#makes it sticky and gross to store in a plastic bag

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

HC featuring my favorite thing to do and my mom and I's common phrase "well, you can't go wrong with.."

I feel like the batboys would definitely enjoy going around to Target or Walmart just for the sake of buying useless but interesting things.

It started with Dick lugging Tim around with him because he didn't want to go alone, and then Tim convinces Jason to join in. Every time he's invited, Damian refuses to go, but he finally caves in.

Dick, rolling the cart through the store: "Ooh, let's go over to the Easter section and see what they have there."

Damian, laying under the cart and holding a stuffed rabbit: "Why would we go there? It's still January.."

Jason, sitting in the cart: "Why wouldn't we go there? We should get some peeps."

Tim squished in the cart as well: "Sure, but let's not get a gross new flavor."

Dick: "Peeps can't be gross, Timothy."

Tim: "You're also the person who eats ketchup flavored chips."

Jason: "Ew, what? Seriously?"

Damian: "It is true. I've seen it firsthand."

Damian: "Push us over there, Grayson." *Points to the stationary isle*

Dick: "Oh yeah, that's always a good isle."

Jason: "Guys, don't do this to me."

Tim: "But you love the stationary isle!"

Jason: "No, Timmy, I love shopping for the shit- I still have 20 unused notebooks and 17 packs of weirdly shaped sticky notes that haven't been opened yet."

Damian: "I wish to see the isle."

Jason: "Please, spare me-"

Jason, five minutes later: "Dick, pass me those glitter pens. And look! A whiteboard calendar!"

Dick: "Since when do you use a calendar?"

Jason: "I can get this to start using one! It'll be so cool and worthwhile."

Tim: "Oh look, a rubber band ball!" *Picks up and throws at Damian, who is looking at notebooks*

Damian: *Does not catch it and watches it bounce down the isle, knocking down everything in its path* "Uhmm."

Dick: "Get on the cart Dami! Lets get out of here-"

Damian: "Todd, you can put your great amount of stationary in that." *Points to a plastic drawer*

Jason: "I mean.. you can't go wrong with a drawer."

Damian, picking up a bag of skittles: "Grayson, can we get one of these?"

Dick: "Well, you can't go wrong with a sweet treat."

Tim: "Oh look, a super tiny keychain notebook!"

Jason: "You can never go wrong with a tiny notebook!"

Dick: "Look over here guys! We can all get matching temporary tattoos!"

Tim: "You can't go wrong with matching tattoos-"

Jason: "Oh hey- a red water bottle with a cat on it!"

Damian: "You cannot go wrong with feline merchandise."

They leave the store with too many bags to carry and a bunch of random crap that they have no where to put. They get back to the manor with a bunch of Easter stuff when it's nowhere near the holiday, a whiteboard that will be used once, a whole bunch of random crap, and matching cat water bottles that they all bring with them on patrols or steak outs. It is the only thing that was useful to them from the trip.

Now, they make shopping trips their weekly bonding activity.

[crazysodomite]

my fursona is a ball of plasticine that kids played with and now he has crumbles and hairs embedded in him. my fursona has boba balls instead of organs. my fursona is an egg yolk and you can pierce him with a fork and watch the contents of his head spill out. my fursona is a tadpole. my fursona is a spore. my fursona reproduces itself like bacteria. if you blow on my fursona his seeds will spread far and wide like a dandelion. my fursonas hatch from fish eggs. my fursona is a stim toy for taurs. my fursona gets put into the taur enclosure for enrichment. my fursona was supposed to be delicious whipped cream but was overmixed. my fursona was created by shaping him in a sandbox. my fursona is a balloon full of flour. my fursona is a berry that a big bug has eaten through. my fursona is a cheap plastic toy with ugly seams and a strong chemical smell. my fursona is on sale in a thrift store. my fursona was thoroughly chewed and spat out afterwards. my fursona is sticky and gross. my fursona was born when a candy making machine malfunctioned. my fursona is a candy that you chew for hours and it gets stuck in your teeth. my fursona is a piece of licorice that people throw out of candy bags. my fursona is a doll made of straw. my fursona is a dress up paper doll. my fursona has only 20 polygons

[starakex]

I've mentionned him in passing in the last costume log blog post as some ill-fated first attempt at a fursuit head, so it's only fair I actually showed him off at some point: here's Uncle Uncanny the Nargacuga in the flesh.

I started him in late 2020 as a little technique-learning project during a time where cons were dead and costume motivation was an all-time low. It's a funky little Nargacuga head all made from scratch! He's lined and everything, and I'd be crazy to call him bad because I know objectively he's a very handsome boy for a first attempt, but he always looked a little... funky. Despite all the flaws though, he was so dang fun to make that he paved the way for the Wurmple partial and other future projects, and was an invaluable learning experience! I'd never bring him out though because the actual WEARING experience is a hot mess. Like, the materials are so bad he's periodically falling apart despite never taking him out to an event. He's so hard to breathe in, too... So back to storage you go! Speaking of, good lord please periodically check your costume storage to make sure everything's a-ok. He's been in the same dry closet as everything else for years and for some reason the plastic bag he's been stored in was just casually FLAKING APART in a sticky, blooming mess (while everything else was just fine, including some other ANCIENT pieces in similar bags) . My hands feel so gross and smell like copper but he's survived just fine, thankfully. Seriously, though. Check your storage.

[headphonemouse]

The other day I made meatbuns again but usually someone ELSE marinades and cooks the meat first before I recook it and add vegetables and seasoning. So I did that for the first time and totally messed up. Too much water, not the right color, charred the sides, it ended up being kinda flavorless. So when I recooked it I added a bit more oyster sauce just so it would taste like SOMETHING. Somehow, everyone else likes it better than usual. It's sweeter than usual, but I prefer salty meatbuns so I'm the only one not satisfied :/

[1-800-sope]

Tag, You’re It (M)

paring: Jungkook x reader

rating: M

Gener: Yandere 

Warnings : Kidnapping 

Summery: They always say it’s someone you know, someone that you are close to that turns out to be a psycho freak, you just weren't expecting it to be your hot innocent next door neighbor.

Inspired by Tag, You’re It by queen mel <3

BTS Masterlist

“Looking at me through your window

“Boy, you had your eye for a little”

“Hi Y/n.” Jungkook, your friendly neighbor shouted from across the yard as he spotted you. “Good afternoon Jungook, How are you?” You shouted back mirroring his smile. “I’m doing good just got done with some grocery shopping.” Jungkook responded displaying the plastic bags he was holding in his arms.

With that you let out a groan as you inserted your key in the lock. “That reminds me, I have to do some shopping of my own.” A chuckle escaped from jungkook.

“I’ll cut you up and make you dinner

You’ve reached the end, you are the winner.”

“Say if you don’t have food, I hope i’m not overstepping but why don’t you come over for dinner tonight.” Jungkook asked innocently, biting his lip as he eyed you from the sided. You focused on opening your front door trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. “As much as I would enjoy that Mr. Jeon, I have some homework to get to tonight.” You said as you looked up at him. Your door was now unlocked but you didn’t want to go inside, not yet at least. You wanted to savor this moment with your overly extremely hot next door neighbor.

Jungkook nodded his head as he went to open his own front door. “Well I wish you all the luck on that homework, but just know my offer still stands.” To anyone that would have seem like an innocent invitation, to YOU it was an innocent invitation. but to Jungkook it was far from innocent. 

-

“Rolling down your tinted window

Driving next to me real slow, he said”

Jogging through the neighborhood was one of the things you did every morning five days out of the week. You would jog around the block two times, stop by Mrs. Kim’s daughters lemonade stand grab a drink and continue. It was all apart of the routine.

But having a suspicious black BMW slow down as it turned down the street you were making your way down was not apart of the rutie. 

You were an observant girl, always aware of your surrounds, you liked to be kept on your toes never getting too comfortable, some might call you paranoid. So when you turned your head and caught site of the slowed down car you picked up your pase. But so did the car.

“Howdy Neighbor.” A familiar voice called out as the car was now next to you. “oh my god Jungkook!” You jumped back face flush with a beating heart. God this boy will give you a heart attack one day.

Jungkook looked at you with innocent eyes. “Are you alright?” He asked as you stopped and placed both of your hands on your knees, taking in deep breaths. 

“Yes, you just scared the living daylights out of me that’s all.” You chuckled leaning back up whipping some sweat off of your forehead, when you make eye contact with him your face flushed.

gross and sweaty in front of the handsome neighbor way to go Y/n,

“Oh my bad I didn’t mean to.” He quickly spoke with a sincere look in his eyes. You laughed and shook your head. “It’s okay Jungkook, Just don’t drive so creepy next time.” 

“Let me take you for a joyride

I’ve got some candy for you inside.”

“Say, I just got back from the store and I have some popsicles it is a hot day, would you like any?” Jungkook asked with a sweet smile that almost made you say yes right away.

You watched as the young man reached in the back of his car behind the driver's seat, you took note on how the ink on his muscular arms looked extremely good

when he pulled forward a box of popsicle you looked away not wanted to get caught drooling over him. “Thank you Jungkook.”You smiled as you watched him open the box. Your mouth instantly watered.

“Come eat it inside.” Jungkook said. You watched in confusion as he leaned over and open the car door. “Oh I really shouldn’t” feeling self conscious you took a step back. 

“Nonsense, The popsicle will melt while it’s out there, and do you really wanna hold a sticky stick while you run.” He looked at you with a teasing smile. 

Giving up you rolled your eyes and got into the car. “that’s a good girl.” Jungkook said as you shut the door face now more flushed than before and chest pounding that you pray to the gods he can’t hear it.

‘What flavor do you want?” He asked dismissing the comment he just made. You on the other hand had the words still repeating in your head. Another puls feeling shot through you but this one was not in your chest.

“Is there Orange.” You mastered to ask as you let out an awkward cough hoping he just thinks your flustered state is from the morning run. “Let me take a look.” He mumbled digging through the box.

“If not cherry is fine, you know i’m okay with any flavor except grape. the grape ones-”  “taste like medicine” You and Jungkook said at the same time. You nodded. “You're in luck missy, I found an orange.” He playfully smirked holding up the orange flavored popsicle.

-

It’s been four weeks since your encounter with Mr. Hottie neighbor and you were thankful for that. Yes Jungkook was nice company but you won’t be able to go another minute with your heart going crazy like it was going to blast out of your chest.

It was currently 1:30 am and you were laying on your living room couch trying to finish up your thesis statement for one of your college courses, that when the third rumble of your stomach hit and you got fed up. 

grabbing your car keys and throwing a jacked over your tank top you made your way out the door and to your car. One of the perks of being a college kid is being broke, ordering takeout for three weeks straight really put a dent in your pocket.

starting your car up you drove to the nearest corner store that was open.

-

pulling into the parking lot you failed to notice how it was almost empty except for wo other cars.

stepping out you didn’t bother to lock your car door the goal of getting in and getting out was the on thing that filled your mind.

“Running through the parking lot

he chased me and he wouldn't stop”

Once you were done paying you quickly grabbed your bag and pushed open the door, the cold air greeting you in the procese sent a shiver down your spine. was it worth it to go out in your pajama shorts and a tank top, looking around you took in how dark it was. no it wasn’t.

quickly opening your car door you placed the bag next to you and the keys inside. taking a peaky through the rear view mirror. That’s when you saw it

There was a person in the backseat of your car but before you could let out a bloody scream they placed the a white cloth over your mouth. 

Now you were fully regretting going out tonight.

Not taking in a deep breath you reached your hand out to the cup holder next to you grabbing the paper spry you through your arm back and pressed down on it, the attacker cussed and moved their hand. 

not wasting a minute you got out the car and did what anyone in their right mind would do. You ran. you heard the car door slam shut and you knew they got out too the fast footsteps that started to follow you proved it. but you didn’t stop, you didn’t look back. 

“Grab my hand, pushed me down

took the words right out my mouth”

You felt the hands on you, the force pushed you to the ground as a hand went clasping around your mouth muffling your scram, a muscular arm wrapped around your waist bringing you back up.

no 

no 

no 

This was not happening, You were not done for. You couldn't wouldn't except this faith and that's why you did everything your self defense classes taught you. You slammed your foot on this psycho’s toes and he released you again with a cuss.

if you would have listened. you would have noticed that the voice sounded oddly familiar.

but before you can even get one step away something hard came in contact with the side of your head sending you straight to the gourd.

your blurry vision filled with large black boots and then you lost consciousness.

-

You slowly opened your eyes, gretted to a dim light and a room with four walls, no windows in sight. just a door. panic rushed through your body and you tried to move that’s when you noticed you were hanging.

A thick rope wrapped around your wrist was hanging you up from the ceiling nothing was supporting your feet.

“Enie meenie miny mo”

A voice was heard from behind you, it made your heart stop. 

“Get your lady by her toes”

You felt something brush against your ankle and you let out a piercing scream. The sinister sound turned into a child like giggle.

“If she screams, don’t let her go” it sung.

A choked sob escaped you as the tears started to run down your face. “Whyy why why why.” You whispered to weak to speak.

“Shhh shhh, it’s okay love.” The voice cooed as a hand was gently brushing down the side of your head.

The presence of your abductor finally showed itself,  they were now standing in front of you holding those familiar innocent doe like eyes.

“J-Jungkook?” 

“Howdy neighbor.” 

[fruitcoops]

hi eve! what do you think about a video where couples do the chapstick challenge? like jily vs coops and they compete to see what couple guesses more right! idk i think i would be fun

It's been too long since I wrote one of these--I missed them! Coops, Cubs, and SW Jily belong to @lumosinlove <3

“Welcome back, everyone!” Dorcas said with a smile to the camera. “It’s been over a month since our last big video like this due to scheduling, but we hope you’ve been enjoying our more active social media presence in the meantime. I’m here today with James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and our lovely Cubs. How were your summers, everyone?”

“Hear that, Cap?” Logan’s grin was smug as the cat that got the canary. “I’m lovely.”

“Our summers were great,” Sirius said, ignoring him. “Lots of vacation time.”

