#oven but didn’t so I had to clean it for the first time myself while I was alone in the store and was also supposed to man the front

[fuumiku]

It was Maid Day today yesterday a week ago so I got struck by inspiration to draw the worsties, and it ran away from me into a whole AU where they’re coworkers at a maid cafe. She’s a med student & this is just a part time job, and this is his depression job while he gets his life back together. He needs something he can be workaholic about to forget what it’s like having a personal life and personal issues. He’s actually the accountant, but the new hire janitor (Izutsumi) doesn’t show up for half her shifts and is a sloppy worker, so he gets the extra work of doing her job on top of his because he’s undervalued and overworked. Of course, janitors also have an uniform to keep the aesthetic cohesion as they go about cleaning the place, of course.

Senshi’s the part time cook you only see slivers off, he’s kind and warm when you do see him and have a chat but most shifts he’s in and out the kitchen without a trace. Laios and Falin are regulars because Falin and Marcille are besties & in the same med school, Laios accompanies Falin as she visits her friend at work and gets hooked on the food. Chilchuck has to remind Marcille to work instead of chatting with Falin for an hour, and next thing he knows she’s distracting him from work too. That’s it that’s the AU. Inspired by this idol AU fanart a bit <3

This was not meant to be birthday gift but well…… Happy bday Chil!!!

Read from left to right

[sadhours]

See You Again

billy hargrove x female reader

a/n: I exist guys. requests are open!

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (f and m receiving), reader thinks she might be a prostitute, p in v

summary: you’re a house keeper, and a hot professional surfer pays you to come clean his house

When you accepted the house keeping job, you hadn’t expected the guy to be sex on legs. But here you are, wearing leggings and a loose white t-shirt, buckets of cleaning supplies in each hand while you look up into the icy blue eyes of Mr. Hargrove. He’s in a sleeveless t-shirt, golden arms on display and board shorts, his hair is wavy and long. His house was huge, you knew he was a professional surfer from your quick phone calls but seeing his house, he must’ve been really good at it. Famous maybe. You didn’t know much about surf boarding, had no clue you could make this much money from it.

“Come in,” he says, opening the door wide, “Sorry. My plans got canceled but I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“Oh, no,” you gush, looking around at the vast foyer as you walk in, this might have been a crew job. You curse yourself for not asking about the square footage of the place. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The house is already clean, so maybe you don’t need more people. It’ll take you a little longer than anticipated but the guys gorgeous so you don’t really mind.

“Here,” he motions towards the hall, “Let me give you a tour.”

The house was decorated pretty minimally. There’s prints of what you assume are him riding waves all over. Tall surfboards line the back wall of the living room. It’s pretty much spotless. A handful of dishes in the sink and a light film of dust on things, but it’s very tidy.

“Your house is beautiful,” you tell him, to which he waves his hand.

“Ah, thanks. It’s a blessing I get to do what I love to afford a place like this. Anyways, I’ll let you get started. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you nod and set down your buckets.

Billy disappears and you get started with the kitchen, washing the few dishes in the sink and then tackle the stove, oven and fridge. The fridge is pretty empty, but it’s interesting to see what he’s got in it. A six pack of beer and a ton of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Eventually you make your way to the bathrooms, first the guest one which is very obviously unused and you can’t help but think that maybe he’s lonely in such a big house. You push the thoughts aside, you’re here for work. And he might be hot as all hell but you’re professional and besides, a guy that good looking has to have a girlfriend. You finish up the guest bathroom and the half bathroom before starting on the master one. It’s huge. A shower with two nozzles, two vanities, a rather large toilet room and huge bathtub with jets. You’re bent over the bath tub, scrubbing away at the dirt caked on the sides. It’s clear he uses the tub every day. He’s got candles all around it, along with a variety of epsom salts and soaps. As you bring the sponge along the dip of the tub, you feel two hands grabbing at your hips. You crane your head to see Billy standing behind you, biting his lip as he peers at your ass.

“Sorry,” he apologizes but doesn’t move his hands, your thighs start to warm. You’re absolutely frozen, speechless as he smoothes his hand over the curve of your ass and then squeezes. “Couldn’t help myself…” he muses, his breathing a bit labored.

You can tell him to get his hands off of you. Stand up, turn around, slap him across the face with your sudsy glove and storm out. But you can’t recall the last time a man’s been so forward with you and you liked the way his hands felt on you. And god, he’s so fucking gorgeous. He bends over, using the hand that’s not on your ass to move your hair back and whispers in your ear, “You have such a nice ass.”

