#moose deodorant

[gentlemoose33]

Stay Fresh Naturally Exploring Long-lasting Gentle Moose Deodorant

When it comes to finding the perfect long lasting natural deodorant in Canada, Gentle Moose stands out as a beacon of purity and eco-consciousness. With over a decade of dedication to crafting the finest skincare products, Gentle Moose has perfected the art of creating deodorants that not only keep you fresh all day but also nourish your skin with the goodness of nature.

The Essence of Moose Deodorant: Pure, Natural, and Effective

At Gentle Moose, we believe in the power of nature to provide us with everything we need to care for our bodies. Our Moose Deodorant is a testament to this philosophy, made from the purest, most organic ingredients sourced ethically and responsibly. Say goodbye to fillers, parabens, and artificial fragrances – our deodorant is a blend of premium quality components that work harmoniously to keep you feeling confident and fresh.

Embracing Nature's Bounty: The Ingredients Behind Moose Deodorant

Our commitment to quality and purity is reflected in the ingredients we use in our Moose Deodorant. From soothing aloe vera to antibacterial tea tree oil, each component is carefully selected to not only combat odor effectively but also nourish and protect your delicate underarm skin. With Gentle Moose, you can trust that every application of our deodorant is a step towards healthier, happier skin.

The Gentle Moose Promise: Long Lasting Protection Without Compromise

When you choose Gentle Moose for your long lasting natural deodorant in Canada needs, you are choosing a brand that puts your well-being first. Our Moose Deodorant is designed to provide you with all-day freshness without the need for harsh chemicals or artificial additives. Feel confident in your skin knowing that you are using a product that is as gentle on the environment as it is on your body.

How to Incorporate Moose Deodorant Into Your Daily Routine

Using Moose Deodorant is simple and effective. Just apply a small amount to clean, dry underarms and let the natural ingredients work their magic. Enjoy the subtle, refreshing scent that lingers throughout the day, keeping you feeling clean and confident no matter what life throws your way. With Gentle Moose, taking care of your skin has never been easier or more enjoyable.

Conclusion

Experience the difference that a long lasting natural deodorant in Canada can make in your daily routine. Choose Moose Deodorant from Gentle Moose and discover a new level of freshness and purity that will leave you feeling confident and radiant. Embrace the power of nature with every application and let your skin thank you for choosing the best in natural skincare.

In a world filled with synthetic products and harmful chemicals, Gentle Moose offers a refreshing alternative with our Moose Deodorant. Made with care and dedication, our deodorant is a testament to the beauty and effectiveness of natural ingredients. Say goodbye to skin irritations and overpowering scents – choose Gentle Moose for a truly gentle and effective long lasting natural deodorant in Canada experience.

[bropunzeling]

jd/tz - Toronto

Jamie doesn't get nominated to the All-Star Game -- no one was expecting him to be, not even himself, even if it would be sick as hell -- but he ends up in Toronto regardless.

"My own personal tour guide," Trevor says in the bar. "We're gonna get some fresh maple syrup. Trap a goose."

"Geese are mean," Cole says. "You don't want a goose."

"A beaver?" Trevor proposes. Under the table, his hand is right next to Jamie's thigh. Jamie swears he can feel Trevor's pinky through the thick denim of his jeans. "Or a moose."

"A moose would fuck you up," Jack Hughes says dismissively as he looks around the bar.

"We could totally catch a moose," Trevor says. He leans in closer to Jamie, close enough that Jamie can smell a mix of cheap beer and whiskey and the deodorant Trevor is always stealing from Jamie's side in the bathroom. "Come on, Jamie, back me up."

Jamie hums, like he’s thinking about it. "I'll help you," he says, because he knows it'll make Trevor crow and his friends roll their eyes. Jamie can't say he understands all the things that go on between Trevor and his buddies from the program, but he knows which side he'll be on.

Right on cue, Trevor laughs triumphantly. "See?"

"But," Jamie interrupts, "you gotta win the breakaway challenge."

Cole snorts. Jack purses his lips. But Trevor just leans in closer, chin digging into Jamie's shoulder, breath hot against Jamie's cheek. His hand is braced on Jamie's thigh, just above his knee. There's a promise in that, a promise that makes trading Turks and Caicos for Toronto in January worth it. "Alright, Jamie-baby," he says. "Challenge accepted."

[worm1nthed1rt]

This scarf smells like a mix of mom and bubbe. It was Bubbe’s first and I can picture her wearing it in 1965 then passing it over to my shivering mom who’d end up keeping it locked in the mountains for another three four five decades. Just in time for me to find it and unfold the creases like fossils that have sat dormant all that time. Every time I wear it we trade smells. I claim that scent of potpurri saches and my childhood home while the scarf claims my old spice lavender deodorant and overpriced aesop perfume. An unfair trade to my benefit.

Thanks for thinking of me and thanks for calling me when you did. Thanks but I can’t rn right now im going out in an hour. Yah it should be fun thanks. Maybe tomorrow?

I wonder how many more times I’ll sit in these horrendous neon chairs. How many more times I’ll catch the red line and ride alllll the way to the end. Sitting alone watching people watching each other watching me. Moving in and out between two spaces, no longer here, not yet there, an awkward silent transition. How many more times will I anxiously tear apart my bag in search of Extra Cinnamon to ease my ears before the train dives under the bay. Maybe four maybe five. Maybe this is the last time. If it is I want to remember the blank faces, the jolting sway of seat, the wind that rushes through the tunnel, the damp platforms, and the girl with neon pink hair.

I’m trying to find something to say about last night but I have nothing. Blank, tasteless. Sorry that I got a bloody nose and shattered your only plates.

And now I’m back in the mountains trying to make sense of Bishops landscape. Understanding it’s purple grays and cool browns. Sticks thin and tall blur together, blending the foreground into a perfect water color. Moose-leg-shaped tree trunks and telephone poles pierce the horizon — now turned pitch black on contrast to the scene. The sublime American West.

It reminds me of those 19th century oil paintings of Yosemite valley birthed by fabulous, god-fearing, frontiersmen— ah! the picturesque. The dense black blue clouds softy open to reveal sun, the deer hiding in the shadow of a monstrous cliff, the pine as tall as mountains and mountains as tall as god.

if there’s anything close to god it’s bishops frontier.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch19

