see them. Chest pain, shortness of breath, ashen skin. Classic. We just need to keep you comfortable and calm until help arrives.” As the words left her mouth, Linda’s blood ran cold as she realized no help was coming. There were no first responders to call here, and even if there were, where would she tell them to go? Down by the river?

Keep reading on AO3.

[thevacuumstore]

Key things to look for in a commercial vacuum cleaner

Commercial properties involve many different types of business operations. It can be traditional offices, manufacturing, restaurant, hotel, or others. When it comes to keeping the space clean, you will need to use a commercial vacuum cleaner. While a cleaner designed for home use is fine, it cannot compare to one specifically designed to work in commercial spaces. These handle the deep cleaning and accidents that make the area safe for your employees, residents, guests, and customers. 

When you start shopping for one, here are some things to keep in mind.

Decide your needs

Look down. Different brands or models are designed for different flooring types. Carpeting cleans best with an upright. It is easy to maneuver and can move from room to room fairly easily. You will need to deal with a power cord, but that is not difficult. A canister style will be more appropriate if you have upholstery or staircases. 

Restaurants or those facilities with display cabinets or other items that are permanently in place or heavy to move will need a vacuum with a smaller cleaning head. This will allow access to smaller or tighter spaces and around larger objects. 

You might consider a backpack version if you employ janitors or run your own cleaning company. It is lightweight and comes with ergonomic pads and supports to allow the wearer to use it for extended periods without risking injury. It is also very versatile for a number of different floor types and furniture arrangements.

For upholstery, drapes, and stairs, as you find in restaurants, hotels, or apartment buildings, select a portable handheld model. It deals with the smaller areas of chairs or valances. 

If the area is prone to wet spots, then you need to consider a wet/dry vac. This can handle most liquid spills and dust you would find in a carpentry shop.

CRI

The Carpet and Rug Institute offers an approval system for vacuum devices. After rigorous testing, vacuums are awarded a seal of approval. That is your guide that the product has been thoroughly run through many different circumstances and has passed.

Vacuum Filter

A difficult choice is the type of filter used in commercial vacuums. A vacuum works by creating suction to take up the dust and debris in floorings and furniture, and then the air is forced through a filter to eliminate microorganisms. The air is then expelled. If the air is sent back through a vent, you have simply re-released those microorganisms into the room you cleaned.

Manufacturers have developed several options. Disposable filters are convenient since they can be disposed of after a single building cleaning or after several uses in a single-room situation. However, it means that you will need to continue to purchase replacements over time. Washable filters last for years, but you will need to spend extra time washing them and allowing them to dry thoroughly before another use. Odour filters have an active coil that reduces scents in the air, which can be good in manufacturing or restaurants. HEPA filters are suggested for areas where allergens are a concern.

Noise

The motor, air suction, and vibrations all contribute to the amount of noise a vacuum will make. Some models will produce a lower level of noise than others. Depending on when you intend to use the sweeper, you can decide which will work best for you.

Height

Most vacuums allow you to adjust the height of the beater bar from the floor. This is to accommodate different thicknesses in carpet piles or for hardwood floors. Some can come with an automatic adjustment so the user can be more productive.

This will all give you a better idea of what to look for as you shop for and purchase your next vacuum cleaner for your commercial property.

Where to find a commercial vacuum cleaner?

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[realtasuantrai]

i'm gonna be real with y'all. i've been sitting here slowly getting my ability to think back and i want to say what happened, finally.

trigger warning for assault and abuse.

i currently (not for much longer thank god) live in an abusive household. i am sitting here, minding my own business when my abuser starts in on me over a mess i cleaned in eleven minutes.

he assaulted me with the vacuum cleaner- more specifically the hose part. it was running, and he put the hose up to my face. specifically, the right side of my chin and held it there.

i told him i didn't deserve to be assaulted with the vacuum.

he told me that he didn't deserve to be assaulted with a pig.

he exaggerated how bad it was, like it was going to somehow fall over and crush him when it was literally mainly bags from the stores i went to. and wasn't piled up like how he said.

i told him i didn't do that shit to him, he shouldn't do it to me.

"i don't choke the life out of you, but you deserve it" is what i got back in return.

when i was trying to explain i got assaulted with the hose of a vacuum cleaner, i stuttered trying to get it out because my brain was shutting down at that point to protect me. he mocked me, making noises and saying "that's what a pig sounds like".

i cried. but not because of what he said.

it was because he assaulted me. that's the only reason i cried. because i didn't do a damn thing but defend myself against him and got assaulted with a vacuum cleaner because of it.

i'm still recovering from my second blood transfusion in a month. from being near death twice within the span of a month. i am very low energy right now and so i let my area go. it took me all of eleven minutes, while taking my time, to clean it up because it wasn't as bad as it was being made out to be.

i never did anything to deserve how i get treated, but he's hated me since i was a minor.

i'm just glad i'm going to be getting out soon. i won't have to deal with a manchild toddler soon.