A moan slips from your lips, causing Billy to squeeze your flesh again. His teeth catch your earlobe as he presses his strained erection against your ass.

“Is this okay?” he asks lowly, nuzzling his nose against the shell of your ear.

“Yes!” you squeak out, throat tight as you struggle to catch your breath.

Billy growls, maneuvering his hand underneath you to grope your tits as he kisses against your jaw. It’s happened so quick, you can’t believe it. Your body is aflame with arousal, your center soaking through your underwear and most likely, your leggings. His lips are soft yet firm, hungry as he litters kisses against your sensitive skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them over your ass and taking your thong with them. He sits back on his heels, grabbing your ass with both hands and squeezing. He chuckles lowly, “You’re dripping.”

“Mhm,” you mumble out, dropping your head as he dips his head and licks up the slick coating your thighs. “Fuck,” you exhale, squeezing the sponge in your hand.

“Tastes so good,” he compliments and then circles his tongue around your eager hole. The action pulls a desperate whine from your chest. You feel trapped against the edge of the tub, his hands holding you in place as he spreads your cheeks and licks at your glistening folds. His tongue is strong, has all your nerves screaming out in ecstasy as he rolls it expertly up and down, finally prodding at your hole. Billy penetrates you as deep as he can with his tongue, his thumbs holding your lips open for more access. It’s excruciating. Not quite as deep as you need but incredibly pleasurable. He pulls back and then you feel his fingers pressing at your eager cunt. You can hear him spit and before you know it, he’s entering you with the digits. It pushes a moan from you, satisfied yet surprised. Billy pumps his fingers in and out, groaning as he watches.

“You’re gonna take my cock so well,” he forebodes, making your spine tingle in anticipation.

He angles his thick digits just right, hitting the pads of them against your spongy spot and you cry out, eyes crossing and doubling your vision. Suddenly, his thumb finds your clit and he’s rubbing it in tight, quick circles while he pushes repeatedly against that spot deep inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp out, squeezing your eyes shut.

Billy works quick and relentless. The pressure at the pit of your stomach is building at an alarming rate. You can’t even make yourself cum this fast. The man knows what he’s doing. And it’s something you don’t know how to do. It hits you like a ton of bricks. A rush of pleasure tearing through you as you spasm against the tub, voice wrecked with how loud you moan out. Vision goes white, a ringing in your eyes as you ride the waves. You’re panting hard and his fingers are still shoved deep inside you when you come to. Then you feel his tongue, licking up the mess you’ve made and you whine out, squirming while the grip on your hip tightens.

“Billy,” you whimper out, “too much.”

He doesn’t let up, instead moves his mouth down and sucks at your clit. You yelp, your body moving upright. You pull your gloves off, turning your body and pushing him down onto the tile floor. There’s a cocky grin on his face, looking up at you as you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off, tossing it aside and then unhook your bra. You shimmy out of your leggings next, kicking your shoes off and make quick work of peeling Billy’s clothes off his body. When you tug his briefs down, his stiff cock pops out. The tip leaking as it slaps up against his abs. His mouth falls open as you circle your fingers around the base, squeezing slightly. His cock is beautiful. The prettiest one you’ve ever seen. Thick shaft, pulsing vein up the side of it and a plump, shiny tip. Billy lets out this breathless laugh when you squeeze him again.

“Come on,” he drawls, “you can stop staring and get your mouth on it.”

You don’t have to be told twice, lowering yourself and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, peering up at him. Billy exhales, hand knitting into your hair while he tells you, “Atta girl.”

You swallow around him, taking him a bit deeper in quick succession until he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Breathing through your nose, you hold still as you peer up at him. He’s propped up on his elbows so he can watch, eyebrows knit together while he chews on his lower lip. His blue eyes are dark with lust and they widen just slightly as you begin to bob up and down on his pulsing cock. It’s thick, makes your jaw ache but you’re determined to give him an orgasm he’ll remember. You pull off and give kitten licks to the tip, fingers stroking his with ease thanks to the drool coating his shaft. He moans out, lips parting slightly as he rolls his hips up at you. Next, you swirl your tongue around his tip before taking him back in your mouth, humming at the salty but wonderful taste of him and absolutely loving the weight of his cock on your tongue. You lower your hand down and cradle his sack, rolling his balls in your hand which produces a particularly delicious moan from him. The timbre of his voice is intoxicating, makes you work even harder to make him cum. He knits his fingers in your hair and holds you still, jerking his hips up and forcing you to take it. A man that takes what he wants. Something you’d been needing and you didn’t even know it.

Billy chokes out another moan, “I’m close, baby.”