Eruption

Welcome back, everyone! Enjoy the new chapter :3

Word count: 4,016

TW: Strangulation

~~~Previous Chapter~~~

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

Finding the older woman’s car proved a simple task. It wasn’t anything special, a sedan with muted green paint and a few trinkets hanging from the rearview mirror. You paid little attention to them. 

A quick check with the GPS system stuck to the dash showed her home a mere five minutes away, a distance barely worth driving. You helped V into the passenger seat and were about to pull out of the parking lot when he spoke. 

“Do you have your phone?”

You nodded and pulled it out. “Yeah, why?”

He smirked. “You don’t watch many crime shows, do you?”

You shook your head, still not catching on as he took it and tossed it out the window. It made a clatter as it struck the pavement. 

“Phones are trackable. Even the police aren’t blind enough not to suspect you at this point.”

Stupid. You should’ve thought of that yourself. Was there anything else you needed to get rid of, precautions to take now that safety was only a memory? You might have to research it later, if given the chance.

“You did very well,” the artist interrupted.

“What are you talking about?” A quick signal and you entered traffic. 

He smirked again and shifted lower in his seat as you passed a truck, angling his face away from the window. “You didn’t look away.”

You gave him a sideways glance. “Did you think I would?”

“Just because one expects something doesn’t mean they can’t be pleased when it comes to pass,” he replied.

The brakes clicked as you pressed the pedal, a stop sign ahead. Black graffiti covered most of the sign. “Fair enough.”

The thought of looking away hadn’t occurred to you. If anything, you’d worried about blinking, missing your chance to watch a taboo act few experienced. 

And it was nothing like what you’d expected. 

The arc of shimmering blood and bone fragments, falling to the pavement like hellish rain. V’s decisive motions, both graceful and precise. The soft exhalation of Margaret’s final breath. Speckles of brain tissue catching the streetlights’ glow as you picked up her keys.

But most memorable were the expressions on your companion’s face as he struck down the unlucky stranger.

Rage and sadness, the switch as quick as turning on a light. Was V even aware of it? He hadn’t mentioned it, and he seemed calm now, as if nothing abnormal took place. What did he feel when he killed?

You shook your head. There was still so much about him you didn’t know, didn’t understand. It felt like trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, and no box to check the picture of what it should look like upon completion. 

You clicked the turn signal and glanced at your companion. His eyes stared into the distance and a small smile curled his lips. Specks of blood still spotted his clothing and hands. Did those hands feel the weight of the lives they ended?

Would yours, when you inevitably stopped fighting the urge to know for yourself?

Your stomach flipped as you changed lanes, accelerating as if you could out-drive the realization. Yet beneath the initial shock, past the socially conditioned horror, the idea excited you. 

I guess this is who I am now, you thought. Or is this who I always was?

“Your destination is ahead on the left.”

You sighed and slowed the car, pushing aside your thoughts as you pulled into a small driveway. Self-reflection could wait. For now, you needed to get V inside and check his wound. The painkillers you’d given him earlier had to be wearing off. The motion of the kill might have started the damn thing bleeding again, too. 

“Here we are,” you said as you parked, glancing at the home you’d helped him kill for. 

It didn’t stand out. The yard had a few shrubs and a tree, a gravel path leading to the front stoop where a trio of garden gnomes awaited. The exterior was a faded blue, the door and trim matching white if you ignored the layer of grime. It would do.

V hummed and waited as you came to take some of his weight. Crutches would’ve served him well, but for now your shoulder did the job. He winced as you helped him up, but voiced no complaint. 

Once inside, you left him leaning on the wall as you looked for a light switch. A faint chemical scent tickled your nostrils. Did the woman leave part way through cleaning?

It wasn’t until you stumbled on something warm and furry that it clicked - Margaret had been buying cat food. 

Oh no… 

At last your fingers found plastic. You flipped the switch and pursed your lips.

There, crouched expectantly on a well-worn living chair, sat a trio of felines. A siamese and two tabbies, all three rounder than you imagined was healthy. Three sets of hopeful eyes followed you back to V, a questioning meow slipping from the siamese’s mouth.

I should have grabbed her groceries.

“Oh, my… aren’t you three just the cutest things,” V cooed. Your eyes shot to him to find pure adoration written across his features. He smiled at the cats and tried to step closer, wincing again as he put weight on his injured hip. “What are your names, little ones?”

The man was blind. The last thing these cats were was little.

Incredulous, you hurried to help him to the chair, shooing the cats out of the way. You didn’t dislike cats, but one had already gotten underfoot. Not a promising start.

Of course, the second the artist settled in, he resumed wooing the damn things. You sighed. “I’m going to look around. You stay put, okay?”

He nodded without even looking your way, too busy praising the siamese as it sniffed his outstretched hand. 

The home didn’t take long to explore; its single bedroom and bathroom, cozy living area and claustrophobic kitchen weren’t bigger than your first apartment. Margaret’s decor was simple and tame, as if an afterthought. A few pictures of her cats and an older gentleman dotted the walls, but little else. Cat furniture featured heavily. Your initial assessment that she didn’t have anyone close to her seemed spot on. 

Her bathroom had limited medical supplies, but enough to serve your needs. You brought everything out to where you left V and rolled your eyes. 

He’d somehow gotten all three of the cats back on the chair. The tabbies crouched on either armrest, while the siamese sat in his lap, purring as he stroked its fur. He was humming a tune, his expression peaceful and content. You didn’t want to interrupt this rare moment of calm.

But I have to.

You set down your scavenged supplies and caught the artist’s gaze. “Sorry, but I need to check your hip.”

He sighed, but his hand stopped its rhythmic motion. “Come on, Moose. Doctor’s orders.”

The cat didn’t move. 

“Its name is Moose? Is that a joke?” you asked.

He smirked, then gestured at the grey tabby on his left, then the orange one on the right. “No, and this is Hunter and Pippin. It says on their collars.”

“Hmm. Well, Moose, Hunter and Pippin need to move,” you said, then picked up Moose. He opened one eye and yawned. “Hi, Moose.”

You settled the trio on a nearby cat tree, where they seemed content enough. On to your patient. 

His blood-spattered clothing gave you no trouble, and you set to work, removing the old bandage to find the stitches intact. Crimson wept from the corners, but the flow wasn’t alarming. You cleaned the area and wrapped it up again within a few minutes, tossing aside V’s soiled clothes to deal with later.

With that done, you allowed some of the tension to leave your body. Your neck and shoulders ached, exhaustion pulling at your limbs like a petulant child. There was no resisting it anymore; you groaned as you collapsed onto the couch opposite V. When was the last time you’d slept?

Just as your eyes slid closed, a sharp hiss ravaged your worn nerves and dragged you back to alertness. You couldn’t help shooting a glare at the offending feline. Pippin, wasn’t it?

You sighed and forced yourself up again. “I’ll see if I can find you something to wear.”

“Actually,” V replied, “Would you direct me to the bathroom first? I’m due for a shower.”

He carefully shooed the cats away as you helped him up. His skinny form trembled with each step, but held long enough to settle onto the stool in the shower. Margaret must’ve had mobility issues, for which you thanked the stars. She even had one of those fancy showerheads on a hose.

You handed the artist the hose the moment you finished helping him strip. “Try not to get your wound wet.”

He smirked. “What, you aren’t joining me? What if I slip?”

Despite his playful tone, he had a point. Bastard.

He’ll need my help to get out, anyway. Might as well stay.

Not to mention your deodorant wore out hours ago. You stifled a yawn and tugged your clothes off, too tired to blush as the artist watched your every move. By the time you joined him in the now-crowded shower, his eyes were sparkling and his lips were quirked into a lopsided grin. His long fingers reached out to stroke your skin, feathery touches painting invisible lines across your ribs and hips. 

You hummed and closed your eyes, his attention soothing your muscles. “That feels good.”

The soft hush of water thrummed in your ears as V continued his ministrations. Steam and warmth filled the claustrophobic room, melting your lingering stress with the help of the artist’s skilled hands. 