“At our house,” Lily teased.

“Yeah, while you were on vacation. It’s called being a good godfather.”

“I’m glad you all had fun,” Dorcas interjected smoothly as she pulled three bags from under her chair. “Because we’ve got a very special game today. Inside these bags are ten blank chapstick tubes, each with a different flavor. One person from each team will apply the chapstick to their lips, and their partner will first have to kiss them, then guess the flavor. Finn, Leo, and Logan, your team will have two guessers.”

“They get two guesses?” Remus protested. “That’s so unfair!”

Dorcas shrugged. “They have to guess at the same time, and they only get one point per correct answer.”

Finn raised his eyebrows. “Y’know, Loops, you’re starting to sound pretty homophobic over there…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Remus sighed.

The camera cut; when it returned, Lily, Sirius, and Finn were seated in folding chairs with the bags of chapstick in their laps and a small sticky note in their hands. Across from them, their significant others were sitting with large headphones over their ears.

“Can you hear me?” Dorcas called.

Remus didn’t react at all as he messed with the trailing wire; Logan squinted at her. “Quoi?”

“I can’t hear anything,” James said loudly. “This is super weird. It’s just, like, humming. Honey, it sounds like Harry’s white noise machine!”

Lily smiled reassuringly and patted his hand. “A little quieter, lover.”

“What?”

“A little—nevermind.”

Dorcas’ mouth twitched with a suppressed smile. “Non-guessers, you can find all the flavors written on stickers at the bottom of each tube. Please start with number one on your flavor lists when you’re ready.”

Sirius bit his lip as he riffled through the bag, and Remus leaned forward to give him a light peck at the corner of his mouth. “I haven’t put any on yet!” he laughed.

Remus paused. “What?”

“I haven’t put any chapstick on.”

“Slower, I’m not good at lipreading.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered with a shake of his head.

Next to him, Finn had already applied his first flavor and was sitting with a happy smile as Leo and Logan thought for a moment. “Is it lime?’ Leo guessed.

“I think it’s lime,” Logan said half a second later. Finn gave them a thumbs-up and the three of them high-fived. “Called it!”

“That’s…lemon? Really sour lemon?” James guessed. Lily shook her head and showed him the tube. “Lime. Shit.”

Remus licked his lips. “Lime?”

Sirius nodded. “Oui!”

“Really? Hell yeah!”

“We’re at a bit of an advantage,” Sirius said as he put the lime in his lap and checked his list. “I wear chapstick all the time.”

“Why?” Dorcas asked, sounding rather amused.

“My lips get dry from being at the rink all day.” Sirius shrugged and put the next one on. A mischievous smile flickered over his mouth and he tilted his chin toward Remus. “He won’t leave me alone, either.”

Remus’ eyebrows pitched and he leaned forward. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have to go slower, I really can’t—”

“Green apple!” Logan exclaimed, slapping Finn’s knee in excitement as Dorcas covered her mouth to hide her laughter. “I remembered what it’s called!”

“Correct!” Finn announced.

“I think it’s green apple,” Leo said.

James pulled away and rested his chin on his hand. “Kind of a caramel apple, but without the caramel.” Lily turned to face the camera with a look of disbelief. “So just a normal apple, I guess.”

“Yes!” Lily turned his face toward her with a smile. “You got it!”

“I got it? Woohoo!”

“That’s green apple.” Remus wrinkled his nose. “Tastes like those shitty candy apple lollipops, though. Did I get it?”

Sirius nodded and wiped his lips off. “Number three is pomegranate,” Dorcas announced.

Finn frowned as he dug through his bag. “I don’t—there it is. Wow, this smells really nice.”

Leo paused and smiled before kissing him. “That smells really nice!”

“Does it?” Finn laughed before moving to give Logan a kiss.

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said, kissing Sirius a second time. “No idea what the flavor is, but I like it. Hmm. I have to think about that.”

“Is that frosting?” James asked excitedly as he grabbed Lily’s hands. “Do you have frosting flavored chapstick?”

“No,” she laughed, shaking her head. “What the hell? It’s pomegranate.”

“It’s what?”

“Pomegranate.”

“Persimmon?” She rolled her eyes and showed him the sticker. “Wow, I never would have guessed that.”

“Is it cherry?” Remus guessed. Sirius shook his head and his face fell. “Aw.”

Leo and Logan shared a look as Finn kept his poker face. “I have no idea what that is,” Logan finally said. “It’s sweet, though.”

“Is candy-flavored chapstick a thing?” Leo wondered. Finn held the tube up. “Pomegranates are tart. That wasn’t tart.”

“What the hell is that?” Logan looked to someone off-screen and held one of his headphones away from his ear.

“Une grenade!” someone called.

“Oh! That didn’t taste like it at all.”

All four guessers kissed their partners within a few seconds for the fourth—almost immediately, they pulled away, faces twisting. “Oh my god,” Remus coughed, wiping his lips. “That’s grape. Oh my god.”

James’ nose scrunched. “It’s grape. I don’t like it.”

In a moment of direct action, Leo took the wet wipe Finn had been using and ran it over his mouth while Logan stuck his tongue out. “It’s grape, and it’s gross. No more cough syrup kisses, please.”

“You’re halfway there!” Dorcas called, chalking up their correct guesses on a whiteboard as Lily, Sirius, and Finn applied the fifth flavor.

Sirius held his hand up as Remus started moving in and sneezed. “Desolee. Okay, you can go now.”

Remus kissed him and recoiled in half a second. “More cough syrup? Are you kidding me? It’s not any better when it’s cherry.”

“Dorcas,” Leo whined when he pulled away. “The first ones were such nice flavors!”

“My head hurts just tasting that,” James said miserably. “It’s that awful fake cherry stuff.”

“That’s cherry.” Logan smacked his lips with a grimace. “Eugh.”

Dorcas held up five fingers for them to see as she spoke. “Just five more, and you’re all done. Those are the only bad ones.”

Lily lit up as she applied the sixth and James hurried to kiss her. “Oh, that one is nice! You always wear strawberry. It’s my favorite.”

Remus shrugged. “Kiss was great, flavor’s fine. It’s just fake strawberry, yeah?”

“Whew.” Leo’s eyebrows rose after the kiss. “Very st—”

“Oh, strawberry!” Logan interrupted. “Katie makes me wear something like that when we have tea parties.”

Dorcas added more tallies to her board. “Tremzy, you can’t hear me, but that’s the cutest thing you’ve ever said. We need pictures.”

“I’ll find some,” Finn promised.

Sirius rubbed his lips together and made a face; Remus laughed, running the pad of his thumb along his mouth. “Stop, I can’t kiss you like that! It can’t be that bad.”

“That would give me a headache,” James said, clearly disappointed. “It’s some sort of pineapple monstrosity. Pina colada? I liked the strawberry a lot better.”

“It’s pineapple. Does that count?” Lily asked. Dorcas nodded, and she gave James a high-five.

“That’s not bad,” Leo admitted with a shrug. “Tastes like the dried mango we get at the store, the kind with all the sugar on it.”

“I don’t have the first idea what that is,” Logan said. “Knutty, I’m letting you take the reins here.”

“You’re both wrong,” Finn said, enunciating every word so they could read his lips.

“Baby—” Remus faltered with a laugh and held the wet wipes out of reach as Sirius tried to take them back. “Baby, we don’t get a point if you wipe it off. Just one kiss, okay?”

“Fine,” Sirius grumbled. Remus pressed a sweet kiss to his upper lip and handed him a fresh wet wipe. “Happy now?”

“Oh, I like that,” Remus said. “It’s definitely pineapple. I can see why you hated it so much.”

“Cap, do you not like pineapple?” Dorcas asked. His intense wiping of his lips was the only answer necessary. “We’re in the final three. Sirius, your team is in the lead by one.”

“Come on, hubs,” Lily said as she put the next one on. “This is easy-peasy. We have to beat Cap or we’ll never hear the—”

“Mint!” Leo exclaimed, looking quite proud of himself. “Ooo, it’s like Christmas.”

“I can smell it all the way over here,” Remus laughed, though he didn’t pass up the kiss. “That’s peppermint.”

“It’s like a candy cane,” James said dreamily.

“He’s not going to like this one,” Sirius said as he capped the next chapstick. “I like it, though, and that’s all that matters. Pucker up, Loops.”

“Oh, hell no.” Remus leaned back as Sirius leaned in, keeping his lips out of range. “Nope, not a chance. That’s some plastic vanilla bullshit and I’ll be tasting it all day.”

Dorcas tapped him on the shoulder and he lifted one headphone. “If you don’t taste it, you don’t get a point this round.”

“We can take the hit.”

“What? No!” Sirius protested. “I had to taste the pineapple, remember?”

“I love you and I totally want to win this, but I really, really don’t want that taste in my mouth.”

“Fine,” Sirius sighed, wiping his lips off as Remus readjusted his headphones.

James’ face split into a beaming smile after his kiss. “Birthday cake!”

“No.”

“Shit.”

“Vanilla,” Leo and Logan said in unison.

Finn pumped both fists in the air. “Yes! We’re tied for first!”

Leo gave him a high-five. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but you seem excited about it!”

“Last one,” Dorcas warned. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You should wear chapstick more often,” James said as Lily lined her lips. “It makes you so soft.”

“He has no idea how greasy my mouth feels right now,” she said fondly with a glance to the camera.

“Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed. “Alright, Loops, don’t pussy out this time.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “You just told me not to pussy out, didn’t you?”

Sirius blinked at him. “I thought you couldn’t read lips.”

“C’mere.” Remus cupped his jaw in one hand and kissed him, then smiled. “Orange. Did we win?”

“Mmm, that’s what the oranges back home taste like,” Leo said, going in for a second kiss.

Logan licked his lips a couple of times. “Tastes like fancy orange juice. I like it.”

“In a cruel twist of irony, my lips are getting dry,” James said when they parted. Lily raised her eyebrows as he thought. “That’s orange. We won, right?”

“Take off your headphones,” Dorcas said, miming the motion until everyone could hear her before holding her scoreboard up. “Unfortunately, James and Lily are in last place with a score of seven out of ten. Cap and Harzy, your teams are tied for first place with eight out of ten.”

“We could have won if you didn’t have a personal grudge against vanilla,” Sirius said under his breath. Remus threw one of the chapsticks at him and Sirius dropped another down the neck of his shirt.

“Boys.” They both gave Dorcas a sheepish look and she shook her head. “Thankfully, we prepared for this situation with a tiebreaker. Nobody but me knows the flavor, and it is not written on a sticker. Remus, Leo, and Logan, you will not have to put your headphones on again, but you will have to correctly identify both flavors to get their point. You will write your answers on these whiteboards. You only get one kiss to determine your guess. On your marks, get set, go!”

Sirius swiped a decent amount over his lower lip and pulled Remus in with his hands on his cheeks; Finn practically used half the stick covering his mouth before collecting his kisses. “That’s interesting,” Leo murmured, tapping his dry-erase pen on his thigh. “That’s very interesting.”

Remus jotted down an answer and leaned back in his chair with a self-satisfied smile. “You know it?” Sirius asked with a grin.

“I do.”

“Is that your final guess?’ Dorcas checked. He nodded, and she took his pen. “Leo, Logan, do you have a guess as well?”

“I think I know one of the flavors,” Leo said cautiously, bending over to whisper it in Logan’s ear. He hummed in agreement, then whispered back.

“This is so intense,” James murmured, looking between the two teams as Lily perched herself on his lap. “I feel like I’m watching the Olympics.”

“If we get one of the flavors right and Loops gets both wrong, do we win?” Logan asked as Leo wrote their answer down.

Dorcas thought for a moment. “Yeah, sure. But only if Remus gets it completely wrong.”

“What’s the prize?”

“You already get to kiss your partners all afternoon instead of running drills. What more do you want?”

“Amen,” Remus agreed.

“Alright.” Leo handed over the whiteboard pen, though he looked nervous.

“Would you like to go first?” Dorcas offered.

“Coconut and lemon?”

“That is incorrect.”

“Ah, fuck me,” Logan muttered. “Loops, you’d better be wrong.”

Remus’ smile was even more pleased as Dorcas turned to him. “Remus, do you know what it is?”

“Well, Ms. Meadowes, I’m glad you asked. That’s Burt’s Bees honey and coconut.” He flipped the board with a flourish. “And it just so happens that my boyfriend bought that exact chapstick at the store last week and has worn it every single day since then.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leo looked between them in shock as Logan’s jaw dropped. Finn buried his face in his hands. “Of every flavor on earth—”

“I promise it was not intentional,” Dorcas said, though she was laughing a little. “I literally rolled dice to pick it while I was looking at the website.”

Sirius looked to the ceiling as he pulled Remus’ chair closer. “Thank you, universe, for my terrible impulsive habits in the self-checkout line.”

Dorcas turned to the camera with a dimpled smile and spread her hands. “Thank you for joining us for the chapstick challenge, Lions! You can find all these flavors at the link in the description. Like and subscribe for more videos like this, have a great day!”

[frostedfaves]

Definitely Sick

Pairing: Jake Peralta x fem!reader

Summary: Reader is stubborn and won’t admit she’s not feeling well. Jake is up for the challenge.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: sick reader, Aggressive Shipper Charles™️

-

Captain Holt stopped mid-sentence during the morning briefing when Y/N slowly crept in, her eyes barely open and surrounded by bags. She stopped when she realized everyone in the room was looking at her.

"Detective," Holt addressed her immediately. "Care to inform me why you are late this morning?"

"I slept through my alarm, sorry Captain," she replied softly, her voice croaking the entire time.

"Dude, what's up with your voice?" Rosa responded offhandedly but with a hint of concern in her features.

"I locked my keys in my car last night and had to wait two hours in the rain for AAA to come. I'll be fine." She stepped over to sit by Jake at a table in front as Holt continued, so far gone in her fatigue that she didn't notice Jake burning a hole in the side of her head with an intense and worried gaze.