You don’t stop and he whines, “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Gonna swallow every drop, huh?”

He releases, his hot spunk covering your tongue and it’s abnormal how good it tastes. You swallow it with ease and pull off, licking your lips as you peer up at him. He chuckles softly, raising his hands above his head as he catches his breath. The pair of you dress and you tuck your hair behind your ear, “I’ll uh, just finish up then.”

“Alright,” Billy smirks, a twinkle in his eyes. He leans down and kisses you softly on the lips, you try not to melt into it but ultimately fail. But he pulls away first, smacks your butt teasingly and saunters out of the bathroom.

All you have left is sweeping and mopping the expansive house. On shaky legs, you get it done before trailing to his home office. He’s at the computer, typing away when he notices you.

“All finished?” he asks as he stands, grabbing his wallet.

You nod, “Yep. It’s uh… all done.”

Billy smiles, places his hand on your waist as he guides you back to the front door. “We agreed on $250, right?”

“Uhm, yes.”

Billy opens his wallet, pulling out the bills and hands them to you, “Same time next week?”

“Absolutely,” you blush, pocketing the money. You carry your supplies out to the car and get in the front seat before you burst out in giggles, covering your face in utter disbelief that just happened.

***

Next week, you do something embarrassing. Well, you didn’t think it was embarrassing at first but when you actually show up to clean Billy’s house, you realize how foolish it was. You decided to wear an obscenely short skirt and a tank top to clean. But when you knock on the door, an angry looking redhead opens it.

“Uh, hi,” you flush, almost as red as her hair, “Is Mr. Hargrove here?”

“Mr— ew,” she cringes and then opens the door wider, “Billy! There’s a lady asking for you.”

You stand there, feeling ridiculous as you look at the girl. She’s pretty, looks a little too young for Billy but apparently that’s not any of your concern. He jogs up to the door, resting his forearm on the frame as he leans over the young girl and looks you up and down with a seductive smirk on his lips.

“This lady, is my house keeper. Come in,” he steps aside to let you in. “This is my kid sister, Maxine.”

“Max,” she corrects him with a roll of her eyes.

“Hi, Max,” you offer a polite smile. “I’ll just get to work, then.”

“We’ll be out of your hair,” he tells you, “I’m gonna go drop her off.”

You nod and walk further into the house, getting started on the kitchen. You’ve cleaned almost the entirety of the house by the time Billy returns. You’re dusting his bookshelf when you feel strong hands snake around your waist and lips on your ear.

“You usually clean houses dressed like this?” he purrs in your ear.

“No,” you admit, melting into his touch. “Didn’t know you’d have company.”

Billy snorts, “Either did I. Kid showed up on my doorstep. She does that a lot and then acts like she hates me.”

“You two seem close,” you turn to look at him.

“Getting there,” he shrugs, “Didn’t get along when I lived at home. It’s not important.” He smoothes his hand over the swell of your ass, kissing against your neck and then continues, “Wear this just for me?”

Your body ignites with desire but you don’t show it, not that easy. You continue dusting away, but you can’t help tilting your head just enough to give him more access to your skin. “Maybe,” you admit with a sigh.

Billy hums, grazing his fingertips along your bare thighs as he sloppily kisses at your neck. His touch almost has you melting, but you just keep on dusting the same row of books. He bites at your earlobe before he says, “Think you did. Want to drive me insane, don’t you?”

You whimper at the bite, eyes fluttering shut as you drop the feather duster. Billy presses his hips against your ass as he continues in your ear, “It’s working. Can’t wait to stuff you full of my cock.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, gripping onto the sides of the bookshelf as Billy grinds against you.

He mouths at your pulse point, moving his hands around to grope your chest. Your head falls back to rest on his broad shoulder, hand snaking up to lace through his sandy curls. His broad tongue licks up your neck, erection apparent through his shorts against your inappropriate skirt. Suddenly the thought hits you, this is prostitution, right? You’re going to let him fuck you against his bookshelf, mop his floors and take a handful of cash. Sounds a lot like prostitution.

“You can’t pay me,” you gasp out but make no moves to stop him from groping you.

“And why’s that?” he laughs, pinching your perked nipples through your thin top, “You’ve done such a good job. Place looks spotless.”

“Because I’m about to let you fuck me against your bookshelf,” you insist.

“If we move to the bed can I still pay you?” he teases and you whip around.

“I don’t want you to pay me for sex.”

Billy blinks at you, a curious notch in his brow as his lips twitch upwards, “I’m not paying you for that part.”

“But—“

“We agreed on two fifty for cleaning, yeah?”