You smiled. “I thought I was here in case you slipped and hurt yourself.”

“Call it multitasking,” he replied, reaching for a bottle of body wash. 

You took turns washing each other, passing the showerhead back and forth between soft smiles and gentle caresses. As the water inched its way closer to iciness, the suds long washed away, it was enough to wrap the artist in your arms and stroke his freshly washed hair, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your stomach. 

At last, he turned off the spray and pulled away, dewy drops clinging to his skin. He waited as you foraged for towels, smiling when you ruffled his hair and helped dry his back. 

“Bed?” he asked as he draped himself over your shoulder, long legs stepping out of the shower with care. 

You nodded and led him there, barely letting go before you dropped onto the bed beside him, only to land on something hard and uncomfortable. 

“-suspected to be aiding and abetting the killer. Any sightings should be reported to the hotline. Do not approach either of the suspects if seen, they are considered highly dangerous and likely to kill again…”

You froze as your eyes locked onto the now lit TV screen hanging on the opposite wall. A news bulletin displayed V’s mugshot beside a somewhat recent staff photo of you from the facility, a stern frown under your signature tight bun. Above the photos, a byline labeled you as an accomplice to murder.

“Dr. Emily Waras, wanted in connection with the Crimson Artist slayings. Now we go live to a police press conference.”

Your mouth filled with sand as your mind stalled, static buzzing between your ears. A dark podium stood before a familiar figure, his white hair pulled back into a ponytail. Unflinching blue eyes stared out of the screen into your very soul as Tony Redgrave spoke to a horde of reporters and film crews.

“Recent developments in the Crimson Artist case lead us to believe that Dr. Emily Waras, a former employee of Mundus Psychiatric Hospital, may be aiding the killer. While I can’t give much detail as the investigation is ongoing, we are issuing an all-points alert to apprehend both suspects and bring them to justice. In the meantime, we urge all citizens to stay vigilant and travel in groups of three or more.”

His eyes flashed, his features hardening into steel. Behind him, you spotted Officer Goldstein, her own expression as harsh and unforgiving as Tony’s. 

“Dr. Waras, if you’re watching… turn yourself in. You don’t have to be what he wants you to be. We can help you. Don’t make this worse than it already is.”

Your blood turned to ice as he stepped back from the podium and the broadcast returned to the photos of you and V. It was inevitable that the police came after you, but somehow it was a shock hearing them say it. 

Wheels of panicked thought tumbled into motion. How would this change your options? What impact would it have? Your heart was racing, palms sweaty. Hysteria was a breath away.

Calm down. Think it through.  

You closed your eyes and pursed your lips. Malphas probably gave the staff photo to the police, just the latest knife in the spine from your former boss. While they didn’t mention your father, you couldn’t imagine anything else that could have given them the confidence to declare you an accomplice in public. Whether that meant he was alive or dead was irrelevant - even a corpse would've been enough evidence.

Can they use me to get to V?

Little remained from your old life for you to draw on; your car was long gone, the apartment left behind, along with your father. Your cell phone lied somewhere on the side of the road, and you hadn’t been in contact with anyone but V for days. 

So really, the only thing that’s changed is that strangers will look for me now. Other than that…

I’ve already abandoned the rest.

You wouldn’t be V’s downfall unless you got careless. The announcement was an act of desperation, not a sign of progress. They hadn’t even mentioned Margaret.

A breath you didn’t know you’d been holding slid from your lips. You turned to V; with the fear dealt with, you were curious how he’d react.

His towel-wrapped body lied beside you, but farther away than a moment prior. His fingers twitched in his lap, his face angled down as his lips moved silently. You shuffled closer and touched his clenched shoulder.

“V?”

The reaction was instant - he snarled at you, one hand darting to press at his injury while the other took hold of your throat. Fire danced in his eyes, his body shifting to pin you down. You flailed against him, trying to break free, but his grip was far too tight.

Shit, shit, shit!

He held you still for a long moment, his arm shaking as he brought his face closer to yours. As if he wanted to watch the life drain from your eyes, like nothing you’d done for him mattered, like you were just another victim. A tool to be used and discarded when it was no longer useful.

Fuck this! I am NOT dying today!

The edges of your vision darkened as you punched the artist in the face, using the vacant space left by his arm still holding his wound. A sharp crack rewarded your adrenaline fueled effort as his grip loosened just enough to take a precious swallow of air and cry his name, your voice hoarse.

Another smack and he fell to the side, curling defensively as you scrabbled out of his reach and grabbed the first thing to catch your eye, a heavy alarm clock. You hoped it would be enough to take him down.

Yet you paused, forcing air through your throat. Was he going to try again? Did he truly want to watch you die? You struggled to accept it, not after all the shit you’d been through for him. 

“Why? What the fuck, V?” you rasped.

He groaned but didn’t speak. You smacked his leg.

“Tell me what the fuck just happened right the fuck now!” 

It was only as his face lifted to meet yours that you realized you were crying. Stupid. Tears were useless. 

“They want to help you. It’s foolish to trust you. Vergil was right, I should have killed you long ago,” the artist said at last. His eyes stared right through you. “It’s only a matter of time before you turn on me.”

Your grip on the alarm clock tightened, your knuckles turning white. Rage flooded your senses, your body barely restrained. “You’re an idiot if that’s what you believe.”

He sneered and sat up, massaging his jaw where your blow landed. Blood stained the bandage you’d only put in place half an hour ago, and his eyes still glowed with suspicion. “Then how do they know you’re with me? You must have told them, before you came after me. You probably just came so you could give them my location.”

“Is that what you think I was doing after you ran off for no goddamn reason?” you scoffed. 

“Why not? Maybe your father convinced you to do it.”

Your fingers tightened on the clock, resisting the urge to hurl it at his face. A peal of hysterical laughter stung your abused throat on its way out and you wiped the remnants of your tears away. “The only thing my father convinced me to do was lobotomize him when he found out who you are! I only stayed long enough to make sure he wouldn’t talk.”

V’s eyes widened, his hand dropping from his darkening jaw. You met his gaze full on, daring him to call you a liar. If he did, you didn’t know how you’d withhold a scream.

“You… lobotomized him?”

You nodded. “With a chopstick.”

The artist’s shoulders dropped, the tension easing by a fraction as his lips twitched. He chuckled, eyes glimmering. You shifted your weight and took another deep breath. It came easier than the last few.

V grunted and rolled his broad shoulders. “How did it feel?”

“Like… like nothing. I felt nothing at all.”

Blankets ruffled as he shuffled closer to you, reaching out with the same hand that almost ended your life to take the clock from your iron grip. You stepped back before he could.

“Really? Nothing at all?” he replied, “That’s difficult to believe.”

“I was a little preoccupied worrying about you.”

He tried again for the timepiece. You shot him a glare and took another step back. Would he chase you if you ran? Even if he did, it wouldn’t be hard to outpace him with his wound. 

And yet…

You couldn’t stop the words. You had to know. “Why don’t you trust me?”

He looked away, shrinking back. “Don’t.”

“After what you just did, I think I deserve some answers. Why? Is it something to do with Nero?”

A muscle in his jaw flared, his arms crossing as he lowered his head. You were on the right track. “I said don’t.”

“V,” you insisted, perhaps unwisely. “You just tried to kill me. Tell me why; tell me what happened to Nero.”

“Fine, you want to know so desperately?” the artist snarled, his eyes flashing behind a curtain of black. “He died to save me. I dragged him to a fucking poetry reading and got him killed, a month before his wedding. He took six bullets and collapsed on top of me, told me not to move and play dead until it was over! I hid like a coward under his corpse; I tasted his blood and heard his last breath, all because I wanted to hear some goddamned William Blake!”

Oh.

It explained so much. Why he recited Blake during episodes. Why he never used a gun to kill. Why he seemed so fascinated by blood. Why he believed society was broken, choosing to preserve innocence over preparing people for reality. 