"Any updates on your case, L/N?" Holt's voice rang through to her ears a few minutes later, her head popping up from atop her crossed arms as she hummed in response of hearing her name.

"Detective, perhaps you should go home for the day—"

"No!" She stood so quickly that she nearly knocked her chair over. "I'm fine." Despite the crack in her speech that betrayed her, she grabbed a file from her bag and confidently walked to the front of the room. She fought through the searing pain in her throat as she went over her new case details and sat down again when she finished, barely hiding her exhausted sigh.

A few hours later, Jake walked off the elevator, clutching a plastic bag from a nearby grocery store. He frowned when he didn't spot Y/N in the bullpen with everyone else or Holt's office and decided to try his luck in the breakroom. As soon as he walked in, he spotted her asleep while leaning against a counter, her coffee mug empty and untouched.

"Y/N." She didn't budge and he couldn't help but grin, noticing how small and adorable she looked, even as sick as she was now. Not wanting to get caught staring, he cleared his throat and spoke louder. "Y/N!"

She jumped at the feeling of him shaking her arm and looked around to check her surroundings. "Shit, how long was I out?"

"Not sure, I just got here. But what I am sure of is that you need to stop working and let me take care of you because you're clearly very sick."

"Jake, I'm fine." She tried to walk around him to leave the room but her legs shook as she lost the support of the counter, causing her body to sink toward the floor. Luckily Jake expected this and was quick to bring her back on her feet, keeping a tight hold on her.

"Alright ba—Y/N—" He cursed himself for even thinking she'd ever —- no matter what state of health — allow him to call her babe. "We need to get you home now."

"Jake," she slightly slurred as she pushed back on him to lean against the counter again. "I'm not going home." She hoped the warmth in her cheeks would be blamed on her supposed fever and not the slight embarrassment of how good it felt for him to hold her so close.

"Fine, then we're going somewhere a bit closer."

Before Y/N could even question it, Jake placed a hand under her knees with his other arm going around her back, lifting her up and beginning to carry her out of the room. She released feeble protests, her fellow detectives watching with amused smirks as Jake took her down the hall and placed her on the couch of a deserted room. He quickly locked the door behind him and ran to grab the blanket Y/N kept in her desk drawer while asking Charles to grab Y/N's mug and make tea on his way, pushing her back onto the couch when he came back in so she wouldn't escape.

"Jake, please let me go. I'm not sick!"

"Y/N, you're literally holding your head right now because you're dizzy and I was able to push you down using just one pinky. You need to rest." He stared at her with as stern a look as he could muster until she sighed and retreated, knowing that he was being serious, therefore he would not let this go easily.

"Fine." She watched as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, lifting her a little so that he could get it around the rest of her body too. She couldn't help the small smile that appeared at the thought of Jake wanting to care for her in this way, a smile unfortunately noticed by Jake himself.

"See, doesn't this feel better already?" He asked with a little grin of his own, hoping that she was finally giving in.

"Yes, it does. Thank you."

"No problem." He gave her knee a small pat and leaned over to dig through the bag. "Alright, do you want to take medicine first or drink tea?"

"Medicine. I don't feel like drinking anything." She took the small plastic cup from Jake, downing it in one gulp and shuddering with disgust. "I take it back, anything is better than the liquid feces going down currently."

"Sorry but you gotta wait 15 minutes before you can eat or drink." He chuckled when Y/N let out a long whine in response. "Okay, how about this? Let's watch a video while we wait. How about...'Fifteen Minutes of Funny Cats Compilation'?" She nodded with a grin and Jake made it full screen, coming closer to make it easier for her to see.

As the video came to a close, Jake turned his phone off and looked over to see Y/N completely relaxed against him, her head practically falling into his lap. He smiled, admiring her with a soft gaze as he watched her breathe through slightly parted lips, shushing Charles immediately as he threw open the door.

"Sorry!" He whisper-shouted, both of them waiting frozen on the spot until they were sure Y/N wouldn't wake before he continued. "I saw her falling asleep and put the tea in this insulated mug so it'll still be warm whenever she comes to."

"Thanks Charles." Jake took the mug with an appreciative nod.

"Now let me just leave you two alone while you nurse your blushing future bride back to health—"

"Charles, please don't be gross."

He turned back to Y/N as he left, placing the mug on the table before carefully removing himself from the couch and rearranging the pillows with one hand. Once she was comfortably settled, he grabbed a sticky note and wrote a "Drink me!" note to put on the mug. After careful consideration, he leaned down and brushed the hair from her forehead, leaning a tender kiss on the exposed skin. He left so fast to hide the embarrassment of his public vulnerability that he missed the grin that spread across her face while she slept.

[darkblueboxs]

Strawberry Lips

For #aftgsummer

Prompt: Popsicle

Rating: M

Read here or on AO3

*

Andrew stares into the empty freezer. “Neil,” he says, letting just enough feeling creep into his tone for Neil to truly understand the depths of his devastation. “You forgot the ice-cream.”

Andrew and Neil make homemade popsicles. Shenanigans ensue.

*

Andrew stares into the empty freezer. “Neil,” he says, letting just enough feeling creep into his tone for Neil to truly understand the depths of his devastation. “You forgot the ice-cream.”

“There was no ice-cream. There was no ice-anything.” Neil is kneeling on the kitchen counter, which he has decided for reasons unknown is easier than the step stool where reaching the upper shelves is concerned. The hem of his shirt rides up as he shoves Andrew’s requested junk food into one of the upper cupboards, apparently labouring under the delusion that lack of easy access will in some way act as a deterrent. “The store had a power outage last night. They don’t have any frozen food at all.”

Andrew lets the freezer door swing shut. There are few things that he allows to truly get under his skin. The idea of countless tubs of ice-cream going to waste in a supermarket dumpster doesn’t make the list, but it does come close. The weather forecast for the next few days could roughly be compared to hell on earth, and Andrew is not in the mood to tolerate a heatwave without suitable frozen goods on hand.

“I did get the last one of these, though.” Neil reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a plastic popsicle-making kit. “I don’t know what people usually put in their moulds, so I bought a few things. Could be interesting?” He slides down from the counter, landing chest-to-chest with Andrew.

“Could be,” Andrew answers non-committaly.

After some debate, they divide the moulds out between them, allowing Neil to chop and blend as much fruity yogurty shit as he wants for his own popsicles while Andrew works on how to best liquefy chocolate. He ends up with a milk-and-melted-chocolate concoction which Neil wrinkles his nose at while Andrew fills his containers. Andrew dusts icing sugar in before adding the sticks, not because he thinks it will improve the flavour, but just to see Neil’s barely restrained horror.

Andrew slouches off to the living room to clean out the mixing bowl. Neil turns up with leftover strawberries in time to wipe up the dregs Andrew’s fingers missed. Fruit is tolerable, Andrew concedes, in conjunction with chocolate, and watching Neil lick stray dribbles of chocolate mix from his fingers is an added bonus.

Despite having told Andrew that they will have to wait until tomorrow at the earliest, Neil checks on the progress of their creations in the freezer at least twice before bed like a mother hen fussing over her eggs.

The forecast was, for once, correct. The heat hits Columbia like a sledgehammer, and Andrew is eternally grateful that Neil already agreed to a week off from practice, because, air-con or not, Andrew cannot imagine exercising in this.

Luckily, they’re prepared. Neil runs the mould under the tap until two of the popsicles are loose enough to tug free, and they retreat to the couch to enjoy the fruits of their labour. Andrew’s creation tastes better than he expected, although in truth his standards have never been high as long as the sugar content was to his satisfaction.

Andrew bites through his popsicle in a matter of minutes. Neil does not go for the same strategy, choosing instead to lap at the tip absent-mindedly while he browses the Exy magazine lying open in his lap. Andrew watches a bead of condensation roll down the creamy-pink popsicle and drip, unnoticed, onto Neil’s shirt. Neil seems unconcerned by the ticking time bomb that is a popsicle in a warm room; he continues with a series of kitten-licks occasionally broken up as he runs his tongue along the length of the popsicle to catch any run-off juice before it can drip onto his magazine. It’s when Neil swirls his tongue around the end before pulling off with a faint pop that Andrew begins to wonder if he's being fucked with. He tilts his head to one side and upgrades his expression from blank observation to all-out glare. Neil seems genuinely surprised when he notices Andrew’s pointed gaze. “What?”

“You’re taking your time,” Andrew says levelly.

“Not my fault you finished yours in five seconds flat.”

“It’s dribbling everywhere. You’re making a mess,” Andrew says unthinkingly, then hears the innuendo and suddenly finds himself fighting the urge to put his fist through a wall. “You’re being gross.”

“I’m not gonna bite it,” Neil says, so petulantly that Andrew reconsiders the wall as the target of his frustrations. “Hold on, let me just-” And then, to Andrew’s disbelief, Neil tilts back his head and slides the popsicle right to the back of his throat. And Andrew knows the second it hits the back of Neil’s throat because Neil makes a noise, and Andrew knows that noise, and if he has to hear it again under these circumstances, he will commit murder.

Andrew hooks a finger around Neil’s wrist and pulls until the popsicle slides out from Neil’s lips. Neil looks at Andrew, betrayed, his lips painted strawberry-pink. “What?!”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“No?”

“Do you have any idea,” Andrew growls, and then stops, because it’s Neil. Of course he doesn’t. “Allow me to explain.” He places his hand over Neil’s so that they’re both holding the popsicle stick between them and makes pointed eye-contact as he licks a long, wet stripe along the length of the popsicle.

Neil’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Um.”

Andrew repeats the motion, enjoying the twitch of Neil’s fingers under his. He draws back to lick his lips. “What did you put in these?”

“Strawberries, raspberries, cream, yogurt…” Neil trails off. “Tequila.”

It’s Andrew’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You held out on me.”

“I wanted to test the recipe out first.” Neil’s eyes haven’t left Andrew’s lips for some time. “Thoughts?”

Andrew hums thoughtfully. Neil’s eyes widen as he leans forward and sucks the popsicle down. He lets his eyes flutter closed as he rolls the popsicle around his mouth. He slides back up, but just as he has Neil convinced that he’s going to relinquish the popsicle he bobs down again, allowing a quiet hum of contentment to slip from his chest as he does so. He’s even sloppier than Neil was, and a few drops of creamy liquid escape over the cusp of the popsicle and dribble across their fingers. Andrew makes another noise, and is rewarded with a quiet, “fuck, Andrew,” for his efforts.

“Yeah,” Andrew says after pulling off with a pop. “I’d say it’s pretty good.”

Neil answers with a noise that is a few octaves higher than his usual tone. He all but throws the Exy magazine to the floor to make way for Andrew climbing into his lap, struggling to balance the rapidly melting popsicle with Andrew’s sudden weight. Andrew doesn’t waste time worrying about what Neil is going to do with it, not when his face is right there, cheeks flushed and lips still stained from the fruit, and when he seizes Neil’s face in his hands and kisses him, he can taste it on Neil’s lips and in his mouth and on his tongue and it is perfect. Neil kisses back like he’s getting drunk on Andrew’s mouth, and maybe he is.

Like fighting gravity, Andrew pulls himself back long enough to say, “You can touch me.”

Neil waggles his free hand in Andrew’s eyeline, which shines with trails of melted popsicle juice. “Too sticky.”

Andrew rolls his eyes, takes hold of Neil’s hand, and sucks two fingers into his mouth. Flavour bursts across Andrew’s tongue as he swirls it around the digits, tracking down every drop of juice. Neil swears, a colourful string of expletives that send heat shooting through Andrew’s gut. Andrew chases the fruit down towards Neil’s knuckles, by which time Neil has dropped the cursing in favour of watching, lips parted, as Andrew licks across his skin.

“That… that didn’t help,” Neil says as he stares at his spit-slick fingers.

“Unfortunate,” Andrew replies, before losing himself again in the taste of Neil’s mouth. One of Neil’s hands fists in Andrew’s shirt while his arm hooks around Andrew’s neck like it’s his lifeline. Andrew only spots the problem with this when something cold touches his leg.

“Neil,” Andrew growls into Neil’s mouth. “What did you do with the popsicle?”

“Oh,” Neil says, looking in surprise at his empty hands. “I think I…dropped it?” They both look down at the same time to see the pink puddle dribbling across the cushions. “…oops?”

Andrew hisses in irritation, nudging Neil sideways to remove them from the path of the meltwater. He slides a hand into Neil’s hair and tugs until his lips are at Neil’s ear. “You are going to clean this up,” Andrew says lowly, “And when – only when – this mess is gone, you will find me upstairs.”

Andrew climbs out of Neil’s lap without waiting for a response. It takes Neil a moment to collect himself enough for one, but he manages in time to catch Andrew in the doorway. “Andrew?”

Andrew turns back, eyebrow quirking.

Neil smirks. “So, you like my popsicle?”

Andrew leaves without replying.

*

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more aftg summer pieces :)

[plastic-lamb]

Breathless

Member: Hongjoong (ateez)

Warnings: breath play (almost) gone terribly wrong (never do risky things by yourself reader), cheesy title gives away the plot basically

A/n: I've been thinking about this entire concept a lot lately, hopefully writing it out will ease my mind.

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

"Finally," Hongjoong muttered to himself as he heard the front door shut and lock. Finally, he was all alone as everyone else had gone home for vacation. They all believed his half-assed excuse that he was gonna stay in the dorm for a couple more days to work on a couple songs and gave him a few passing well wishes as they all left one by one.

He shut his laptop and practically jumped off the couch and ran to his room, locking the door behind him for good measure. He could hear his heart beating in his ears as his adrenaline rose as the reality of his situation and what he was about to do really set in. Moving quickly, he spread out a towel on his bed and fished out a box he hid far underneath it, a box whose hiding place he constantly had to change thanks to his roommates meticulous cleaning habits.

He set the box on his bed and undressed, tossing his used clothes in the vague direction of his dirty clothes hamper before crawling on his bed and opening the box. One by one he took out each item and placed them on the towel in front of him: a roll of electrical tape, a brand new bottle of lube, a vibrating dildo, and a plastic bag.