You nod.

“And what did I give you?”

“Two fifty,” you reply.

His face looks pensive now, tilting his head, “Don’t ya think I would’ve gave you more if I was paying for the sex?”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that. That’s a good point, you figure. Because you really did clean and you would’ve charged the same price had you not sucked him off.

“Okay, fine,” you relent and turn back around, “you can still pay me.”

“Atta girl,” he praises as he spanks you playfully before pulling your skirt up over your ass and hooks his fingers in your panties. He peels them down and you kick them off your ankles. Then you feel the swollen head of his cock rubbing between your cheeks. You sigh out, holding onto the shelves as you spread your legs a little further. His lips are back on your neck as he swirls his tip around your eager hole. He groans, muffled against your skin while he slides the head in. It’s so lovely, stretches just right and he’s huffing the deeper he goes. His breath is hot on your face, fanning against your cheekbone and the slight minty scent raids your senses. You blink up at him, drunk on attraction. God, he’s so pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful, angelic. Golden curls against soft, clear skin and his lips are so pink. He thrusts his hips languidly but deep, holding onto your waist for leverage as he pants against your face.

“Billy,” you whine as he bottoms out, feeling wonderfully full. “Fu-uck…”

“Yeah? Feel good, kitten?” he asks, flicking his tongue against the corner of your mouth, “So perfect, taking me so well.”

“God,” you gush, rocking your ass back against his thick thighs. “So fucking good.”

“Pussy’s so tight,” he growls, low and guttural.

Billy snaps his hips harder, dragging you along his cock as he fills you so deep you feel it in your throat. It’s exhilarating. The fact that you know nothing about this man but there’s this intense, animistic connection between you. The pair of you just cannot control yourselves and that’s why you’re letting this absolutely beautiful stranger fuck you raw in the middle of your cleaning duties. It seems foolish; he’s willing to fuck you without a rubber, how many any women get the pleasure? Because it it’s a pleasure. The heat of his cock, the veins not being cushioned by thin rubber is amazing. And it feels incredibly intimate. Passionate— because it’s so rushed and desperate, that neither of you even thought about a condom.

Billy’s fingers dig into your hips while he pounds into you, panting against your face. He slides his hand down and starts working the pads of his fingers in circles against your clit. It’s over for you. If this doesn’t become a routine, you are absolutely doomed because there’s absolutely no way another man is ever going to fuck you like Billy is now. Books are tumbling down to your feet, his thrusts so powerful that your spine tingles.

“I’m coming,” you gasp, tossing your head back as your orgasm crashes through you.

“Good girl,” he purrs in your ear, “Cum all over my cock. Just like that.”

You whimper, riding out the waves that seem never ending because Billy doesn’t slow down or go easy. He grabs tighter on your hips, driving his cock in deep as he pants against your ear. Billy pulls out, painting your ass cheeks with his hot spunk. He groans as he does so, then spins you around and grabs your jaw, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You’re completely lightheaded from it and you almost collapse when he pats your thigh and asks, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

[wonsroyalty]

R.E.M 🌙

jay x f!reader

003 | dream guest on my youtube channel

You’d tried to wake Natty up but were met with a great level of resistance.

Now you were stood in Jay’s kitchen awkwardly looking at anything other than him.

As soon as he’d buzzed you up he asked you to reach into his pantry to get a bag of flour for his pancakes.

A jumpscare waited for you when you left the room, a man stood staring at you as if you were an alien he wanted to inspect.

“Wonie, move.” Jay sighed.

“Wonie?” you mouthed in confusion to yourself.

You placed the flour on the counter and opened your arms to hug Jay but the hug never came as you were pushed back by the forehead.

‘Wonie’ dashed around the counter to separate the two of you.

“Jungwon.” Jay shook his head.

Your eyes darted around the room, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans as you slowly processed the embarrassment.

“What if she has a.. knife!” Jungwon held his hands up, surrendering to Jay’s glare.

“I don’t have a knife-”

“She’s not gonna have a knife..?”

Jungwon grabbed your hand then grabbed Jay’s opposite hand.

“Shake hands instead.” he pressed your palms together. “I don’t trust her yet..”

“Nice to meet you both, for Jungwon because I didn’t introduce myself, I’m Yn.” you smiled shaking Jay’s hand while looking at the strange boy.

“You’re really beautiful, you know.” Jay cheesed. “I would ask you to come see a movie with me, but I don’t want to get into trouble for bringing a snack.”

He winked.

You let go of his hands to cover your face.

“Oh my..” you laughed.