It was all a manifestation of Nero’s death, and his own helplessness.

The puzzle now had a picture, an origin. 

“And it got even better after that! His fiance blamed me, rightfully so. My family treated me like a pariah, and everywhere I went on campus, all I saw was Nero… Nero and the bastards that murdered him.”

You didn’t dare speak. He seemed unable to stop the words from flowing, like a burst pipe. There was nothing to do but wait for the torrent to slow.

“My mother, she tried, but her idea of a solution was suggesting the whole damn school work together to make a mural, and of course they wanted the painter to help. I imagine they thought it would heal me, the idiots.”

The weight of the clock in your hands became too much. You set it aside and leaned on the wall, out of his reach but still listening. Still there.

“They told me there was nothing I could have done, but none of them…” he paused, shuddering. “None of them knew how I froze. He… Nero told me to get down, to hide, but I didn’t- I just stood there and let it happen! Maybe if I’d done as he said, he wouldn’t have died. Don’t you see?”

Tortured green eyes nailed you in place. “Nero was my first kill.”

You pursed your lips as he fell silent, panting in the aftermath. His slim fingers clenched and released, his body shaking as his Adam's apple bobbed. He looked like a lost child.

“So you don’t trust me because everyone you knew turned on you after Nero’s death, in one form or another,” you murmured. “You think I’ll do the same.”

He brushed his hair back. “No, I trust you. It’s Vergil that doesn’t.”

It’s the same thing; Vergil’s part of you…

But it wouldn’t do any good to bring that up now. In fact, there were a million things you could say that would do irrevocable damage. What could you say that would help?

There are no words.

“I think I understand. At least, the best I can without living through it myself,” you began. “And nothing I say will earn your trust. Words are meaningless, they’re too easy. It doesn’t cost a thing to speak.”

Sirens rang in your head as you stepped closer, back into the reach of those long, tattooed arms. Giving him the chance to take your life if he so desired. You forced your arms to stay at your sides, battling the urge to run before it was too late.

“But actions have a heavy price, as we both know, and I’ll let mine speak for me.”

Your heart galloped against your ribs, sweat beading across your palms as you took his hand, the one that clasped your throat so tight mere minutes ago. Mouth as dry as a desert, you brought his palm to your neck and wrapped his fingers around, holding his perplexed gaze.

This is so stupid, I can’t believe I’m doing this, I’m going to get myself killed-

You let go, your hands dropping to give V full control. The moment froze, neither of you daring to breathe, your eyes locked together. 

His grip tightened and you whimpered, the urge to fight back more powerful than a lightning bolt, but precious air still forged a path to your lungs. He squeezed only enough to narrow your airway; not enough to close it.

And if I resist now, none of this matters anyway. 

A flame lit in V’s eyes and his other palm came to rest at the base of your skull. A twist of his arms, and he’d snap your neck. Still, you didn’t allow yourself to struggle. 

And then he moved, the flames fading as he closed the gap to take your mouth in his. He crushed your body to him and flicked his tongue against yours, his grip changing to cradle your face instead of crushing your throat. His kiss was feverish and hungry, stealing your breath in an infinitely more pleasant manner than before. When he finally pulled back, both of you were flushed and panting.

“Vergil can fuck off,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

[gd260-sophie-martin]

Photo 1: This sticker has an example of an ascender in the letter ‘b’. You can tell it’s an ascender because of stem of a lower case ‘b’ rises above the x-height of the font.

Photo 2: The font in this sign at the bookstore exhibits a large x-height, because the ascenders/descenders are relatively small in this example. In this case, it gives the effect of being squished, since there is little height separation in capital letters and lowercase letters.

Photo 3: This label on a Goldfish box has an example of a crossbar on the uppercase ‘H’. A crossbar is a horizontal line across a character, and in this case it is connecting two stems together to create the ‘H’ letter.

Photo 4: This advertisement for the MLK event is an example of typography Modernism. In the Helvetica film, users of Helvetica discuss how after a long time of using Helvetica everywhere, some people decided it was too boring and overused and wanted to dive more into modern typography. This example exhibits multiple font types, sizes, and colors, which is a more modern way of advertising these days, especially since it immediately captures the eye of the viewer.

Photo 5: This font on a puzzle box exhibits a small x-height because the ascenders and descenders are relatively large. The ascenders in this font rise high above the x-height of the other letters, making the font appear taller than other examples in this post.

Photo 6: This sticker for a podcast has an example of a counter within the letter ‘D’ and ‘A’, among others. These letters have spaces that are entirely or partially enclosed within the letter, like the cutout in the capital ‘D’. The counter in the capital ‘S’ is only partially enclosed.

Photo 7: This spread from a cookbook illustrates rhythm in a publication design. The way that the font is organized gives the page rhythm and flow and creates an order of what to read and when. It is easy for the eyes to continue from left to right based on heading, font colors, and how the bubbles of text are placed across the two pages. You first read the overall description, than the individual add-in ideas, and then end on a full recipe that combines the rest of the information from the spread.

Photo 8: This sign for a Moosejaw store is an example of a font used to describe more than just the text. As you can see, the last letter is a ‘w’ transformed with antlers, elaborating on the “moose” aspect of the company name, but also to emphasize the purpose of the store. They sell outdoorsy clothing and materials for hiking and camping and so on, so the moose imagery fits in with their brand.

Photo 9: This table of contents from a textbook exhibits typographic hierarchy. The bold larger font at the top constitutes a title, then is followed by smaller bolded subtitles, and then regular text outlining sections in the book. It is easy to tell how the book is separated just by text formatting alone.

Photo 10: This deodorant label has an example of a descender in the letter ‘g’. The curve on the lowercase g goes below the baseline, so that is how you can tell that it is a descender. 

[incorrect-invaderzim-quotes]

All of these happened at school.

Gaz: The last time I railed an Adderall, I beat the Halo 3 campaign on legendary with a Guitar Hero controller.

[][][]

Zim: Humans are drawn weird. Just look at that one! *points at Dib*

Dib: *looks up after not paying attention* Wait, what did I do?

[][][]

Zim: Could we also draw something to represent it on the test?

Ms. Bitters: Sure, Zim. How about you come up to the board and draw me a presidential veto then, huh?

Zim: *starts panicking and poorly draws a moose* IT'S A MOOSE!

[][][]

Purple: *yelling from down the hall*

Red: Aw, listen, he's trying to be louder than me. *yelling* QUIET DOWN OUT THERE!

Purple: *from down the hall* NO!

Red: *sighs* Hate that guy.

[][][]

Dib: Jesus Christ, Zim. If you got time to watch fuckin' Japanese cartoons, you got time to put on fuckin' deodorant.

[][][]

Keef: He got that Amish boy strength.

[][][]

Red: *looking down at Skoodge* Aw, you're just a little bundle of joy!

Skoodge: *sobbing* I'm sad!

[][][]

Dib: *explaining what a skinwalker is* And it can manifest itself as an animal-

Gaz: So it's a demon furry.

Dib: HOW DARE YOU-

[][][]

Everyone: *working silently*

Ms. Bitters: Ah, silence. The best sound in the world.

Zim: What's up, Keef!

Keef: Yo Zim!

Ms. Bitters: *sighs*

Zim: How's it goin', buddy?

Keef: Fantastic! Dib?

Dib: Doin' just peachy!

Ms. Bitters: If you guys don't stop talking, I'm not gonna share that meme on Monday.

*silence*

Tak: So about this weather we're having-

Gaz: Yeah, it's awful.

Zim: It's gotta stop raining and start snowing.

Tak: Gross. Snow.

Dib: Hey, you shut up about snow!

Ms. Bitters: *sighs*

[][][]

Ms. Bitters: I just put the grades in ProgressBook. You may now stare lifelessly into the void of your scores.

Dib: Can you curve my 68.2% to a 69%?

Ms. Bitters: Absolutely not. Suffer.

[][][]

Gaz: Whom'st'd've

Dib: Whom'st'd've'nt'ain't're

Gaz: That shot me in the back of the neck with a paintball and it didn't break.

[][][]

Keef: *quietly plays mariachi music*

[][][]

Gaz: I hate what Zim just said.

Dib: What?

Zim: Steel-toe Crocs.

Dib: Go to Hell. Just go directly to Hell. Don't stop at Heaven, don't go through Purgatory. Just go straight to Hell.

Gaz: Don't even touch Limbo. Just go straight down to the void. And don't come back.

[][][]

Red: I dream of someday being able to buy an eight pound bag of Swedish Fish.