His breath hitched as he pondered what to do first, idly spinning the roll of tape around on his finger. Should he prep first then put the bag on? No no, the electrical tape was hard enough to use with dry fingers. Maybe he should tear off a length of tape first, then prep, then bag... Hmm...

He realised that he was putting far too much thought into this, but he couldn't help it, he was nervous. This wasn't him getting out a fast shower jerk with a sopping wet washcloth covering his face or him covering his mouth and nose while masturbating in the wee hours of the morning while Seonghwa was fast asleep, this was the real deal. This was the first time he managed to get the guts to act out on his kink and he wanted it to go really well.

"Alright," he let out a deep sigh and clapped his hands together, trying hard not to lose his nerve. He picked up the bag and took a few slow, deep breaths before placing it over his head.

It was the kind of plastic bag they use in shoe stores, i.e incredibly sturdy. Hongjoong took a second to ponder if he was really as into this as he thought he was or if he was just making a fool of himself, but when he breathed in and felt the way the bag ever so slightly constricted around his face making it just that much harder to breathe he knew that if he didn't do this he would regret it forever.

With newfound confidence he grabbed the roll of tape (which wasn't an easy task as the bag made it incredibly hard to see), and began to wrap a strip around his throat overtop of the bag. He wrapped it around a solid two times before tearing the strip off, effectively sealing his head and all the air he would be able to use inside the bag.

Working a little too quickly, he grabbed the lube bottle and squirted out a generous amount onto his delicate fingers, a bit surprised at the warming sensation he felt as he didn't remember purchasing a warming lubricant. Whatever, it works, and at this point he would've used anything.

Making sure to keep his breathing calm, he leaned forward resting on his dominant arm, his other hand reaching behind him to languidly slide one finger in his hole, then another. This he had done before, so it didn't take him very long before he felt he was ready to use the toy on himself. He was thankful for this as he could already feel his oxygen supply depleting.

Now realising he's on a time crunch, he opted to change to a more comfortable position, laying back propped up on his pillows. He spread his legs and with one hand he gripped the base of his cock, with the other he slowly worked the toy into his ass. He went slow on purpose, knowing that he could honestly cum at any moment thanks to his whole...situation.

He didn't want that at all, he wanted to savor this moment and drag it out as long as he physically could, so he opted not to use the vibrating feature on the dildo and instead just shallowly thrusted it inside himself.

He tried to control his breathing, but couldn't help the little whines slipping out of his mouth that quickly escalated to gasps and curses. The inside of the bag was now uncomfortably warm and he could feel the air start to get sticky and stale but he didn't care, he was too blinded by pleasure to think about the fact that he was slowly starting to suffocate.

A particularly hard and deep thrust knocked the wind out of him and from then on it was infinitely more difficult to breathe, but that just turned him on more. The way the bag constricted around his head sharply cutting off his inhales felt absolutely delicious as he threw all caution to the wind and rushed to get his high, moaning pathetically as he kept hitting that sweet spot inside himself. The room was full of the lewd, wet noises of Hongjoong desperately chasing his high, as well as the muffled sound of him hyperventilating under the bag.

When he came, he came hard. He saw stars as his hot cum shot out all over himself, getting on his chest and hand. He held his breath involuntarily, unable to do anything except shake and convulse as the waves of his orgasm washed over him violently. When he finished he was left with trembling hands and, more importantly, absolutely no air.

Idly he reached up to pull the bag off his head, then panicked when the material simply slid from between his soaked fingers. Tossing the dildo to the side, he reached up and pawed desperately at the bag with both of his hands, but his actions were useless as the material was too strong and he couldn't get a good grip on it.

His panic escalated to a full attack as he thrashed around on his bed, crying out as he tried continuously to rip the bag. A couple times his hands slid around his throat trying to rip the tape but all he did was scratch himself in the process. He hyperventilated violently, but with every inhale the bag vacuumed itself into his mouth and nose. He couldn't shut his mouth, he couldn't calm down, he couldn't stop kicking as he started to get light headed and it became harder for him to concentrate.

In a last ditch attempt he grabbed as much as the bag as he could in both of his hands and pulled. He kept his grip tight enough to pierce the skin on his palms as he finally tore a small hole in the bag. Frantically, he shoved his fingers in it and was able to rip the bag open.

He greedily gulped in the fresh air, it hurt so bad it felt like it was tearing his lungs apart but he couldn't stop. He coughed violently as he eased into his bed, his body had been pushed far beyond it's limits and he needed to recover.

He stared at his ceiling as his breathing started to go back to normal and the fog in his head slowly cleared up. He managed to tug the remainder of the bag off and toss it onto his floor.

He was gross. His head was considerably more sweaty than the rest of his body, leaving his hair matted and sticking to his forehead. His cum, that was now smeared all over himself, was now drying and felt uncomfortable. Lube was oozing out of him and it felt sticky on his hands and cock. He was drooling and crying and overall he looked like someone fucked the life out of him, literally.

That was horrifying, he was scared. His breathing was now normal but he couldn't stop shaking, he could hear his heart thumping in his ears. He literally almost died, right there in his dorm totally naked with a bag on his head, a dildo between his legs and his own semen coating his chest. He shuddered at the thought of anyone finding him like that.

But...he would be lying to himself if he didn't find that primal fear he felt extremely intoxicating. He felt like he was absolutely insane for wanting to get a new bag and do it again, insane for being hard again at the prospect of another mind-blowing, breathless orgasm.

For now though, Hongjoong just covered his mouth and started stroking his cock. He'd do it again, sure, but it'd be better with a partner. Or at least scissors, and as of right now he was simply too spent to stand up and go get a pair.

[forlornmelody]

Kord Center Mall: Rose Takes Bart to a Rave

Rating: Explicit (there’s smut, and drug use, and lots of swearing)

Fandom(s): Mass Effect, DC Comics

Ship: JayRose (Jason Todd/Rose Wilson)

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: Even the best-made plans go sideways, sometimes.In which Rose plans to have a good time with her NOT boyfriend, but ends up watching over the most annoying and most adorable kid working at Kord Center Mall.

Note: This is a cross over, mall-verse AU concocted by @scifi-ginger and myself. You’ve been warned.

-*-*-

Rose Wilson has three stops she makes on her hour-long lunch break. How she managed to get an hour instead of 30 minutes like most part-timers, no one seems to know. Her desk partner, Cassandra Sandsmark--regular employee of the month and all-around wonder girl, has definitely noticed, and she protests every time Rose leaves. Their manager likes Rose, so he never says anything. Or maybe he’s terrified of her dad like everyone else. Getting into his scheduling software is easy enough, especially since he has the password on a sticky note behind his monitor. It’s not Rose’s fault if he doesn’t bother to memorize it.

First she goes to Joey’s counter at MAC. For someone who’d rather sign than talk, Joey sure sells a lot of beauty products. It’s probably the way he smiles at his customers, giving them bedroom eyes regardless of their gender. When Rose spots him, he’s chatting up some twink who has trouble standing still. Joey lays a steadying hand on his shoulder, applying the liquid eye liner like he’s still in art school. He waves at Rose when he’s done with the makeover, walking the guy over to the counter to what’s surely going to be a big sale. When the customer signs his receipt, he also jots down his number. Taking the receipt, Joey nods at the guy, then at Rose.

“Oh! Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d been waiting.” The twink stumbles out of the store, leaving Joey and Rose alone at the counter.

Joey punches the guy’s number into his phone and Rose rolls her eyes. Her brother sets his phone down, and his hands flurry into signs. “What? Was it something I said?”

Rose leans across the counter, so his co-worker can’t hear her talk. “Really? Are you going to seduce every single person who comes in here?”

Waving his hand dismissively, Joey snorts. “He was cute.”

“You say that about everyone, Joey. And I won’t let you tarnish my reputation as the skankiest Wilson.”

Leaning back towards her with a wicked gleam in his eye, Joey slaps his hand on the counter. “I’m pretty sure Pop has us both beat there.”

“Gross.” Rose starts to walk out, but her phone pings. 

I still want Vega’s number.

Rose turns back to face him, grinning widely as she moonwalks out the store. “Fucking a personal trainer won’t get you a free membership!” She calls out.

Joey’s hands move so big Rose is convinced the department store across the hall can see. “But it will get me some exercise!”

 Shaking her head, Rose moves on to the crystal shop three doors down. Rachel, or Raven, as most call her, is busy ringing someone up, so Rose peruses the tea selection. She isn’t really sure what to make of the supernatural or the paranormal, to be honest, but she humors her friend--getting palm and tarot readings from her so Raven can practice. Every so often she’ll even join her meditation sessions, though Rose has the worst time sitting still. Her latest mantra is “I’d rather be punching a bag” over and over until Raven shoves her away.

Ignoring the names of the teas, Rose takes her time sniffing each jar for the one’s that’ll taste best. She picks one up that smells like almost nothing. What’s the fucking poi--

“I don’t think you need anything for erectile dysfunction.” Raven drawls from behind her. “If you do, we really need to talk.”

“Jesus.” Rose jumps a little, slamming the lid back down. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“Are you actually going to buy something, or are you just here to fuck off?” Raven folds her arms, eyeing Rose with a smirk. 

“What’s a good compliment to some dank weed?” Rose leans back against the shelves, jostling several jars in her wake.

Raven scoffs, but digs out a couple jars, pushing Rose out of the way. “What does Joey think about you partying with the mall’s resident bad boys?”

“And girl.” Rose holds up a finger like a kindergarten teacher. “Don’t forget the girl.” As if anyone could forget Jack Nought. With her mohawk and tats, she looks like she walked off the set of Mad Max. Maybe she did. Jack can do whatever the fuck she wants. “And Joey trusts me to take care of myself.” She pokes Raven in the nose. “Unlike some people.”

“Har har.” Raven waves her off like a fly. “And your dad?” Her voice lightens, and her eyebrows knit together, all airs of indifference falling away. She moves behind the counter, measuring and weighing the ounces of tea, only to toss the generous amounts in the bags anyway. Samara lets Raven do what she wants, too. They should start a club.

“He can go fuck himself.” 

“You know, I have an extra room available if you--”

“Don’t.” Rose eyes the register to see what total Raven rang up, and slams extra down on the counter.

“Fine.” Raven starts to count out her change. Rose leaves before she can put it in her hands. Good thing she was already on her way to the punk store.

Jack is chewing and blowing bubblegum when Rose walks in. “Hey fucker,” she calls out affectionately.

“Fuck you too, Jack.” Rose circles the counter, squeezing Jack’s butt in her usual greeting--her eyes searching the merchandise.

“Looking for Jason?” Jack slaps her ass in reply. He’s running inventory in the back.”

“No, your other boy toy.” Rose quips as she heads towards the backdoor. She’s not allowed back there, but she’s on good terms with the management team.

Jason is waist deep in open boxes when she finds him. “Hey asshole,” she says to his back as he studies his clipboard. 

“Jesus.” Jason slips and falls back against one stack of merchandise. His clipboard goes flying. Peanuts rain down on their heads. “Hey bastard.”

Rose picks the peanuts from her hair, squishing one between her fingers. “Excuse me? You’re the one who’s adopted.”

Jason pulls her down with him. “You’re the one who disowned her dad.” 

Plastic bags squeak underneath their feet as she settles down next to him. “He deserved it.” Next to Jason isn’t close enough. Rose crawls into his lap.

“Rose, I’m a little--”

“Busy?” Her breath ghosts across his lips. “Not busy enough.” His body always feels so warm beneath her hands.

Jason’s lips part, and his hand wanders back and forth across the top of her shoulder, like he can’t decide between pushing her away and pulling her closer. “Jack will kill us if she finds us goofing off.”

“Since when do you care about the rules?” She kisses him once, long and slow, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “And she won’t kill me. I’m on break.” 

Jason swears. “I’m already behind today.”

“Does that mean yes?”

“You asked?” He kisses her this time, pulling her tight against him. They fit together like puzzle pieces. 

Rose trails her other hand down his side, sliding it between them. She drinks in his groan, sliding her tongue into his mouth, and her hand into his hoodie pocket. 

Jason seizes her wrist, pulling away from her mouth. His breath comes out ragged. “Really?”

Sitting back, she pouts. “Empty? Nothing? Nada? Zilch?”

“I’m working.”

“Not even one joint? You disappoint me, Todd.”

“I’m not going to get arrested at work, Wilson.”

“At least tell me there’s a party this weekend.” Rose traces the lines of Jason’s jaw. She could do it all day. It’s not her fault he’s so easy on the eyes. 

Jason leans back against the boxes, pulling Rose with him. “Mm. I think there’s a rave.”

Grinning slowly, Rose braces her hands on either side of his head, letting her hair drape around their faces. “Please tell me we’re going.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get a group together.” He slides her hoodie’s zipper down. “Get a couple cars going.” His eyebrows scrunch together as he grins up at her. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about right now?”

“Depends.” Her hand slides underneath his hoodie and his shirt, shivering at the way his skin jumps. It should be illegal for someone to be this perfect. “Is it going to be more fun than this weekend?”

Jason rolls them over, pushing her shirt up. “Depends.” He lavishes her middle with kisses. “On.” A breath. “Where your head's at.”

If anything, Rose doesn’t like where her thoughts are headed. It’s all too easy to imagine dinner dates and long walks on the beach, or whatever it is couples do. So, she plays with the hair on the back of Jason’s head as he makes his way lower and lower. No matter what happens, no one can take this moment from them--from her. Maybe Jason’s right. 

“Rose?” Jason’s hands let go of her jeans, and he’s watching her. Shit.  

Shaking it off, Rose pulls him back to her. “C’mere.” Her lips crash into his, biting his bottom lip until he hisses into her mouth. “You’re short on time, right?” She slides her hand down, unbuttoning his jeans.

It’s a bold face lie and they both know it. “Yeah.” Jason gulps, sliding his hand inside her jeans. He pauses at what he finds or doesn’t find there. “Rose?”