“Sorry about Jungwon, he’s a bit… skeptical with people he doesn’t know. He’ll be fine once he gets to know you!” Jay apologised. “He’s also my editor and roommate.”

“My editors also my roommate!” you gasped. “Well, more like my wife.. I pay her rent and she cooks me food.”

“Wife…? Yeah, no I don’t pay his rent, but I do cook him food!” Jay smiled.

“Can we hurry this up, The shoot isn’t gonna shoot itself.” Jungwon rolled his eyes.

You and Jay ate breakfast over the shoot for your video - a q&a with him about who he is and what inspired him to start his channel before moving onto the cooking needed for his video.

He planned for you to make his famous ‘Marry Me Chicken’, you weren’t sure if he was mocking you with the title but the video was running smoothly.

The chemistry between you two was definitely evident, lingering touches and gazes filled with admiration for the other. It genuinely felt like a love at first sight situation.

You leant against the counter while Jay cleaned the surface, blabbering about how your friend Sunghoon burnt down your old kitchen leading to your recent move.

“Yeah, he’s strange sometimes.” you grinned. “But- oh.”

Jay had accidentally swiped a spoon off the table.

You both reached for it at the same time, bumbling heads in the process.

Apologies tumbled out of your mouth rapidly but Jay grasped your own head before his.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern laced in his tone.

You let your head bobble as he inspected you.

“I’m good, my heads ringing but it’s nothing serious.” you reassured. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” he nodded, going back to the task he was doing before.

You looked into the camera then looked away, rushing towards the oven as the timer beeped.

“You’re not in the office, Yn.” Jungwon tried to frown but the small smile on his lips showed he wasn’t actually annoyed.

“Natty would appreciate the gesture.” you laughed.

“Are you saying that she’s a better editor than I am?” Jungwon argued before walking up to the camera a making a cut symbol.

“She never said- ” Jay started.

“You’re both amazing in your own ways.” you sighed, plating up the meal for the three of you.

Jay grabbed forks for you to try what you had prepared. He swirled a portion of pasta with a fork a spoon before holding it out in front of your mouth.

“Hm..?” you hummed in confusion.

“Open!” he widened his mouth.

He pushed the fork into your mouth, studying your face for a reaction.

“Jay… this is so beautiful? How did you even come up with this recipe!” you beamed, savouring the attack of flavours on your tongue.

Jay gripped your shoulder, beaming with joy.

“I’m glad you like it, we did this together!” he squeezed carefully. “It was my grandmother’s recipe, she taught me how to make it as a kid.”

The two of you got lost in conversation about a series of topics stemming from Jay’s grandmother.

Jungwon cleared his throat then walked into the view and made a cutting sign.

“Right, right. Thank you for tuning in to another Jaybie video, don’t forget to tag me in pictures and videos of you all trying out my recipes, I hope to see you in the next one.”

He then motioned for you to step forward.

“Thank you guys for watching this video, I hope you enjoyed watching us. Remember - No matter where you are, just know that I love you!”

“That’s so cute.” he smiled.

“Oh, thank you.” you blushed.

“Say bye.” Jungwon grumbled.

“Bye!” the two of you waved at the camera.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ SYNOPSIS: when yn, a single mother to 900k+, describes a man she had a dream about, her fans set themselves on a mission to find said mystery man. what will jay do when he’s flooded with thousands of comments claiming that he’s the one..

previous | chapters | next

a/n: i experienced the WORST case of writers block while writing this omg 😭 it’s so bad 😞 and also sorry for the wait, ill drop the next chapter in a few hours 🤩

taglist: @right-person-wrong-time @i03jae @sol3chu @rikizm @samsayssam @vegahrid @myjjongie @super-amberlynn

[waywardxwords]

Hallelujah

Summary: While cleaning up after dinner one night, you hear the most beautiful sound coming from the oldest Winchester's room. You can't stop yourself from moving towards the sound. Dean doesn't enjoy singing in front of people, but he might just make you the exception. Word Count: ~1.2k Warnings: Fluff - lots of fluff

A/N: I saw this video the other day and I just couldn't help myself. Jensen starts around 3:23 mark.

While it wasn’t the first time you heard Dean Winchester’s voice echo off of the walls of the bunker, it was the first time you heard him sing this folk rock classic. The verse traveled to your ears, just barely peeking through the sound of the running water from the sink faucet as you washed the dishes from dinner. 

“Well, maybe there’s a God above,” he started softly at first. So softly, your hand reached up and turned off the water. You stilled your body so your ears could focus on the sound. “As for me, all I’ve learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.”