Purple: Why not a fifteen pound bag?

Red: I feel like that's just a bit overkill?

[domesticateddog]

disney+ apple tv hbo max netflix hulu acorn creeper quibi sling amazon prime youtube tv peacock roku cbs vrv dingaling slapchop sandbox chop suey deodorant banana peel tire iron katana slam dunk obtuse rubber goose green moose guava juice giant snake birthday cake large fries chocolate shake when will it end

[strugglingstudentaesthetic]

An Orientation Leader’s Ultimate College Dorm Packing List

Clothing

T-shirts (short & long sleeve)

Nice short sleeve shirts / Tank tops

Nice long sleeve shirts / Button up shirts

Athletic short sleeve shirts / Tank tops

Bras / Bralettes / Bandeaus

Sports bras

Sweaters

Hoodies / Zip Ups

Crew neck & Quarter zip sweatshirts

Vests

Rain jacket / Windbreaker

Cardigans

Dresses

Rompers

Skirts

Underwear

Socks / Tights

Shorts (jeans & cloth)

Spandex & athletic shorts

Khaki pants & shorts

Jeans / Pants

Leggings / Yoga pants

Sweatpants / PJ Pants / Joggers

Dress clothes (blazer, etc)

Belts

Shoes

Shower flip flops

Sandals / Flip flops

Running sneakers / Normal sneakers

Booties / Heels / Wedges 

Flats / Dress Shoes

Slippers

Rain boots

Winter

If you live close to home, go home and get these when it starts getting colder out

Thick jacket

Scarves

Gloves

Boots

Hats / Head wraps

Thick socks / Leg warmers

Toiletries & Bathroom Supplies

Shampoo & Conditioner 

Hair Spray 

Dry shampoo

Moose

Toothbrushes

Toothbrush cup

Tooth paste

Floss

Mouthwash 

Contact solution

Contact case

Glasses 

Face wash 

Period care products

Razors 

Shaving cream

Hair ties / Scrunchies

Headbands

Hair clips, bobby pins, barrettes

Straightener

Curling Wand

Brush & Comb

Makeup & Setting spray

Perfume / Body spray

Soap / Shower gel 

Deodorant

Makeup wipes / remover

Cotton balls / Q-tips 

Medications / Health care products (Ibuprofen, Tylenol, Cough medicine, etc)

Tissues

Hand sanitizer

Bandaids & other medical supplies

School Supplies

Only you know what works best for your study habits

Backpack / bag

Folders

Notebooks

Binders

Colored pens

Ruler

Calculator

Pencils

Highlighters

Hole puncher

Erasers

Markers / Crayons / Colored pencils

Flashcards (And Quizlet account)

Post Its

Tacks

Dry erase markers / chalk

Pencil case

Laptop and charger

Envelopes

Stamps

Dorm Supplies

(for *  only one roommate usually brings it)

Clorox wipes

Paper towels

Broom, Vacuum, and/or Swiffer Wet Jet *

Twinkle lights

Trash can 

Storage bins or plastic slide-out drawers

Bedding 

Mattress topper

Pillows / Pillow pet

Television (There are televisions in most lounges) *

DVD Player *

Gaming systems *

Rug *

Doormat *

Lamp/s (not all dorms have overhead/desk lighting)

Coffee maker / Keurig *

Desk organizers

Power strips

2 to 3 prong adapters

Hangers 

Shower caddy

Laundry bin/s

Shower towels & Pool towel & Washcloths

Silverware 

Dish soap

Sponges

Plate

Bowl

Mug

Reusable water bottle

Reusable travel cup / mug

Cooking supplies (Cookie sheet, pot, pan, oven mitts, spoon, etc) *

Seat cushion 

Tupperware 

Box fan * & small window/desk fan (or fan to clip onto bed)

Bed risers

Fridge (or rent microfridge) *

Posters

Tapestry

Artwork

Corkboard, Whiteboard, and/or Chalkboard 

Pictures / Picture frames / Photo album

Command strips

Command hooks (good to put by the door for keys and/or jackets)

Small desk mirror

Wall mirror (many rooms have a mirror that a previous student left on the wall; it is recommended to wait until you move in to see if you have one) *

Shoe rack (not every room will have space for this) *

Door decorations (small whiteboard, etc) *

Clock / Alarm clock

Earring / Jewelry rack 

Drying rack *

Painter’s tape

Miscellaneous

Board games / deck of cards

Drawstring bag

Purse / Wallet

Keys / Lanyard / Keychain (to put room key on)

ID Holder (to add to lanyard/keys)

Plants that are easy to take care of 

Jewelry 

Small umbrella

Phone charger

Insurance and social security cards

Camera

Yoga mat (your sports center may have some to use)

Batteries

Small flashlight

Air freshener

Food/Snacks

Snacks (chips, candy, cookies, crackers)

Microwave popcorn (keep a careful eye on this when cooking in the dorm)

Granola / Breakfast bars

Easy Mac & Cheese

Ramen

Your go-to comfort food

Cooking ingredients (if you plan to cook in the dorm kitchens)

Soda / Juice / Water (there are water fillers in some residence halls and all academic buildings)

Vitamins

Gum / Mints

Usually, appliances should have automatic shut off

Standalone microwaves are not always allowed, check with your school. Some may have a microfridge renting option which is always worth it.

No candles or other open flames

Tapestries are usually allowed depending on the school

Extension cords are not always allowed (but power strips are!)

Wait to buy refrigerated food products until after moving in, or bring a small cooler to transport them

I use 2 big suitcases, totes, and boxes. After unpacking, I send them back home with my family/friends that moved me in.

Some people put their clothes on hangers and then put a grocery bag around them with the top of the hanger sticking out or put them in their suitcases with the hangers already on

As you get adjusted to dorm life, you will slowly start to realize what works for you and what doesn’t, along with what you need and do not need. Allow yourself time to figure it out and don’t stress if you do not have everything.

Good luck!

[ramblingrybo]

Hyacinths? You’ll need some hair lacquer

I have an intimate knowledge of hyacinths. The same can be said of strawberries, potatoes and cocktail onions. It was what we picked or sorted in the fields and factories of Boston when I was young. In those days, most casual work was connected to agriculture and there was plenty of it. It might have been mind-numbing but it guaranteed a ready source of income with which to buy comics, records, guitar strings or cigarettes, depending on your age.

I started working on the land when I was ten. A double decker bus would pick us up after school from the scout huts near Skirbeck church and take us to the fruit fields of Frampton, four miles away. The bus would be crammed with hyper-active school children, harassed young mothers and short-tempered grannies with ill-functioning hearing aids. Nobody talked; everybody shouted. This was punctuated by the odd slap and scream. It was pure bedlam.

When we were finally released from this uproar upon our arrival, all you could see were endless rows of bobbing rumps. All you could hear was the distant growl of a tractor and the trilling of skylarks in the vast skies above us. Within minutes, we were picking our own row, filling a bucket in exchange for a few pence and then repeating the process, more slowly each time. At first, you would start to pick with fast pecking hands. Very soon, however, any sense of urgency would disappear, quickly replaced by a mechanical lethargy until finally a state of paralysis set in. This was reflected in the shape of the body, from bent to crawling to completely inert. Some people, however, took this one step further. One summer, we found Gonk’s younger brother, Rabbit, curled-up asleep in one of the furrows. However, for the rest of us, three hours of routine picking left us with an aching back, knees covered in mashed strawberries and glazed eyes. 

All soft fruit work was piece-work but at least with raspberries and gooseberries you didn’t have to stoop so far. That was the good news. The bad news was that you had to pick with prickles or thorns for company. Raspberries were bearable although the fruit was so delicate, it was like picking soft meringues - easily squash-able. Gooseberries, on the other hand, were savage. Trying to pick gooseberries quickly while only wearing a pair of Marigolds, was like feeding your hands into a factory loom. It was only the regulars who made any money. They could strip a bush within seconds and fill a wicker basket within minutes. I was so impressed the first time I witnessed it. 

‘Wow, that’s amazing. I just tried to do that and left a lot of skin behind.’

‘You know why they’re so good, don’t you?

‘No.’

‘It’s the gloves they’ve got. They have metal palms. You could strip the barnacles from the bottom of a boat with a pair of those.’

Soft fruit piece-work was for the beginners. If you wanted to guarantee full time work for the holidays and enjoy a weekly pay packet, you needed to join a gang. I was lucky. As a fourteen year old, I found Maggie. She was an experienced ganger who didn’t suffer fools gladly. A strict disciplinarian, Maggie hated lateness, sloppy work and anybody answering her back. She had an acid tongue, skin as leathery as an old saddle-bag and a forearm smash that could stun a mule. If you toed the line, working for Maggie was a cinch. If you didn’t, you could be harangued, physically assaulted, summarily dismissed or, worst of all, find yourself walking all the way home from Spalding, a tedious and exhausting trek of fourteen miles. Work could be anywhere in the south of Lincolnshire. We would get picked up at 7a.m. in Boston and be working in the fields of Bicker, Pinchbeck, Dogdyke, Cowbit or Moulton Chapel by 8. The van which picked us up was held together with bits of bailer twine and wire - a description which could also be applied to some of  the regular workers whose company we kept every holiday. Moose was one of them. He was a huge, kindly man with the strength of a cart horse but the brain of a child. Poor thing believed anything we told him. His trousers were always at half-mast, he sported a basin haircut and lived in a shed behind his mum’s council bungalow.