“Shhh.” She shoves her jeans down, guiding his fingers. “It won’t take long, I promise.”  Rose grins against his lips. “Especially with you.” 

Jason’s kiss is a little too tender, his touch a little too reassuring, so Rose goes in hard. Her lips crash into his and she bites his bottom lip. As he moans into her mouth, she yanks his jeans out of her way, feeling along his length. 

“Mm.” Rose tugs his ear lobe between her teeth, shivering at his sharp breath in her hair. “You are all I need right now. Just you.” 

“Fuck, Rose.” Jason rocks into her hand, gripping her shoulders hard. “I need you, too.” He just manages to get beneath her underwear again, snickering between moans. “That’s more like it.” 

“Nng.” Rose leans her head against Jason’s shoulder as his knuckle digs against her clit. It slips a little against her soaked skin. This is what she needs. “Just like that.” Panting, she bites his neck where it meets his shoulder. 

Jason shakes, shakes under her touch. “Rose--” Her name isn’t a question this time. It’s a plea. 

Rose snickers. “You want me?” Fuck, the way he whimpers as she shoves his underwear down. “You need me?”

“Rose, please.” Jason kisses her hungrily, fumbling as he pulls her underwear past her hips. 

Swallowing hard, Rose digs through his pockets until she finds what she’s looking for. There. She grins, holding up the condom where Jason can see. He nods, and she slides it on him. Together they slide him inside her, and together they are a mess of limbs and teeth. 

“Oh, fuck.” Rose whimpers, falling back against one of the stacks. It’s a little soon and a little rough, but it’s exactly what she needs right now. “Fuck, yes.”

“Y-yeah.” Jason drives into her, gripping her hips so tight she’ll have bruises later. He bites her neck, marking her in kind. Oh fuck, the boxes are going to fall over. 

Moaning into his ear, she slides her fingers beneath his shirt, skimming her nails down his back.

“Rose,” he gasps. Now it’s a statement. A warning.  

“Jason, I need--” Rose whimpers. She’s so close. 

“Shh.” He catches her lips, taking her hand and putting it between them. 

Rose circles her clit quickly, closing her eyes as Jason pulses inside her. His fingers slide over hers, and he pants into her neck as her world tilts on tilts on its axis. 

Seconds, minutes, hours? Later she turns her head and finds him lying next to her, and they snicker together. Rose pushes a sweaty lock of hair out of his eyes. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to work after that?” Jason traces her bottom lip with his finger. 

“There’s a Starbucks across the hall.” Ah fuck. There’s that feeling again. Rose kisses his finger once, then sits up, grabbing her clothes and throwing them on. “What time on Saturday?”

Jason blinks up at her, pushing himself off the floor. “....Eight, I guess? It’s out of town.”

Rose snatches one last kiss from his lips. “See you then, asshole.”

“Catch you later, bastard.”

_____________________

 Fuck him. Fuck Jason Todd. Fuck his entire fucking family. Rose stares down at her phone, the bass of the warehouse thumping even from across the field-turned parking lot. 

“What’s wrong?” Bart leans over her shoulder, reading Jason’s text message. 

Stuck at Bruce’s party. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. 

Rose swats him away. “He fucking bailed.” 

Jack and Roy had already gone inside. They wouldn’t be able to find them til sunrise. And Jason wasn’t coming. That just left her and Bart “I can’t shut up” Allen. Two hours in the backseat doing her best to ignore him. Oo! What music are you listening to? Can I share? Lemme make you a playlist. Do you like Kesha? I LOVE KESHA. Rose didn’t even need to respond. He’d just keep talking. 

“Jason bailed? What happened? Was it one of those Wayne Manor parties? Maybe we should go there.”

“It’s two hours away and we’re not invited, dumbass.” Rose made her way to the door. “You got your ID?”

“Well. Oh! You mean that ID.” Bart waggled his eyebrows. “Yeah. Tim made me one.” He pulled it out, waving it in front of her face.

“Gimme that.” Rose eyed it. “No way you’re passing for thirty.” She shoved it in her pocket. 

“But how am I going to get inside?” He trailed after her.

“Lemme worry about that.” Rose spun around, and Bart ran into her. “But you need to let me do the talking. Kay?”

“Kay.”

“How’d you get invited, anyway?” Rose stomped toward the doors, doing her best to put on a winning smile. She needed something good, stat. 

“Oh! Tim invited me. But he had to go to Bruce’s party too.”

“So I get to babysit you instead. Fucking fantastic.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Jason flaked.”

Rose stopped, glaring at him. “I was supposed to get high and laid tonight. But no. I get stuck with you.”

Bart flushed as red as his hair. “I mean. You still c-can. I won’t stop y-you.” 

“Wally would turn me into a statue and put me in a museum, so no. That’s not happening.” The Wayne boys owed her big time. 

“ID’s?” The bouncer shined a flash night near their faces, eyeing them. 

Rose pressed her ID into the guys hand, biting her grin. “Hey there.” 

The bouncer smirked. “Who’s the kid?”

“Oh, him? He’d just here to drive us home. Just got his license, right Bart?” Rose giggled. “Hey, you busy later, or--?” She swiped the sharpie from his pocket, scribbling a phone number on his arm. 

“Have fun. But keep him out of trouble.”

Rose threw him a mock salute, shoving Bart inside before the bouncer could change his mind. “Whew. Okay. Just promise me you won’t do anything--”

“Oo. What’s this?”

Turning around, Rose caught Bart popping a brightly colored pill into his mouth. “Bart, no!” Shit shit shit. She grabbed his wrist.

Bart’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Too late.”

“You don’t know what’s in that!” Fuck. Wally was going to kill her. 

“I’ll be fiiine. You worry too much. Let’s dance!” Bart tugs her to the middle of the room, oblivious to the strangers he’s running into. Yup. If Wally doesn’t kill her first, Bart is first on her shit list.

At least the music’s nice--loud and thrumming through her entire body. She would almost enjoy it, if it weren’t for the looming feeling of shit about to hit the fan. It’s one thing if Rose gets high and gets sick and wakes up in the ER--Bart’s just a kid.

 After a few songs, Rose starts to think maybe Bart just found some candy and is just messing around to piss her off. 

Then he steps inside her bubble. She can’t hear what he’s saying, so Bart yells in her ear. “You’re really pretty.”

Fucking fantastic. “And you’re high. Fuck off.”

Bart moves back, only to dive in closer, tripping over Rose’s feet. “This stuff is great. I can see why you wanted it. I can fly.” He scrunches his nose. “No. I could run. Run right across the ocean something.”

That’s a mental image that will haunt her later. “You’re not even close, kid.” It’s then Bart decides to grind up against some dude twice his age. It’s then Rose decides to steer him outside.

“Ro-ose.” 

“Shove it, Bart. We can still hear it out here.” 

“Oo. It’s so nice and cold out here. You’re right.” Rose has to peel herself out of his hug. He only hugs her again, spinning them around. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re still high.” How long does that shit last, anyway? Time drags on so much longer when she’s sober. 

“Noooo. I mean it.” Bart pokes her nose. “You’re watching out for me. You’re like my big sister.”

“Your big sister that will kill you if Wally doesn’t get to you first.”

Bart stares at her jacket, running his finger along stitching on her sleeve. 

“You okay?” Rose has no idea how it’s possible, but quiet Bart is worse than talkative Bart. 

“You got any gum?” Bart doesn’t wait for her answer, digging through her pockets until he finds some. He then unwraps the rest of her back before shoving it in his mouth.

“Yeah, sure. Have some gum.” It’s going to be a long night--Rose can tell.

“Got any water?” Bart fiddles with the zipper on her pocket. “I’m so thirsty. Do you get thirsty on this stuff?”

Rose groans, dragging him back inside. “Let’s find you some gatorade.”

------

Hours, maybe centuries later, Bart sits with Rose outside, snuggled up to her as close as he can get. Her tiny leather jacket doesn’t really work as a blanket for them both, but it’ll have to do. “Still cold?” She asks. 

Bart’s voice is muffled against her collarbone. “Yeah. But it’s better.” 

Rose rests her chin on top of his head, rubbing her head down his back. She’ll probably never know what having a little brother feels like, but this will do. Damnit. Bart might be the stupidest little fuck, but he’s her stupid little fuck and she will fucking murder anyone who hurts him. Her knuckles will have bruises by morning, but she’ll feel better than the creep with the freshy broken nose.

“Rose?” Bart sighs, and Rose feels him tremble.

“Yeah?”

“You ever like someone who didn’t like you back?”

Rose chews her lip, remembering Dick and his impossibly blue eyes, and his stupid grin. How she’d move the world for him and he’d still just pat her on the head like she was his kid sister. Bart didn’t need to know about that. “Yeah.” The whole world didn’t need to know it either.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Bart breathes in like there’s ice in his lungs. 

“Fuck, Bart. What did you take?” Rose tilts his chin up, studying his face, as if that will give her a good answer. It won’t.

“No. I mean. When you lo--like someone, and they think you’re best friends. Why does it have to hurt like this?” Bart sniffs. “How do you people deal with this all the time?”

Rose stares at him. Not once has she ever seen Bart cry. Bart isn’t the kind of kid who knows how to cry--not because he’s some bro-ner clutching his man card. Sadness and Bart just don’t go together. He has one mode, only one, and that is pure joy and smiles and energy that usually makes Rose want to hurl. What the hell happened to the kid who came with her to the rave? Only when her mouth feels dry does Rose realize that her jaw fell open. She snaps it back shut. “Do you need me to kill someone?”

“What? No. No. He’s perfect. He just doesn’t like me back.” Bart shakes, vibrating through his entire body. “Of all people I could finally fall for--why’d it have to be him?”

“Him, huh?” Rose smirks, handing him yet another tissue. “Do I know this him?”

A sniff. “Yeah. I think he parties with Roy and Jason sometimes.”

“That really narrows it down.” Rose rolls her eyes.

“He’s got this great tan, and he always smells like taco seasoning.”

“So romantic.”

“And when he speaks Spanish it’s like--” Bart laughs “my brain finally stops, you know?” He stares up at the sky as if the object of his affection can be found among the constellations. “I used to think he looked kind of funny, I mean, who spends that much time on their hair? But now? I can’t stop thinking about how I want to mess up that hair. Run my fingers through it, I mean.”

“Wait. Jaime? The kid who works at Taco Bell?”

“You’re the same age as him.”

“Yeah, but the way he kisses R--never mind.” Rose coughs. “Have you told him yet?”

“Told him what?”

“Told him how you feel?”

“Jaime? No. No. I can’t.” Bart jumps out of her arms, pacing back and forth so fast he almost seemed like a blur in the low light. 

Rose smirked. “You both speak English, you both work at the same mall. There is no reason you can’t tell him you want to jump his bones.”

“But what if he doesn’t like me back? He’s my best friend Rose! What if it gets weird??”

“Then find someone else to bang?”

“I can’t.” Bart stops, biting his lip so hard it turns white. “...This isn’t so easy for me.” He scratches his scalp, his skin turning as red as his hair. “The last time I dated a friend...he didn’t feel the same way. And now it’s weird.” Bart sniffs.

Oh no. Not again. “Bart--”

“I can’t lose Jaime like that.” And there he goes. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh Bart.” Rose hugs him, patting the back of his head. He’s probably going to outgrow her in a year. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I hardly ever feel this way about anybody. I just--”

She pulls away enough to stare him in the face. “Bart. You work at Kord Square. Everyone there is queer. You have lots of friends.”

“But--”

“Bartholomew Henry Allen II, you will be fine. I promise. Let’s go hang out in the car, yeah?” Bart mutters an okay, rubbing his eyes, and Rose guides him back, a plan already forming in her mind. She can practically see the outcome. Those two love birds won’t know what hit them. 

[sangeethan]

Tips to wash and care of your pillows

There are those people who buy new pillows regularly. You see them buying stacks and stacks of fluffy new pillows and wonder. Dignitary or celebrity must be visiting to warrant dropping such a large amount of cash on all those new pillows.

You might not give as much attention to what lies beneath: your pillows and mattress. But both need a good cleaning at least twice a year. Most people do not realize that their pillows can harbour lots of gross and icky things that build up over time dirt, oils, saliva, sweat, bacteria, mold, and even fungi. These things can break down the fill in your pillows, causing them to lose support over time.

Steps to clean your pillow

Air It Out, give your pillows a daily fluffing to restore their shape and remove dust. Then, every month or so, hang them outdoors on a clothesline for a few hours, ideally on a bright, breezy day.

If that is not an option, as with some foam and latex pillows, run them through the dryer on the no-heat cycle.

Wash It Gently, your pillow is marked dry clean only you should wash most pillows about twice a year following care label instructions.

Washing a pillow in washing machine is not difficult, but it will take a bit of time to get it dry. Pillow has a wet stain that you are trying to remove, immediately spot treat the pillowcase and pillow with a stain cleaner that targets the type of stain before popping it into the wash.

Washing through washing machine is large enough, wash two pillows at a time. That will help balance the load, allowing the water and detergent to circulate more effectively. The agitator on conventional top-loaders can be tough on pillows, so it’s best to agitate on the gentle cycle only for a few minutes. Alternatively, you could make a special trip to the laundromat to use its front-loaders.

Steps to Dry the pillow

It is Difficult to get the pillow completely dry. Skip the auto-dry setting on your clothes dryer because the sensors will detect only surface moisture, leaving you with a pillow that is still damp on the inside.

Adding a couple of dry towels will speed things up. Toss in two fresh tennis balls or dryer balls, as well, and they will keep the filling from clumping as they bounce around the drum.

If the weather is mild, you can also hang most pillows on the clothesline until they’re dried all the way through. Whichever drying technique you use, you still need to check for moisture inside the pillow. If none remains, it’s time to make the bed.

Use pillow covers to protect pillows from substances such as sweat, body oils, and face cream. Launder both the pillow cover and the pillowcase regularly.

Steps for washing specific types of pillow fills

Down or feather pillow fills

Down or feather pillow fills, Wash with a small amount of mild powder detergent or a product designed to launder down, on warm and delicate. A liquid detergent that is not completely rinsed out will leave sticky residue, and this causes clumping.