Dean would never sing in front of you, besides the random jam out sessions in the Impala on the way to a hunt. But those were mostly songs from the likes of AC/DC, or Zeppelin…and there was that one Survivor song he loved. Never like this; never with such emotion. 

“But it’s not a crime that you’re here tonight, it’s not somebody who’s seen the light,” his voice began to travel as his words became clearer. There was no way he knew you could hear him; he wouldn’t have continued if he knew. While Dean was, well, Dean–he had less confidence about himself than he would lead others to believe, but you saw through that. 

“No, it’s a cold and broken Hallelujah,” he belted. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah.” The sound of his voice sent a shiver through your body to your core. You couldn’t help your feet as they moved towards the sound of his voice. You grabbed at the dish towel that hung on the rack of the oven and dried your hands on your way. You didn’t have to go very far, Dean’s door to his bedroom was open as he gently sang the remainder of the chorus. 

As you stood in his doorway, you saw him through blurry eyes. You hadn’t realized before that moment that you had tears in your eyes, but the conviction of his voice—full of pain, but also peace—was overwhelming. 

“Shit,” he breathed as he saw you. He moved to put the gun down that he was cleaning before you startled him. His brows knitted together in concern when he saw your face. “Hey, you okay? What happened?” In two long strides, he was in front of you. His hands gripped just above your elbows. Through the tears pooled in your eyes, you watched his green gaze study you. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you quickly moved your hands to swipe away any droplets that threatened to fall. “Your voice…”

You watched the reddish pink hue start under his stubble on his neck and climb up to his cheeks. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone could hear me…” he removed his hands from your arms and you noticed the room suddenly felt cooler without his touch. He brought a hand up to pull at the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. 

“No, Dean,” you reached for his arm before he could turn back from you; your fingers delicately on his forearm. “Your voice is beautiful.” The words fell in a whisper from your lips. His eyes watched you, and that’s when you noticed all of the feelings Dean could sing, but couldn’t say. “Would you…would you sing for me again?” 

“Oh, darlin’,” he chuckled and ducked his head to glance at his boots. “I don’t think I can do that…I don’t sing if I have an audience.” His eyes found yours again. You nodded once, not willing to push it if he wasn’t comfortable. 

“Well, just know,” you started softly. “You have such an incredible voice. It was…comforting.” It took you a moment to find the right word. 

“Thanks,” he chuckled gently again. You turned from your place in his doorway and headed back to the kitchen, hopeful that it wouldn’t be the last time you heard his beautiful voice. 

The darkness was overwhelming. Even in your sleep, you knew you were dreaming but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t wake yourself up. It felt as though the walls were closing in on you as you fell into the darkness. A whimper fell from your lips involuntarily as you tumbled down, down, down…into an abyss of nothingness. You didn’t know what you were running from, but your heart thudded quickly against your rib cage—so quickly that you thought it might break out. 

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you felt a gentle touch on your bare arm just below the sleeve of your short sleeve cotton t-shirt. And then you heard a low hum—so low you thought you imagined it. 

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,” the words sounded far away at first, but as you came to you realized they were just beside you. “But you don’t really care for music, do ya?” With your eyes still closed, you felt peace fall over you as the voice calmed you. “It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor falls, the major lifts. The baffled king composing Hallelujah.” 

As the chorus began, you blinked your eyes. As you squinted against the darkness of the room, you saw Dean’s green gaze staring back at you. “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah…” his whispered singing trailed off as he reached his hand up to brush a dampened strand of hair off of your forehead. 

When he looked back so his eyes found yours once more, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Dean?” You asked as you blinked the sleep away and focused in on the way his eyes examined your features. It was then that you realized he had positioned his body just next to yours, his face only a few inches away. 

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You had a bad dream.”

A pause of silence fell between you before you realized something. “I thought you said you don’t sing for an audience?” You eyed him conspicuously, which elicited a breathy chuckle from him. 

“Yeah, well, you were thrashin’ and weren’t waking up when I tried talking, so…” his voice trailed again. 

Your eyes darted between his once more. In the glow from the light of the hallway you noticed the way lines crinkled at the corners, and how tiny freckles you had never noticed before dotted around his nose and his cheekbones. It was almost as if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

“Thank you,” was all you knew to breathe. Your eyes fell closed and a gentle hum rumbled from your throat as you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers swipe at your hairline once more. 

Just as you opened them, he made eye contact with you once more–as if asking if this was alright. Your head managed the smallest nod before your eyes closed once more and felt Dean’s lips on yours, soft but purposeful. As he pulled away, all you could manage to say was, “Hallelujah…”, causing the green-eyed man to snort in laughter.