Most of the work was picking potatoes which is back-breaking and relentless. We prayed for the tractor with its plough to break down. When it didn’t, we had to pick two-handed to keep up although heel and toeing could lighten the load considerably. This entailed stamping on the potatoes to bury them with the heel of your boot and then scraping back with the toe to cover the evidence with soil. Well-practised proponents of this skill could tap-dance a whole row of potatoes out of existence. Many of the best workers were women who could work for hours without a break. As most of them smoked and kept their cigarettes in their mouths while picking, many of them sported nicotine stains on their upper lips. As a result, lunch times in the van could be a bit of a trial for the rest of us. Watching a nicotine stained woman eating a fried egg sandwich was not an appetising sight. Many a slice of pork pie was returned to a lunch box, uneaten.

Sometimes we were released from the retches and furrows to work on tractor-drawn potato harvesters, machines which harvested the crop and allowed sorting to be carried out on a mobile conveyor belt. A line of us would pick out the rotten or damaged potatoes. Once again, it was relentless work but at least we were standing up. The only problem came in really hot weather when the fields were dry. The harvester would create dust storms which meant that we had to wear hats, goggles and scarves to protect heads and faces. Looking like flying aces from the First World War, we baked, lost all sense of hearing and dreamt of ice-cold drinks.

Promotion came at the age of sixteen when we moved from the fields to the factory. Thinking we had finally made it, we got jobs at Johnson’s Seeds, working in the bulb packaging department. Little did we know, however, of the suffering which lay ahead. At first, our daily routine was a doddle. No rain, decent breaks, a canteen, good pay. And the work? Undemanding, if a little dull. My job was to load crocus bulbs into a mechanical hopper which vibrated back and forth and graded them. It wasn’t difficult -  a bit of lugging, pushing a couple of buttons and some prodding. And repeat. But then we switched to hyacinth bulbs and for the next few weeks our lives became a living hell.

We should have heeded Beryl’s warning on the Friday afternoon. 

‘Hyacinths on Monday. You’ll be needin’ some hair lacquer, lovey.’

I waited until she had gone before turning to Gary.

‘Hair lacquer? What’s she on about?’

‘Search me. It’s probably the medication.’

‘You reckon she’s off her trolley?’

‘Must be.’

A further clue was provided first thing on the Monday morning when we arrived at the hoppers. Eric, the manager, was positively buoyant. Chortling to himself, he winked at Stuart, the foreman, and both of them began to rub their hands together like two football supporters eagerly anticipating a cup final. 

‘Come on, then, what are yer waitin’ fer? Git them machines runnin’ and them hyacinths tumblin’.’

And we did. And five minutes later, we were scratching crazily at our necks, throats and scalps and emitting high-pitched wails like the noise cars make when they are being crushed slowly in a scrapyard with a giant iron claw. Very quickly, any exposed skin was red raw and nasty welts had been scored by fingernails into our flesh. We jigged and flailed like members of a religious cult while Eric and Stuart rocked with laughter from the safety of their office. 

And what was to blame for this sudden change of behaviour? Sounds implausible I know but it was the waxy skin on the hyacinth bulbs. You see, it breaks down into small flecks when it is tossed about in a hopper. These flecks become airborne and alight on the open pores of necks and throats and cause extreme irritation. The only way of preventing this is to apply a thick coating of hair lacquer to the skin to block the pores. Rather than being off her trolley, Beryl had been trying to protect us. What we took to be the mutterings of a mad woman were, in fact, the kind words of a co-worker.

We didn’t make the same mistake twice. On our way home, we called in at the chemist’s.

‘Five tins of hair lacquer, please.’

‘Blimey, young man, it’ll set like cement if yer use that much.’

If it was possible to protect against the effects of hyacinth bulbs, the same could not be said of cocktail onions. These were what we ended up sorting and grading in the factory job which took us through our college years. It wasn’t that they made your eyes stream. We soon got used to that. No, it was what lingered afterwards which was the cause of much embarrassment. You see, the smell of cocktail onions stays for days, not only on your clothes but on your skin as well. Baths, deodorant, after shave, all were useless in the struggle to remain fresh and wholesome. A weekend trip to the cinema with your girlfriend could be a fraught affair. In the warmth of the auditorium, the smell of onions returned with a vengeance, seeping out of bodily pores and crevices. 

‘What on earth is that smell? It’s not you, is it?’

‘No, of course, not.’

‘Have you had a bath today?’

‘Yes, I had a long soak.’

‘Can you lean away a bit?’

‘That OK?’

‘Actually, can you sit over there?’

Even when we had left the job for good, we were haunted by the odour. Working in a cocktail onion factory might have been good money but it didn’t half play havoc with your love life.

So, there we have it. The trials and tribulations of working in the fields and factories of Boston as a pupil and student in the late 60s and early 70s. And its legacy? A life-long admiration for anybody working on the land and an appreciation of the choices which were made available to me in my own life.

Next time: ‘On the Verge of Orchids (or Where did I put that Herb Paris?)’ 

[richasi]

Hello, ladies. Look at your man. Now back to me. Sadly, he isn't me. But if he stopped using peanut butter as deodorant ...and switched to Old Spice Klondike, he could be as delicious as me. Look down. Back up. Where are you? You're climbing a mountain with the man your man could taste like. What's in your hand? Back at me. I have it. It's snowball in the shape of your favorite snowman. Look again. The snowman is now a polar bear cub. Anything is possible when your man tastes like Old Spice Klondike. I'm on a moose.

[maddieladner1999]

College dorm: my sink area

I’m making a new series of different sections of my dorm updated to its current state. This time I’m doing my sink area which I use to wash my hands and dishes. Etc.

My toothbrush holder is from Walmart. My toothbrush and toothpaste is from quip.

I have a can of moose I use to do my hair everyday.

I have a grove collaborative tray which holds my bubble up dispenser, dish soap, and hand soap. Behind those is my walnut scrubber sponge. And I have a straw cleaner as well.

The cabinet holds many things on my side including my burts bees makeup removing wipes, grove collaborative makeup remover towel, body lotion, deodorant and face lotion.

On my sink on the left is my bottle brush cleaner which I love for cleaning deep cups.

[gentlemoose33]

Experience Natural Freshness With Moose Deodorant By Gentle Moose

Explore the ultimate freshness with Moose Deodorant. Crafted over a decade with premium organic ingredients, our deodorant is your skin's best friend. Say goodbye to fillers and parabens, and hello to pure, eco-friendly care.

[allfandomxreader]

Traveling the World with Tom

the night before your flight the two of you would start packing

You have a little notebook full of everything you needed for your upcoming adventure

“Y/N, have you seen my laptop charger? I swear I just had it.”

“It’s right there on the bed -no, beside your suitcase”

“Toothbrush? Check. Deodorant? Check. Shampoo and conditioner? Check.”

This would go on for hours bc you procrastinated for so long

You guys would barely be able to sleep, tossing and turning with anticipation

And stress hoping you wouldn’t sleep through the bajillion alarms you had set

Thankfully, you’d wake up the first time it went off

Tom would hold your hand every second he could while going through security

The two of you would sign a few autographs and take pictures while passing through the airport

But you’d make your way though with ease and onto the plane

You guys would drink champagne and laugh through your looooooong flight

When you’d finally land, Tom would drag you off and into the city

First stop: Paris because why not

You guys would eat colorful macaroons fresh croissants

He’d make sure not to say croissants not wanting to be laughed at

Tom would beg you to try escargot

Do you eat it? Do you not?? Up to u boo

The following days would be full of sight seeing

He’d take you to the top of the Eiffel Tower and you’d see for miles and miles beyond you

He’d to the cliche “the view is beautiful” and he’d be looking at u