When drying down or feather pillows, however, use the no-heat air-dry setting and dryer balls or tennis balls to break up clumps.

Memory foam or latex Pillow fills

Memory foam or latex Pillow fills, these types of fills can’t be washed, they really be steamed. The best bet is to spot treat any stains, preferably as they happen, and to use a pillow cover to extend its life.

Polyester Pillow fills

Polyester Pillow fills, wash with warm water on the gentle cycle, preferably a few at a time to balance the load. Be sparing with the detergent. Use about 1 tablespoon of liquid soap.

Buckwheat hulls pillow fills

Buckwheat hulls pillow fills, you can empty the buckwheat filling onto a large cookie sheet or wide, shallow bowl. Set the buckwheat out in the sun, and wash the shell casing using cold water and a mild detergent.

Tips to Take Care of Your Pillows

Fluff your pillows daily to maintain its texture and to keep the fillings intact.

Purchase a comfy pillowcase to guard your pillows from stains. Make sure that the case is machine-washable so that you can wash it regularly.

Pillows made from natural and synthetic fibers can be washed in the laundry machine.

It is advisable to clean it every three months to remove bad odour and bacteria. Make sure you read your pillows care label for more detailed instructions.  

Do not let your pillows get wet. This may cause mold growth. your pillow gets wet, make sure you air dry it to absorb heat.

Pillows made from wool and silk cannot be laundered inside a machine. If these pillows have stains, gently use a mild dishwashing liquid to remove the stain.

To dry your pillows under the sun every three months to remove unwanted allergens. Also, fresh air and sunlight can help eliminate bad odours.

Do not use plastic bags when storing pillows. This might trap moisture inside the fillings, Keep your pillows inside breathable bags instead. 

Purchase Reference

[gayonlayaway-blog]

Alright! August first is here! And this is my fruit fly infested, moldy, messy kitchen. Once it got bad after a party I hosted, I was overwhelmed and started avoiding my entire house. Why start if it’s going to take D A Y S??? I ate out, spent too much money, felt awful, and didn’t have friends over EVER. So, after #lowefspaces was introduced, I felt inspired to track what worked for me as I cleaned it. Who wants someone with an already clean home telling them what to do? NOPE.

HOW TO CLEAN A KITCHEN 

Dear god. This is so much. And it’s gross. Old food is gross. Motherfuckin’ fruit flies like to get all up in your face. I recommend starting with a trip to the store for some basic equipment. Rubber dish gloves, dish soap, a brush or sponge,  

STEP 1: OPEN A FUCKING TRASH BAG

That’s it. That’s the first step. All I asked was for you to do one step today. Now you’re standing here with an open bag being weird. Don’t you want to put something IN the bag???;

STEP 2: PUT ALL TRASH IN THE FUCKING TRASH BAG

It’s amazing how much space clears up on your counter when all of the garbage is out of the way. It’s also super depressing how much packaging we consume… Let’s tackle that further down the road though. Today is about functionality. 

STEP 3: TAKE IT ALL THE WAY OUTSIDE

Don’t put it by the door. Don’t leave it for future you. Future you doesn’t want yo shit. Plus, it might smell. Fruit flies and stuff. GET. IT. THE. FUCK. OUT. You aren’t allowed to do step four until it’s out. I say so. 

How was your walk? Get some sun? Fresh air? Good job! You’ve already done three steps! 

STEP 4: TAKE ALL THE DIRTY DISHES AND PUT THEM ON THE TABLE

This one sounds weird but we need to be able to use the sink for cleaning them. I don’t have a dishwasher so it’s a very time consuming task to do the dishes and being able to start with an empty space is a breath of fresh air. 

STEP 5: DO ONE LOAD OF DISHES. 

Just one. One sink full. Put them in the rack to dry. 

STEP 6: CLEAN OFF THE TOP OF THE STOVE

Grab your wipes or your rag and cleaner and scrub that shit clean. This is a really satisfying task that just makes the whole space feel better. If you have electric coils or gas areas that also need deep cleaned, hold off for a bit. We aren’t going for the deep clean yet. We just want our space cleaned up so we can function. 

STEP 7: DO ONE MORE LOAD OF DISHES

One more sink full. Wear your gloves if things are funky.

STEP 8: WIPE OFF A COUNTER

If there is an appliance that needs some love, wash that and get some counter space to work with. YAS CLEAN SPACE. 

PRO TIP: SWEEP CRUMBS ONTO THE FLOOR AND THEN SWEEP THEM INTO THE MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRASH

STEP 9: MORE DISHES. YOU ARE SLAYING THIS.

STEP 10: DO THE NEXT COUNTER. 

Get the inside of the microwave while you’re at it.

STEP 11: DISHES

STEP 12: FINISH ALL SURFACES

STEP 13: CLEAN OUT THE SINK

Throw slices of a lemon in the garbage disposal

STEP 14: MOP

Holy shit look at this kitchen. You could actually make edible food in here. 

STEP 15: OPEN ANOTHER TRASH BAG

I HIGHLY recommend double bagging this one.

Bless you. This is real fuckin’ hard. Get all that goddamn waste out of there. Everything that has gone stanky or soft needs to go. Wear your gloves. Makes it easier. 

STEP 16: TAKE IT ALL THE WAY OUT

STEP 17: WIPE IT OUT

STEP 18: BASK IN THE GLOW OF YOUR CLEAN KITCHEN

You did it! You dug yourself out of a gross hole! 

MAINTENANCE: I like doing a competition with myself and I put a little sticky note above my sink to remind me. I try to go to bed with an empty sink every night. Something else that seems to work well (at least for the one week I have maintained my kitchen so far) is that if I use a pan or pot, the moment I dump whatever food thing onto my plate, I rinse it and wash it. I mean, it’s already in my hand right? And my food is way too hot to eat just yet. It’s way easier to get off too it’s not all crusty and stuck on there like satan himself glued the after effects of Hell’s pasta sauce to my cookware. 

Now, if you had fruit flies or some other bug situation, go get some traps. For fruit flies, I found that a few cups with a  bit of red wine in the bottoms and some plastic with a hole in it laid over the top does the trick. Bonus: use disposable cups.

It will take time and about a week of keeping your kitchen clean for them all to die off. IT IS SO WORTH NOT HAVING BUGS IN YOUR HOME!!! 

[invisibleinkpen]

How to Clean AirPods, Earbuds, and Headphones

Headphones and earbuds can get gross. Skin cells, sebum, ear wax, and facial products cling to the parts that touch your body. Increasingly sticky headphones in turn pick up more dirt from the world around you every time you put them down. And despite what the internet says, no, sucking on your AirPods is not a safe way to clean them. Doing so could damage the driver, protective mesh, and electronics (also, it’s just plain nasty). But there are easy ways to properly clean your personal audio devices (for your own well-being and before lending or borrowing a pair).

Bonus motivation: When your headphones are clean, they will not only last longer but also sound better (in the case of earwax- or lint-clogged earbuds). With that in mind, here are a few tips on how to appropriately clean and care for your headphones.

What you need

Soapy water: It’s best to use dish soap (we like Seventh Generation Dish Liquid) because it wipes cleaner than many hand soaps (which may have moisturizers and added colors).

A soft cloth: A microfiber cloth made for polishing glass or glasses won’t scratch your device.

Earbud cleaner: Literally designed to get the gunk out of earbuds, this tool is your best asset for unblocking sound tubes.

Silica gel pack: For gym bags or humid climates, this will keep your headphones dry and fresh.

Rubbing alcohol: Used sparingly and with caution, this will make the silicone eartips and hard plastic parts of your device germ-free.

How often should you clean your headphones?

There is no hard-and-fast rule as to how frequently you need to clean your earbuds or headphones. The frequency can change based on how often you wear your ear gear, what you’re doing while wearing it, and the climate you live in.

For example, headphones you use daily and keep on your desk should be wiped down every week or so. Gym earbuds may need to be wiped down after every use, particularly if you sweat a lot.

The best advice is to keep an eye on your stuff. When you notice some earwax, dust, sticky fingerprints, oil, or sweat on headphones, clean them right away. Putting this off will only lead to more gunk and make your job harder.

How to clean AirPods, earbuds, and headphones

Regularly wipe down your headphones or earbuds. Ideally, you should wipe down your headphone earpads or earbud tips with a lightly damp cloth at least once a week. Make sure the headphones are powered off and disconnected from your device. Immediately dry them fully with a soft cloth. Don’t use alcohol because it can remove color or break down leather or fabric faster. Soap and water will clean off any nasties.

Clean the inside of earbuds with a small, soft brush to remove debris.

Wax buildup can muffle the sound of your earbuds. Get an inexpensive cleaning tool designed for clearing out wax (some high-end in-ear models even come with one).

First, pull the eartips off the earbuds. Then use the tool’s metal-loop side to gently scoop out any ear wax.

Do not jam the loop into the tip while it’s still on the earbud or you may push wax into the earbud and damage the driver.

Next use the small, soft brush end of the tool to gently clean off anything stuck to the earbuds. Be sure to aim the earbud opening toward the ground to allow gravity to assist you and also to ensure small bits of loosened wax aren’t falling into the earbuds themselves. Wipe the eartips with a soapy, wet cloth and dry thoroughly before reattaching to the earbuds.

Clean the charging case and battery connections.

For true wireless earbuds, like AirPods, that are stored in a charging case, it’s important to regularly clean the case and the connectors.

Most wireless earbuds charge via small pins and metal pads that can get gunked up with earwax and dust. When this happens, you may find that your earbuds won’t charge properly.

To clean the inside of the case, Apple recommends wiping both the AirPods case and earbuds with a dry cloth. We like to use a cotton swab that’s dampened (not dripping!) with isopropyl alcohol to wipe clean the pins on the inside of the case and the earbud connectors. You can also use this method on the charging ports for your over-ear headphones, if they don’t seem to be charging consistently. The brush side of the tool we mentioned above will work wonders for little USB-C and Micro-USB ports, which can get clogged with pocket lint.

After every workout, wipe down your headphones, and allow them to dry fully before charging.

Even if your headphones are water- and sweat-resistant, don’t let them remain wet for long periods because water can slowly seep into battery compartments or the earbuds themselves and short them out or damage the drivers. Dry off true wireless earbuds before placing them into their charging case. (Even swim headphones should be allowed to dry fully before you put them away.) Do not allow moisture into the earcups of over-ear headphones or into the nozzles of in-ear headphones.

If you need to take your headphones out mid-run, or you can’t wait for them to dry completely before leaving the gym, gently shake out any excess moisture, turn off the power, and store them inside the included case or a little zip-close snack baggie. Don’t keep your earbuds in your gym-shorts pocket or sports bra without a water-resistant case. Both of these places collect sweat and won’t allow the earbuds to dry as fully as they need to. Then when you arrive home, wipe the earbuds, and allow them to dry as stated above.

If you care about this product. Click here: https://earbud-cleaner.com/

[mygiantesslove]