[spankingwishes2]

The Slippering of My Life

@badgnome929

Last night I got the first spanking of my adult life - in fact, the first since I can remember.  And true to her word, my girlfriend Zoe made it a good one!  As she promised, she had me in tears and didn’t stop there!  I think it’s fair to say it was ‘the slippering of my life’!

Nearly twenty-four hours later I was still sore - and she quite happily suggested we do it again!  My first reaction was ‘No way!’ but, fortunately, ‘Are you crazy?’ came out as, “Well…”

You see, I’d waited a long time (at least it seemed like) to find someone who would spank me.  Now that I had someone, I definitely didn’t want to discourage her - and I (nearly as strongly) didn’t want another already.  If I said ‘no’, would it be a month, a year?

“Wow,” I said at last, “Glad you enjoyed it.  How about tomorrow night?” I suggested this with a shiver, but it was an excited shiver.  I wasn’t sure I’d be ready - that is, I didn’t know if my butt would be - but it was thrilling to think that I’d be spanked again.

“Okay,” she agreed easily, “but you have to be good until then.”

“Define ‘good’,” I questioned.

“You have to obey me, keep me happy, and do everything I say,” she supplied in the simplest terms.

“Or?”

“Or you get your spanking now.”

This was a kind of sexy suggestion - though not something I’d want as a long-term arrangement.  “Just this once, right?”

“We’ll see,” is all she’d say.  “And these things I’ll have you do, they won’t all be sexy.”

That was disappointing.  Everything she’d had me do last night - or done to me - was definitely ‘sexy’.

“Okay, agreed.”

“Oh”, she retorted, “this isn’t an agreement - it’s information.”  I could tell she was sorta-kidding - and again, I knew we wouldn’t be doing this long-term.  “Now, I suggest that you check the bathroom, the kitchen, and the carpets - before I do.”

I did that - they didn’t need much, we keep up with things around here - folded a few last pieces of laundry, put some stuff in the hamper.

Other stuff was better - make her a dessert - in the oven - with whipped cream topping - that got a little sexy - while I was only half-dressed.  Re-watch a movie of her choosing without looking at my phone or anything (at least it wasn’t one I hated) - and I painted her toenails during it, though not to her satisfaction.

“That’s going on your spanking,” she claimed, which, again, was thrilling and worrisome to hear.

Coffee in the morning and a further warning for not knowing how to make it (I brought her sweetener and creamer rather than putting in the right stuff myself).  “This is all adding up!  Your poor bottom!  Or should I say, your poor, poor, poor bottom!”  This was soon followed by my ‘one warning’ for cheerfulness!

The fact was, I was pretty cheerful - this is what I’d wanted, the spanking part anyway, and some bossiness on her part, and I knew that we’d either set up some ground rules or play it by ear.

After work it was largely similar - she had me run an errand on the way home, then get her wine, rub her feet and ‘put her in a good mood’ with my tongue.

“Your bottom will definitely thank you,” she told me.  “As do I.  Me and your poor, poor bottom!”

When I cleaned up after dinner I had to strip because ‘you’ll be getting spanked on the bare’, she said.  Despite her dire threats, I was pretty aroused, while she seemed disturbingly ‘enthusiastic’ (she had just had a climax).

“Despite all your lovely pampering, I’m still in the mood to spank you,” she informed me as she sat waiting for me to bend over her lap.  Last night when I suggested it, I really had nothing to spank you for - but you’ve managed to add a few.  Little ones…”

“Oh good,” I said.

“But then there’s all this arousal!  Ow!” she added as she slapped the slipper against her palm - hard.  “It’s very naughty.”

“It is?” I asked hopelessly.

“Don’t you think so?  Well, it is!” she insisted, while using the toe of the slipper to stroke me in (I admit) about the naughtiest way possible.  “I really must spank you for all this naughtiness!”

What could I do?  To say no would end my dream of having a spanking girlfriend…

Once over her lap, I jumped reflexively in response to a couple of light smacks.

“Oh, come on,” she said.  “I know you’re not still sore…” and she gave me a very hard smack on each cheek.

“Whew - ow…” I breathed.

“That’s better.  Maybe a little sore, no surprise.” 

And with that we were off.

After completely roasting my backside, she remarked, “Even more tears than last time - maybe you really were sore.

“Now, just be good until bedtime, unless you want another one.” (I didn’t)  ‘Until bedtime’ turned out to be not very long at all (about as soon as I calmed down and was allowed out of the corner) because she was so anxious to ‘reward’ me for ‘being so good’ - including being so good at ‘pampering’.  She was quite very good at pampering, herself.