Next stop: somewhere in Italy

You guys would throw coins into the fountains making cute wishes

“I wish to love you forever”

Or something cheesy idk lmao

You’d eat waaaay too much pizza

And pasta

And ofc he’d beg you to do the famous Lady and the Tramp spaghetti kiss

The movie made it look much easier than what it actually was

You two would end up with sauce around your mouth and in a fit of laughter

You’d visit all the famous buildings and learn tons of cool history tidbits

Next stop: somewhere in Greece?

Your room would have a perfect view of the ocean

Your legs would ache after walking up all the steps to the beach from your little villa thingy

You guys would swim for hours, splashing and laughing and kissing

Tom would no doubt get a sunburn

“I don’t need sunscreen, Y/N” - tom two hours before turning into a lobster

Back in the room, you’d apply aloe onto his back

His skin would practically sizzle under your touch, he’d wince every time you’d apply pressure

Tom wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably that night

Which meant it’d be a restless night for you too

You’d play with his hair finding specks of sand here and there and soon he would be snoring

Next stop: lmfao let’s go to Alaska because that’d be fun, right?

He’d promise he wouldn’t be a baby about the cold

He’d be a fucking baby.

But you wouldn’t mind too much, it only meant extra cuddles for you.

His nose and cheeks would always be red and you’d always kiss it

He’d have one of those cute puffy jackets with the fur around the hood

He’d just be so cute and whiney because he was so cold

Next stop: somewhere in Australia

Both of you would be on edge the whole time about spiders

You’d visit beaches a lot

Tom would most definitely use sunscreen this time

Tom would flip his shit every time he saw a kangaroo

“OH MY GOD THAT ONE HAS A BABY IN ITS POUCH, Y/N!!!!!”

Next stop: somewhere in America (I know Alaska is in America but humor me thx)

You guys would go to new states every few days

You’d travel through the mountains and on the coasts and you’d visit a bunch of national parks

Tom would have an “Animal of the Day” that he’d want to see

The only animals you’d end up seeing would be moose and buffalo

He’d be very disappointed he didn’t see a wolf or a bear

Tom would Yelp good food and entertainment places to visit

Both of you would try something you’ve never tried before at each restaurant you visited

Next stop: home

You’d both drop your bags the second you walked through the door

Tessa would run circles by your feet licking, barking, and panting

After she calmed down the three of you would retire to your shared bedroom and sleep for so many hours because jet leg FUCKED you up

Traveling the would would always be a blast and coming home would always be nice

But you’d be content no matter where you are as long as Tom was by your side

[jakerrs]

womens deodorant: ~ Gentle Lavender Breeze ~

mens deodorant: obtuse rubber goose green moose guava juice giant snake birthday cake large fry chocolate shake

[mauriacs]

20 Q’s

tagged by - @augustinianseptember, thank you very much!! <3

Rules: answer 20 questions so your followers can get to know you better, and tag 20 other people you’d like to know better.

1- name: Al

2- nickname: uhm my family calls me Moose for some reason, and my friends call me by my last name (literally not one of my irl friends has called me by my first name in years) which i will not disclose lmao

3- zodiac sign: gemini, im begging dont unfollow me i promise im nice

4- height: a sad 5″3′ ish

5- languages spoken: english and 2% of french, maybe at a stretch, im learning dutch now if that helpps

6- nationality: ppl call me extra when i say british instead of english, but more that half of me is from scotland (we have a fucking clan,, with tartan, castles, territory & all im shook) or wales (who are decidedly Not english) so i count myself as british

7- favourite fruit: hmmmmm at the moment, i am Loving blueberries

8- favourite season: definitely winter, no questions asked, i love the entire mood and the cold and hnnn i love it

9- favourite scent: lavender can Do No Wrong, but “men’s” deodorant is a close second dont come for me

10- favourite colour: greyish greenish blueish (a stormy sea)

11- favourite animal: cats are so good

12- favourite fictional character: no question toad from the wind in the willows, what an extra bitch i love him,,, honourable mentions are henry winter from tsh, mr collins from pride and prejudice (i hate him so much that i love him), ron weasley from hp (needs more credit), god ill think of some more later

13- coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: i am in fact thoroughly enjoying a cup of tea right now, i dont really drink the other two

14- number of blankets you sleep with: due to the disgusting yet true fact that it is summer, one duvet cover (without the duvet in it) and in winter, one or two

15- when was your blog created: well i created this blog a few years ago, but i deleted Everything and started again completely in march this year

16- favourite subject: im actually In Between schooling atm so i am dropping most subjects, the only subject im keeping from my previous selection is english literature which i do like a lot. the other ones im taking are psychology, philosophy, and either history or french i cant decide. i predict that ill like philosophy a lot.

17- currently watching: bbc’s war and peace adaptation and hooooooooo my god its so good. im quaking

18- favourite band: ive recently started listening to rex orange county who i am L o v i n g, but the first thing that comes to mind is Pink Floyd. i went to see roger waters (the lead singer) a few weeks ago and i still havent gotten over it. i literally cried my way through that concert, there was a massive inflatable pig that said ‘stay human or die’ on it and the crowd managed to drag it down and burst it and i got a fucking piece of the pig!!!!!!!! im shrieking. there was lots of anti-trump imagery in preparation for his uk visit and (e.g. popart style artwork of him in a kkk hood) like, i was loving it. it was visually the best thing ive ever seen (they made the dark side of the moon prism/rainbow thing out of fucking lasers!!! and they got battersea power station chimneys to rise above the stage!!!!!aaaAAaaah) and they had a lot of social messages (like anti-zionism, pro-environmentalism, anti-fascism). and!!!!!!!!!!!! the music was incredible holy shit it was an out of body experience,,, i have to stop now or ill go on forever

19- instruments played: im doing my grade 7 flute this year!!!!!!!! im stressed but excited. i can also read piano music,, a bit,, and work out other wind instruments given enough time

20- favourite book: there is definitely more than one........ the secret history, all of harry potter i know jk is problematic but that will not stop me stanning this series until i die, the wheel of time series, jamaica inn, rebecca, the wasp factory, jurassic park, frankenstein, the song of achilles, all poetry ever written, etc

i tag: anyone who wants to do it, feel free to say that i tagged u

[lovehelpmewrite]

“A friend Steve; you have one of those right? Big guy? Metal arm?”

Title: "A friend Steve; you have one of those right? Bug guy? Metal arm?"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader starring OFC!Ari, miscellaneous police cars

Word count: 2,038

Summary: tbh I don't even really remember, Steve and the reader are running from HYDRA and happen upon an old friends house where implied smut ensues I guess???

Warnings: A bloody nose, very slight fight scene, very light smut, smut implied, a lot of fluff and joking Steve

[A/N]: This is my fic for Bethtastic’s 6k follower challenge ( @not-moose-one-shots  ) It’s also my first published Steve fic. Please enjoy, and feedback is greatly appreciated (good or bad feedback)

We ran down the empty suburban streets, dodging the spotlights of helicopters and trolling “police” cars. I spotted the house just as a helicopter above us switched on its spotlight. I grabbed Steve’s hand and tugged him as hard as I could to the right, towards the house. I pulled him with me to the sliding glass door I knew was in the back and slid it open, thankful that it was unlocked like she’d said it would be. 

As soon as we stepped inside I closed and locked the door and pulled the blinds down over the glass. We both stood there breathing heavily for a minute, me longer than Steve. He looked around the grand kitchen that we’d stepped into. It was exceptionally nice, humongous, and well stocked. 

“What are we doing here? What if the owner comes down and finds us here?” Steve asked, his voice low as I walked towards the pantry. 

“Don’t worry about it, she’s a friend and she isn’t even here; she’s in Mexico City.“ 

“A friend?” He asked. 

“Someone who won’t mind us staying in her house for a few days while we hide out, a friend Steve; you have one of those right? Big guy, metal arm?” I joked, jumping up onto the kitchen counter and eating a few grapes out of the nearby fruit bowl. Steve let himself smile for a minute before looking around. 