Shipped Off by simpletony

Victoria pulled her foot out of her black flat and flexed her toes above me. She didn’t know I was there, that I’d shrunk myself down to an inch tall and that I was watching her air out her sweaty feet. She didn’t know that I did this often, whenever I said I had a conference out of town, I really just shrank myself and spied on my unaware live-in girlfriend. I’d watched her many times. Her feet were red from her tight shoes, and I could see a faint sheen of sweat on her sole. She’d just gotten home from work and was taking some time to relax before grocery shopping. She talked to herself. “Just a few minutes,” She said, a hand materializing from the couch and rubbing her sore foot. “Ugh, gross…” She shook her hand and little droplets of sweat sprayed me in the face. I’d spied on her many times, but today I was going to do something I’d never done before: Crawl into her shoes and jack off right after she took her feet out. She always wore sneakers to the grocery store so I’d be safe enough in her flats. I just wanted to jack off amongst all the heat and sweat from her foot. Hard as I’d ever been, I crept out from under the couch, very aware that she’d think I was a bug if she saw me. But she was probably looking at her phone or something. I made it to her right flat and could already smell it. She’d owned these pleather flats for almost two years now and was about to post them online for sale. She always did that with her old shoes and she made good money selling them to foot freaks like myself. I crawled up the creases in the heel, brought about by her habit of shoeplay. Standing on the rim, I looked down at the greasy insole with pure joy. I could see the long black outline of her foot running the whole length of the tan insole, shiny with sweat and radiating heat. Under the cave of the toe section, I could clearly see the grime from her toes, dirt, and sweat cemented into the fabric of the shoe by hot days in the Florida sun. She loved flats even though she hated how they made her feet sweat. I jumped inside, landing in the crater of her heel. Sweat had pooled here up to my ankles and it was disgusting but so hot. It was humid in here and I made my way to higher ground, where the sweat just squelched under my bare feet. I was naked of course. Halfway down the insole, I pressed my face into the grime of her foot and licked and sniffed. Delicious…so delicious. Above me, I heard Victoria chuckle. “Already? Wow, that was fast…oh, it’s the same guy as before. Must’ve liked his previous purchase.” I was too busy to care what she was talking about though and got down to business, humping the shit out of her insole. I was getting close, so close to climaxing when I heard her moving about above me. “Well, my ad did say I’d wear them until I shipped them…two hours till they close…just enough time.” I felt the climax coming and thrust harder and harder, part of me aware of the shadow above me, but the rest too excited to care. I came, splattering myself all over her insole, just in time to turn and see her bare foot flying down towards me. I screamed but there was no time, nothing to do but cower before her foot smashed into me and sent me flying down into the damp depths of her toes. Her foot rolled me up into the tight, sweaty darkness and I found myself pinned under the ball of her foot. The fake leather around me creaked as her foot settled in. The pressure was intense, the air hot and stale, the smell fifty times worse now that her foot was pressed up all around me. “Gonna be glad to have these gone; they’re filthy. The insole is even falling apart,” She scrunched her foot, squeezing me in the wrinkles of her sole, before standing up and flattening me to the spongy insole. The pooled sweat of the insole squirted into my eyes, all over me, and I couldn’t even scream. She took her first step then, lifting me into the air before squelching me down into the floor. It was a sickening motion, but I didn’t even have time to prepare before it came again, and again, and again. “Guess I’ll buy some groceries, and package these guys up in the car. The post office is right on the way home…yeah.” Victoria said. I realized then that she’d already put these shoes up for sale and had just sold them. If I didn’t die under her feet, I’d be mailed off to some foot pervert! I fought but she didn’t feel me. The heat intensified as she stepped outside and started walking to the car. So hot…but she savored the sweat in a kind of sick way, liked to make her shoes as filthy as possible before selling them. Step, squelch! Weightlessness, then pressed into the wet heat of the insole. Plastered to her foot, helpless inside her black flats with the little stylish grooves on the toes. Her size 8M flats, worn for two years in sweaty Florida heat on sweaty girl feet. Step, squelch! Then a pause before she stepped up into the car. I was turned and mashed harder into her foot as she pressed the brake. Then, I heard a rushing roar above me and realized she’d turned on the air conditioner. I almost cheered, thinking my predicament would ease a little, but her foot started to sweat more. Instead of the cooling, she’d turned the heater on, trying to sweat out as much grime into the shoe as possible. I started to cry as she drove to the store, sweating and sweating. Sweat leaked from her skin and into mine. By the time she got to the store, I was so grossed out I wished I was dead. I was having trouble breathing the dense, humid air. But it got worse when she got out and started walking around the grocery store. Step, smash! Step, squelch! All I could hear was the wet squelch of her insole and the soft clack of the hard rubber sole on the hard tiles. Unfortunately, I knew Victoria; I loved going grocery shopping with her because she was a toe-tapper. Any time she had to decide something, she’d tap her foot repeatedly. As she paused, I felt her foot lift into the air and slam me down. Once, twice, three time, four, on and on and on. Lift, slam, lift, squelch. Then she’d walk for a minute and repeat the process, all the while sweating more and more. Normally she’d air out her feet, actually take them out of the flats, but since she was about to ship these shoes off she probably wanted to get them as gross as possible. Time passed intermittently. It felt like years under my girlfriend’s foot, feeling her sweat seep into my eyes, my mouth, my nose. I got just enough air to survive and drank more sweat than I thought possible. Finally, I felt us walking back to the car, heard her unloading the groceries, and then she stepped into the car and cranked up the heater again. “God, I can’t believe people get off to this gross shit,” She said, scrunching her toes again, squeezing me in the slimy depths of her shoe. “I can smell them from up here. And so much sweat…I bet they’ll get to this guy still wet.” Scared as I was, I couldn’t help but feel my erection return as she rhythmically pressed her foot upon me and the pedals beneath her toes. It massaged my cock and the sweat was lubricating…after a few minutes I came all over her foot, but the shoe was so damp and hot that she didn’t even notice. Finally, she stopped the car. “Thank God, time to take these off.” Her foot was planted flat on the ground and I felt it begin to slide out. I’d anticipated being so sticky and hot that I’d stay stuck onto her foot, but this wasn’t so; when she’d put her foot down, she’d shaken me off and now her foot was leaving the sweaty heat without me. Light poured in and I saw her toes disappear as she set them down outside the shoe. Her face, far above me, was wrinkled in disgust. “Ugh, gross. The insole’s even falling apart now.” I tried to jump and move, make her notice me, but I was too battered and weak to do more than twitch pathetically. “Well, into the bag you go.” I saw her reach down, her enormous hands grabbing the outside of the shoe, careful to avoid the sweaty bog of her insole. She lifted to shoe levelly, so that the sweat (and me) couldn’t fall out. Then, before I could so much as scream for help, I felt her lowering the shoe and saw a clear plastic bag stretched over the sky. “No,” I coughed, but it was too late. She set the shoe flat in the bag and turned to grab the other. That shoe she set right on top of mine, but upside down, so the sweat from that shoe dripped into mine, turning a swamp into a lake. She wedged the toe ends inside each other to prevent the shoe from moving too much and then I heard her sealing the bag. The light was dim, but when she stuck it inside a box, the light vanished completely. I heard her taping the box shut and could only cry in misery at my stupidity. Then I faintly heard her moving about, probably putting on other shoes. She carried the box into the post office and then I felt her drop me into one of the bins for mail. Then she walked away and I was alone in the sweaty darkness.

[harlanyoung]

17 South

You take your daughter to McDonald’s for a sitdown breakfast. She doesn’t want to go to school — she’s in second grade. She still gets recess, snack time and SSR. That’s silent sustained reading.

You’re jealous. You want her life. You wish you were your father. In front of you in line are three men in navy suits. One carries a Nike duffel bag, another has an olive green backpack with orange straps that he carries like a briefcase. The third has nothing and keeps his hand in his pockets.

They order egg sandwiches and large iced coffees. The man with the olive green backpack pulls out his credit card and pays. The men nod and slap his back as if spiders were scaling his spine.

The woman at the register says good morning. You say good morning without making eye contact. You survey the menu even though you know what you want and what your daughter wants.

“Can we get four hash browns, an order of pancakes, and a sausage egg McMuffin?” You can’t understand why you always frame your order as a question. You hope you didn’t say um too many times. You’re trying to break that habit.

“Will that be all?” The cashier adjusts her grease stained visor.

“And a milk. A milk, right?” You ask your daughter. She nods and tugs at her overalls.

“Okay. Yea, a milk and a large coffee with milk and sugar.”

“Two sugars okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Splash of milk?”

You wonder how much a splash is. Is it a one second pour? Maybe they have small single serving style cups like they use at the diner and she’ll pour half of one into the coffee. You really want a latte but it makes you feel bloated and you remember listening to an interview with some doctor on public radio who said they’re not good for you.

“Yea, a splash is fine,” you say, reaching for your wallet.

You’re letting your daughter skip school today because you’re skipping work. You earned it. You have PTO, that’s paid time off, left. The year is almost over. What should you do after this?

You think about taking her to the movies. You can see the new Marvel flick. You’ll eat popcorn and candy and enjoy having an entire theater to yourselves. But it’s a nice day. It’s 50 degrees in early December. The sun is out. Some of the trees still have meat red leaves on their branches.

She won’t remember a movie when she’s 17. Maybe she would. Maybe you should go hiking. But she gets bad knee cramps and she’ll complain and want to go home and then you will go home because you’ve exhausted her patience for the day.

Is the corn maze still open? She loves the corn maze. They sell cider doughnuts at the entrance. She loves cider doughnuts. Well, doughnut holes. The shape of an actual doughnut puts her off. She only eats the doughnut holes and you don’t know if they’ll have those.

Your daughter grabs two napkins and two packets of ketchup because she likes how they feel in her hands.

Your coffee and her milk arrive. The coffee looks like Nesquick and bubbles at the top. You rub your index finger over a scar on your forearm where a mole the shape of New Mexico used to be. Doctor Lavata carved it off with a utensil that looked like a drug store-brand tongue scraper. They injected your arm with a substance that raised the mole and turned it to butter.

“So, guess what, honey?” You both sit down at the back corner booth. Your daughter looks over your shoulder at the far windows. She’s looking for the playscape. This isn’t that kind of McDonalds.

“What?” She struggles to open her carton of milk. You grab it, pinch the lips open, push them forward and pull them back like Mr. Herget, the janitor from your elementary school, taught you in kindergarten.

“We’re skipping today.” Her eyes lit up.

They call your number and your approach the counter. You ask for an extra container of maple syrup. You like to dip your sandwich in it. Your wife says it’s disgusting. Your daughter tells you that your wife, her mother, says it’s gross.

Whenever she does this you cross your eyes and flare your nostrils. You put the pancakes in front of her, but then remember she can’t cut them herself. You slice the short stack into quarters, then eighths and pass it over to her. She puts the syrup on herself.

“So, what do you want to do, spider girl.” You want to have a fun nickname for her. A nickname that when she’s older and brings over a boyfriend or girlfriend you can call her that so that they know immediately you have a special relationship.

Your first girlfriend had that with her father. She wore his old tan ball caps that had the names of tourist traps embroidered on them — Newport, Ogunquit, Outer Banks — and her mother’s oversized flannel shirts. You never got that close.

She looks confused at the nickname. Spider girl doesn’t suit her. You’re not sure she even likes Spider-Man all that much. You tried chipmunk a couple of years ago but it seemed to make her self-conscious about her cheeks. Octopus wasn’t cute enough. Mogli seemed trite. You thought PB might work since she puts peanut butter on almost everything, but she heard it as PP and stuck her tongue out at you and told you she doesn’t PP herself.

“I don’t know.” She strings the words together in one click of the tongue. She sinks the plastic fork into the short stack as if she were gigging frogs and devours them in one bite.

You think about the Discovery Zone on 17 South. It has a giant ball pit, a bounce house, a pink slide and a black slide, and a mini arcade. You wonder if it’s open this early during the week. No. If you go there you won’t spend time together. She’ll spend time alone and you’ll play Subway Surfers on your phone.

You think about going home. You could clean the house while she plays with all of the toys you’ve bought for her over the years. The barbie ballerina whose face is half covered in purple marker. The transparent green yo-yo with its coffee-stained string. The laser tag set with the missing sensors and the blue and white walkie talkies that only work if you’re in the same room.

No. You won’t clean. You’ll shame eat the entire bag of kettle corn in the kitchen while she plays on the laptop. You didn’t think this through — your day, her day.

This place feels strange. Hardwood floors, espresso finish tables, wine red trays and no happy meals. The sandwich is the size of your hand. It’s two bites. You remember once hearing the phrase, “he’s a real ham and egger.” That’s how you see yourself. You shouldn’t be here.

Outside a squirrel picks through old receipts and chewed up straws for stale french fries in the trash.

The men in suits wipe their mouths with the scratchy brown napkins and begin to leave. They carpool in a faded gold Honda CRV. It’s washed. You can see the power lines and highway overpass reflected in the hood.

It has a windshield wiper on the back window. That’s a non-negotiable for your next car. You’re due for a new car. Maybe you should go look at cars. Maybe she likes cars — your daughter. Your little gearhead. Your little motor mouth. Your little speed racer. None work. She’ll go crazy. The dealership has a kids area with clown fish painted on a powder blue wall, an old abacus and a small Lego table that’s missing all of its pieces.

She’s finished. Your lips are sticky with syrup and cold egg patty. She bites her lower lip and fidgets. You’re the only ones left inside.

[mintyvan]

roadtrip - the west

Part 3 of 7! 

If you haven’t read part one

If you haven’t read part two

Note: I’m really loving how this story’s turning out! Let me know if there’s any mini requests you have as it keeps moving along!

____________________

They've reached California.

The warm sun beats down on them as they speed past orange groves. The pungent scent of citrus and sunshine mixed with smog comes in through the cool air vents, lingering subtly. The sky is an immense, perfect blue, so perfect that it almost seems fake.

That describes California well.

They speed down freeways and byways, loops and clovers, swimming in a sea of metal and cement as they head towards the coast. She likes stopping at the little convenience stores, taking stock of how the food changes across the nation.

She hops into the car, throwing down a plastic bag.

"What’s it this time?" he asks, pushing his fringe out of his face with one hand, the other lingering lightly over the steering wheel.

She grins, holding up her prize. "What else? A ‘phat’ burrito and a Zip Coke. This is the Zipmart. The turkey wraps were Wawa, the Jamaican beef patties and hot dogs were 7-11, and the Bengal coffee and Krispy Kreme were all Motomart. I can't even remember all the other ones."

"Y/N, eatin’ her way through the USA?" he quips, turning the wheel under his steady hands.

"Have a Twinkie."

"So fuckin’ gross."

"You eat worse shit than this all the time."

"I can't wait til ya hit 30 an’ lose your metabolism. You'll have to buy Richard Simmons tapes and velour track suits from Lane Bryant and I'll be laughing my ass off."

"You're such a sweetheart," she says, with some sort of indelicate sarcastic snort. Her mouth is pinched up.

But in a few minutes and a few bites, she's happy again. She blames it on the insane sunshine and the fake blue perfection, palm fronds waving in the wind, white houses whipping past.

"Let's go to the beach," he says out of the blue, and she looks at him surprised, because he usually doesn't care where they go. She's always the one with maps and red markers and plans, always the one with a sense of direction.

"Sure," she smiles dreamily, fading off into a reverie of Orange County clichés. He watches her long lashes resting on her cheeks, her half smile, her toes tapping on the dashboard.

"We'll rent one-a-them beach shacks," he goes on, fueling her sleepy imagination. She tastes saltwater and oranges under her tongue. "We'll wake up real fuckin’ early and go to sleep late, we'll swim and walk through Venice Beach, we'll smoke some weed, surf a little."

"Nix the early rise," she whispers. "Keep the rest. Van, let's go see UCLA. We'll have a grand time."

Yes, he thinks, a great time. You'll get those freckles on your nose and shoulders, you'll get sunburned lips, I will wake up everyday to your smile, your rapacious eating, the sound of you turning pages, skin against paper. I love you.

However, he does not say this out loud.

Maybe she is thinking it also.

Neither one of them speaks; they open the windows and let the sun warm their blood, making it speed through their veins with anticipation.

*

"Good God."

They are standing inside a partly lit room. Light is streaming in from the windows.. In the middle there is one acid orange velour couch; to the side there is one mattress, and on the other side, there is a tv, a closet, and a microwave.

"Is that a ‘praise the lord’ kind of good God, as in ‘God is good,’ or is that a ‘good God’ as in, look at that orange, am I trippin’ or is this what I really think it is?" asks Van, raising one eyebrow with a slightly amused expression.

"It's a ‘good God’ as in, wow, we get a microwave too?"

"So it's not me mum and dad’s bed n’ breakfast. We'll survive."

"You better not kick, sleepwalk, snore, or unconsciously cuddle," she grins, inspecting the closet with a girly kind of curiosity.

His eyebrow goes up even further.

"You're letting me share the mattress?"

She stands there, shoulders at an awkward angle, blush rising.

"I didn't……I wasn't trying to imply…"

"Relax. I'm just messin’ with you."

She glares without subtlety, muttering something less than complimentary.

"What did you bring in from the car?" he says, eyeing the bursting army duffel with a  bewildered look.

She blushes even more, fidgeting.

"Not much stuff. Just….some pajamas and such."

He sighs.

"Unbelievable. Let me see."

"No."

He snatches her pack, dumping it out. She crosses her arms defensively.

"Bunny slippers? A robe? First Impressions of Earth? Sometimes you leave no words to be said."

"Packing light is for girls," she mutters, remembering her mother's words from a long time ago. "Julian Casablancas has a lot to say about what we're doing."

She retorts: "Indirectly, Julian could apply to anything. You're misusing his lyrics."

"He won't mind."

They stand there, looking around, satisfied.

"Swim?" he hitches his thumb over his shoulder at the door.

She nods, pulling out a black bikini, and then stands there solemnly, looking at him. He realizes the situation.

"Want me to turn around? ‘Cause I can..."

But he is frozen, because she has already taken off her shirt, holding his gaze steadily, eyes pinning him down. He has forgotten to breathe, and is careful not to move, or say anything. Her face is serious and calm, expressionless, eyes burning a hole in him; she pulls off the rest of her clothes, standing graceful like a heron. Her warm skin is lightly freckled, a light layer of hair on her arms and stomach. He has to fight not to break eye contact.

She slips into the suit and disappears through the door, into the blinding sunlight, her form melting like a shadow, then gone.

He stands inside the cool darkness of the room, breathing again, silent.

They don't talk about it. They don't talk about anything at all. Instead, they swim until they are so tired they cannot speak, and then lay on the sand, letting the last rays of the sun warm their bodies. They are exhausted, sand dry and sticky-eyelashed. Music is drifting over from the sidewalk above the beach, some loose and lazy ska and reggae. They are mellow and relaxed, languid. Her hand drifts lazily through the air, letting sand pound through her fingers onto his chest, thin rivers of gold sliding down his stomach.

"I see the ghost of Marilyn Monroe, Moriarty racing…….punk rockers, senator's daughters, surfers, drug addicts, animal right's activists……….California is one long, warm dream," she whispers, her voice like the sound of the pouring sand.

"Poetic."

"Are you mocking?"

"At least you didn't go all delirious on me with your California dreams or start singin’ Tupac," he grins, earning a light sandy slap. There is a moment of silence, after which he hears her quietly humming.

"California, knows how to party…."

She breaks into a girlish kind of laughter that makes him smile as she springs up, leaning over him, shaking her thick, sandy hair in his face, covering it, and he's suffocating in her hair, her neck, her smile, her gleaming eyes.

She gets up, slowly meandering towards the shack.

"I'm making dinner," she calls over her shoulder.

"Put a paper towel down under the mini pizza this time!,” he calls after her. “Only three minutes or the sauce will jump and I'll have to clean it again."

She rolls her eyes, moving in long, languid strides.

He gets up to follow her before long.

It is night, and they are both soundly sleeping. She is cold, and curls up; in his sleep, he childishly pulls towards her, unafraid and relaxed. They clutch the blanket, windows open to the ocean breeze, while the waves rhythmically sing outside in the night, advancing and receding in the infinite darkness beyond the water.

She wakes up before him, and pulls away a little, stiffly. It is morning and the first rosy rays of the dawn are breaking through, illuminating the room in a pale gold light. She studies him, eyes soft. His hair is thick and lightened by the sun, beginning to curl in on the edges; his thick eyelashes and plump lips make him look like a petulant child. All the harshness, the pain of concealing his emotion, the guarded teenage sarcasm are gone from his features.

She cannot explain her desire to kiss him, to place her lips between those slightly open ones and steal the breath that comes out. She is afraid and hesitant all of a sudden.

But she does it anyway.

When she pulls away, she sees his bright eyes watching her silently, the eyes of a little boy, hooded by those butterfly lashes. He does not say anything as she lays down, her hair splayed on the pillow, still looking into his eyes. They lay there for a while like that, not saying anything. He suddenly raises his hand, taking her chin in it, placing his thumb against her dimple, then tracing her ear.

He retreats.

"We should talk," he says simply, and for the first time, they both want to.

*

Days are pouring through a sieve. There are a few mornings spent between the jagged black edges of rocks on the Pacific coast, cold salt water and the sweet, pungent smell of cedar wood mixing in her hair. She stands wrapped in a blanket, on the edge of the water in the morning, watching the sunrise while he makes tea.

She lays in the scented groves, under the damp bark, letting tiny drops of rain drip on her mouth from the leaves. He covers her in ferns and refuses to touch her, afraid of what might occur now that they both know the gentle truth.

Her smile is sweet and benevolent these days.

During the day, they lie on the sand, watching the grey waves and picking driftwood.

"You can always tell who the Californians are" she says, the corners of her mouth turned up, eyelids half closed.

"That so?"

She sits up on one elbow.

"They always run into the water, surfboards under one arm, hollerin’ and whoopin’ about the waves, look at the size of that mother! Half a second later, they’re running out, teeth chattering, blue toenails, cursing."

He laughs.

"If you don’t die of hypothermia there's white sharks."

"Win win."

She drapes a strand of seaweed over his arm, pensive, and his smile slowly becomes solemn. His eyes memorize her, burn her into his memory as the grey wind whips her hair around her face. Her arms curl around her knees, and her mouth is very grave. They know everything is rather different now.

They've packed up and moved. The car moves through the sweltering August heat like a mirage, and they both feel the change in the air, the smell of an ending approaching. Through the long drive through Nebraska, she even found herself absentmindedly thinking about school supplies and such, ticking off a list in her head that would doubtless show up on paper. He can sense this in her, he's always been able to read her when she tries to hide something. Cornfields sweep past, mind numbing in their similarity, blazing under the hot sky; they stop once, because she wants to walk through one.

"I've never done it before," she says rather defensively. He's still grinning.

"You're going to get lost. They're going to find your corpse years later, probably not too far away from other corpses of tourist who lived on the east coast."

"Well, at least yours will be next to it."

"Dream on."

"Van." she pleads, voice sweet now.

"Didn't you ever watch Children of the Corn?"

"They don't exist now. Crop dusting killed them."

"No way in hell," he replies, crossing his arms.

Minutes later, he's trudging through the rows.

"It's like a maze or some kind of scary dream," he hears her voice, seeing flashes of brown hair and bare arms through the green stalks. An odd sensation pursues him that she is only a ghost, rustling through the humming field next to him.

"Y/N?" he suddenly says, breathless.

He can hear words. Flashes here, there, silence. Laughter. The acid blue sky presses down on his shoulders, the sun burning. The silence seems to buzz, heavy, eerie, beautiful.

"Y/N?"

His worn black boots have picked up now, going faster down the row. He is in a forest, surrounded by pale green, row after row. Leaves slash at his arms, tracing fine, invisible lines. The earth crumbles soft under his feet, dark and hot. His mouth is dry, no words will come out.

She appears in front of him in the blink of an eye, suddenly and surprisingly there, out of nowhere. She is calm and quiet. His heart is beating hard, in the sound of the humid silence.

"I thought I lost you for a bit there," he finally says, through dry lips.

She nods as though she understands, and grabs his hand, pulling him through the rows back towards the small glow of light where they had entered.

*

"So see, that's why the Cubs suck," she says, very seriously, snapping her gum twice, swinging her legs, sitting on the hood.

"Because an old greek man put a curse on them?" he grins, shaking his head.

"Yep. Years later, we now have the Billy Goat Tavern, founded by this great man, where people can come devour overpriced heart-attack inducing burgers and talk about how much the Cubs suck."

"Ok, what else?"

"Hmmm…..oh, Jerry Springer!"

"But of course."

"And original Chicago hot dogs. Better than Llandudno," she says maliciously, smiling.

"Now why would you say that? You know it's just going to start a fight and make me yell at you."

"Hold on to that feeling until we get to Jerry Springer."

He finishes putting in gas, screwing the cap back on. "Anything else?"

"Gino's East. I want to eat the hamburger pizza and write my name all over the walls."

He smiles.

"Can I put ‘+ Van’ next to it and draw a heart around it?" he says, half jokingly, but he's afraid he might really mean it.

When she looks at him, he's surprised by the shyness in her smile as she nods, and he feels as though he has seen through something he was not supposed to for a second, and it made his heart jump a rhythm, causing some dull sort of ache.

"Chicago it is," he says suddenly, to get past the moment. "But so help me God, if you insist on singing the whole soundtrack all the way there I'll go to Minnesota to see the Butter Festival instead."

"C'mon babe, we're going to paint the town, and all that jazz."

"I'm warning you,” he drawled out, playfully.

She throws her arms up, flipping her hair and hopping down from the hood.

"Oh, she's gonna shimmy till the gutters break, and all that jazz," she sings, spinning under the gas station lights, one dramatic hand over the proverbial heart.

And she does not stop until they are two miles into the highway.

They stay at an old hotel there where everything smells of clean detergent and the towels are rough and embroidered with someone else's monogram;  the shower stops working after Van takes one, leaving her with a sink and a few washcloths as her only option. He opens the windows, so the sound of the night wind rustling the trees can come in. There are no sounds from the cobblestone street outside, and the thin lace curtains slowly and sensuously swell and retreat in the breeze.

He helps her wash her hair, careful to keep the suds out of her eyes. She smells damp and fresh from her washdown, clad in clean cotton underwear and a slightly large cotton nightgown whose straps kept falling down her shoulders. Van remembers thinking she looks adorable, nightgown barely to the knees, cut like a childish smock, frustrating straps falling, wet hair plastered to her head. He leans over her, turning her head under the faucet, studying the slight ridge of the spine as she stands there, bent over. Gently, he towels her hair, making light jokes about drowning cats and bedtime prayers, feeling his heart pulsing, his whole body warm, alive, waiting.

Every once in awhile, she comes close without noticing, her skin brushing almost unnoticeably against his, as they do a sort of delicate dance around each other. She is surprised at how those hands that can make such raucous sounds on guitar can be so delicate. She knows her body is humming too, singing, sending out warm waves, invisibly beckoning.

They lay down next to each other, the dark of the room illuminated only by one golden orange streetlight, barely casting shadows of the trembling leaves on their wall. Outside, a wind from Lake Michigan whispers secrets from the north.

They each know that should they even touch a second, the least significant touch, that it would be impossible to stop. So they lay there, keyed and nerves taut, bodies buzzing silently like the flickering streetlight, unable to sleep, thinking only about things that made it even more unbearable. The tiny space between them on the white sheets expands like an ocean, then shrinks to a millimetre, like a hallucination. He is close enough to feel the golden down on her arms raising, close enough to hear each shallow breath, too afraid to move.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"I can’t sleep."

Her voice makes him jump, sending a shock through his nerves before his body quiets down again. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Can’t either."

The sound of sheets rustling. Another hissing whisper, each word heavy.

"I’m cold."

"Should I shut the window?"

"Please?" she says, and he sees the dark outline of her arm as she props herself up on her elbow.

Then he sits up. She blinks her eyes, and he is right over her, his dark form inches away, and her whole body stops working and the ground drops away, the ceiling explodes in stars as the poor girl freezes. In an instant he is by the window, and as the blood rushes back into her veins, she realizes he has just simply vaulted over her to get to the other side. She can hear the queer sound of her breath, strangled, rattling in and out of her body almost silently.

She watches the muscles of his back tighten, the edge of skin that rises from the soft cotton at his waist as he reaches up to pull the window down. She concentrates on the strange warmth curling inside her, eyes tight shut.

She hears him crawl in on his side.

Her hand moves of its own accord into no man’s land, the few inches of white sheet. Years later, she would remember how it had moved without her consent, as though her body had refused to be denied any longer. It rests between them, powerless to do more.

He hears it move, watches it incredulously, centimeters away from his. Every thought suddenly flees, leaving only a calm quiet in his head. Everything is slow, as though underwater. He hears his heart, feels the cotton on his skin, smells her hair. His fingers close around her wrist slowly, daintily, circling it. He feels the little round bones, the blood rushing through her veins, her pulse.

The crime.

She buzzes with electricity. Her body purrs, velvety.

Very slowly and painfully her hand moves to his chest, landing on his heart, feeling its wrecked pulse tearing through to her palm. Her lips curve shyly in the darkness.

"Are you scared?" he whispers, no need for explanations. Under his shut eyelids, new universes and northern lights bloom soft in the darkness.

"No," she replies, voice small and still.

He hear her body rustling, and he instinctively turns towards her, eyes still shut.

"Open your eyes," she says softly, each word like a petal.

He does, and sees her dark, gleaming ones, wide and floating in her face, glittering.

Her hand has forgotten herself on his chest, seeming attached there by that current. It drops softly to the sheet and slides back to her side.

He studies her features.

"Why not?" she says, feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks. She cannot believe she is asking for this.

"I don’t want to hurt you again," he answers, his voice strangled. She can see the rise and fall of his chest. The feeling inside her begs, and she feels it move between her hipbones, little ripples of warmth spreading. He continues. "I don’t want you to regret this later."

She trembles.

"Can I touch you?"

She freezes at his soft words. This is different, different than the mere teenage physical attraction that has moved them to act before, clawing at each other, frenzied. This is terribly different and she can feel everything reverberate inside her like an echo.

She is too scared to hear the sound of her own voice. She nods.

And so he does. She watches his hands in wonder, how they move like instruments, with such exact precision. How his head falls forward, gentle, lips parted, how she arches and coils and curls in response, how stars bloom and explode silently under her closed eyelids, colors and circles, ragged breath. She hides her face in her palms, and bites down hard on her knuckles.

Then, it’s over.

Rapidly, he turns away from her, afraid she’ll see the look of pure happiness crawling up in his eyes. I love you, he wants to say.

They lie sleepless all night, not saying a word.