“I’m going to go find a bathroom and shower and then we can talk about getting away from those guys.” I nodded in response and watched his pert ass sway in his tight jeans as he walked away. I kissed my teeth just as he left the room, crossing my legs and leaning back on my hand against the countertop. 

“Damn shame…” I whispered, popping another grape into my mouth. Suddenly, the sound of a punch landing and the quiet click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back echoed around the room. 

Steve backed into the kitchen once more, one hand up as he stared at whoever had the gun and the other hand holding a bloody nose. I was off the countertop in an instant, pressing myself to the wall next to the doorway to the kitchen, ready to take down whoever had the gun. As soon as the gun and hands of the person came into view I jumped forward, pushing their arms up as they fired before bringing my leg behind theirs and pushing them to the floor before I knelt quickly and pressed a knee to their throat. 

As soon as I saw who it was I jumped off and threw myself back against the wall. “Jesus Ari, you scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed. She sat up and rubbed the front of her neck and upper chest. 

“Jesus, you couldn’t say hi before crushing my throat with your knee?” She mocked back. I stood, putting out a hand and pulling her up with me. Steve stood off to the side staring at the both of us, his blood slowly dripping onto his shirt and the floor. 

“You couldn’t have chosen a different house?” Steve asked, finally gaining my and Ari’s attention. I smiled, letting a small laugh escape my lips. 

“Sorry, Ari, this is Steve, Steve, this is my friend Ari,” I introduced. 

“Sorry, I….I thought that you were Hydra, or some government agent coming to look for her or me or something,” Ari apologized. 

“It’s okay, I think Y/N thought the same of you,” Steve joked, managing a smile even with blood dripping off his chin. 

“Alright well, why don’t you two go upstairs and get cleaned up, again, sorry Steve. The bedroom with the big shower is upstairs and to the left, end of the hall,” Ari explained, “Try not to get too much blood on my carpet please, use a towel or something; and stay safe!” she called after us, winking at me as soon as Steve was turned around. 

Steve trudged his way up the double flight of stairs using the bottom of his shirt to staunch the flow of blood from his face until he could find a towel. He gestured ahead of him when we finally reached the door and I swung it open easily, passing by the 5-star hotel worthy room for the equally beautiful bathroom for a towel. I reached into Ari’s bathroom closet full of plush white towels and grabbed one before walking back into the bedroom, watching Steve be in awe of such luxury. I chuckled and threw the towel at his chest, not surprised when he still caught it, even in his dazed state. 

“The awe will wear off in a little while, in the meantime, I’m gonna shower and you can deal with your bloody nose.” I quickly turned on my heal before I caught myself staring at him again, shutting the bathroom door quietly behind me. I leaned against it a second and let out a slow breath before pushing off of it and grabbing 2 fluffy towels out of the closet and throwing them over the side of the clear glass encased shower. I slowly peeled off my sweat and dirt covered shirt, followed by my pants which pulled slightly at the still scabbing scar tissue on my thigh from a previous mission. 

The sensation of my pants being stuck to the wound with dried blood and having to pull it off was less than pleasurable and needless to say, I was glad to finally get my old bra and cotton panties off and get into the spacious shower. I stepped to the side of the showerhead as I turned it on, not wanting to brave the cold water as it warmed up. 

When I was finally under the tranquil pounding of the steaming water I let all the tension built up in my muscles start to melt away. I turned my back to the water, letting the powerful water pressure beat away at the muscles in my shoulders until they relaxed on my body once again. I helped myself to the assorted shower items sitting on a ledge in the shower, gently lathering the lavender shampoo into my scalp and sighing as I finally felt relaxed for the first time in days. As I let the shampoo sit in my hair I took the sea salt infused body wash and washing my upper body, taking care to wash away any leftover grime from the mission with Steve. I let myself enjoy the entire shower experience, even shaving my underarms and legs with a razor that was sitting on the shelf of shower items. Halfway through rinsing my conditioner out, there was a small knock on the door. 

“Come in,” I answered, glad the steam of the shower covered the glass of the shower when I recognized Steve’s frame step into the bathroom. 

“Ari said there would be clothes and a hairbrush and whatnot in this bag so I’m just bringing it in here for you, it’s on the counter.” I smiled, even when I couldn’t fully make him out I could see the quiet awkwardness that was Steve Rogers. 

“Thanks, I’ll be out in a few,” I answered back, not keeping the relaxedness of my body out of my voice. He just murmured a small 

“Okay,” before leaving the bathroom, the soft click of the door signaling his exit. I let myself stand under the warm stream for a few more seconds before sighing and shutting the water off. I wrapped one towel around my hair after wringing it out and wrapped one around my body. 

I shivered for a second as the cold air outside the shower hit my skin before quickly drying all the remaining water off of my body and reaching in the back Ari had put together for me. Expecting the normal cotton panties I normally wore I reached around the bag surprised to pull out a pair of black lacy boy shorts followed by a black, sheer, unlined bra with the same lace around the edges. “Goddammit Ari,” I whispered. 

I slipped on the undergarments anyways, not willing to get back into the sweaty, dirty, mess that was my under clothes from before. The underwear was followed by nothing other than a large men’s t-shirt that reached just below my butt. I sighed knowing what Ari was trying to do and just gave up fighting it. Who knows, perhaps something good would come out of it. I reached into the bag and retrieved a bottle of lotion, smoothing it over my legs and body before finally shaking my hair free of the towel on my head and brushing it. I used the given deodorant and closing the bag before giving myself one last once-over in the mirror, shrugging and then opening the door. 

I threw the bag into the nearest chair and watched Steve open his eyes from on his place laying on the bed. 

“Hey…” Steve trailed, watching my every move as I made my way over to the bed. I ran the last few feet and threw myself onto the bed, landing on my side. I smiled up at him before wrinkling my nose at him. 

“You should really shower.” He let out a small laugh, getting up and grabbing a bag of his own that Ari had no doubt filled with an old boyfriend’s clothes. Steve’s shower lasted significantly shorter than I’m sure mine did, not even allowing me enough time to fall asleep. 

As Steve stepped out of the bathroom, steam billowing around him in only a pair of boxers I was sure you could see the change in my face from tired to completely turned on. He seemed to not understand the fact that I wasn’t used to seeing so much of him; his strong chest, his thick thighs, his bulging biceps… 

“The shirt didn’t fit so I guess I’ll be sleeping in this,” he explained, throwing his bag in the chair with mine before laying back down on the bed facing me on his side. 

“That’s a real shame,” I managed to get out. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“The shirt, I mean.” He nodded, his eyes searching my face carefully. 

“Is it?” 

“Hmm?” I asked back, not fully comprehending his speech when he was this close and this shirtless. 

“Is it really a shame Y/N? Cause you don’t seem too upset by it,” Steve said, a slow grin working onto his face. “What do you really think?” He continued, staring into my eye challengingly. 

“I think,” I started, swallowing and trying to gain back my words. “I think that I haven’t gotten to see this much of you very often and it’s pretty damn amazing. I think I want to definitely make out with you but if you don’t want to that’s complete-” I got cut off by Steve’s lips pressing softly to mine. 

I lost myself in the kiss, not even noticing when he had moved so he laid back against the headboard and I sat in his lap. My hands traveled of their own accord, pressing my fingertips into his shoulders before grasping at the hairs at the back of his neck. His hands roamed over my back and down my sides, over my waist and hips before settling on my upper thighs. We both groaned aloud as I pressed my hips down onto him, breaking the kiss to breathe and press our foreheads together. 

Suddenly there was the sound of something moving over the carpet near the door. We both looked to see a condom laying just under the edge of the door, Ari’s voicing ringing on the other side of the wooden door. 

“Be safe!” And then the soft pat-pat of her feet running away quickly. I let out a soft laugh, closing my eyes and dropping my head into Steve’s neck.

“You could have chosen a different house,” He said quietly. 

“Shut up.”