“Now that you know what they’re like, I’ll let you decide when you get your next one,” she told me and we drifted toward sleep.  “I’m ready anytime.”

Decisions, decisions…

[nerves-nebula]

Sorry to give u a weird Christmas confession but I was thinking about ur art and that got me thinking about my life. And this tends to be where I direct that stuff because your perspective and insight is cool, and also solidarity in this community or something.

I always feel super shitty about the way I treated my younger siblings growing up, because while I wasn’t actively malicious, I remember being a dick needlessly a lot in what was typically misplaced aggression I couldn’t direct at anyone else, or projecting when I saw them doing anything I’d been screamed at or punished for.

But also my mom was super neglectful, so I was taking care of them in a lot of ways I never really thought counted as me taking care of them until more recently. I tend not to remember stuff, so most of what sticks out in my mind has a reason for sticking out.

I wouldn’t remember having had to wake my siblings up for school if I hadn’t written it down offhandedly in the notes of some fic writing I did years back. I wouldn’t remember having made dinner basically everyday if I didn’t feel like a lazy asshole over having been depressed and either putting off making food until way to late, or just throwing a pizza in the oven and telling my brother when to take it out.

Point is, sometimes you mention your sister, and you mention your brother, and I’m so upset that I remember being closer to your brother, because I didn’t protect my siblings from shit.

But lately I’ve been wondering if I might have and I don’t know how to feel about it. I feel like I’m rationalizing to make myself feel better but it doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel like I wouldn’t have to reach for stuff I’d done right if I’d actually been good.

I remember little things, like my brother breaking a plate, and me realizing my impulse to yell at him or belittle him over it was stupid, because what would he learn from that? It was an accident. But my parents would have blown up at me in that scenario. It was confusing so I just made sure he didn’t get glass in cuts and while I cleaned up and hid the broken plate at the bottom of the bin, I kept rolling around whether that was unfair or not. I only remember that because it was the first time I’d ever asked myself on a logical, non emotional level, whether my parents were actually being unfair.

My remembering that had nothing to do with helping keep my brother out of trouble, so I have to wonder if there’s more stuff like that that my brain’s just nuked. If there were any significant or consistent moments that I might never remember that could reconstruct my entire self image of what an emotionally repressed mess I was as a child.

I don’t know I guess that idea just stresses me out, and I realize I wouldn’t be happy in either scenario, whether that was or wasn’t happening.

mildly funny to hear my singular blog referred to as a community. not really sure what you mean by that, i'm not a part of many communities as far as i know.

nowwww i don't know your exact situation but i wouldn't worry about it. definitely sounds closer to one of my sisters than my brother.

like, i really can't overstate how bad my brother is. my older brother is a truly malignant force. kinda guy who starts shit for no reason and preys on people just to feel strong. he would not do any of the things you've written about here unless forced to. the best you can expect from him is apathy, or wanting to show you some weird fascist show he likes. he will otherwise go out of his way to harass and annoy and threaten people. he was constantly trying to start fights for seemingly no reason, and i mean physical fights, like he was compulsively violent or something.

i used to have sympathy for him but he's nearly 30 now and that's long dried up on my end. he's an asshole cuz it's what he chooses to be, not cuz anyone was mean to him or cuz he has bad impulses. he's a fascist loser who doesn't even want to try to be kind and that's about it.

anyway point is: what i hate about my brother isn't that he failed me or something. from your writing here it seems highly unlikely that you're anything like him, but that's something i can't solve for you either way. I haven't spoken much about my oldest sister in detail but they were cruel to me in ways that have shaped the majority of my neurosis. and i still don't hate them, because people who try aren't worth hating. you seem like you could be more like them

maybe not personality-wise though. i can't imagine them sending an ask like this to a random stranger haha. but i don't really know them very well anymore, so, who can sayyy. they've got mad memory issues too tho so there's that.

[killercooksblog]

KillerCook Baking Challenge

Howdy - In celebration of starting this blog, I present a challenge! If you've read the book, you'll know the first chapter was about BROWNIES! AKA the best dessert ever, probably. I'll post it below so if you have no idea what I'm talking about you can catch up and participate!

I love a good brownie, and I think everyone has their own unique way of baking goods that makes the recipe special in its own way! Yes, even box mix, cause I know not everyone is following those instructions all the time. If you're a raw batter eater, you're amongst safe company!

The challenge: I want you to make a pan of brownies with you're own secret ingredient that makes it *chef's kiss.* To participate, you gotta submit a pic of your brownie platter to my submissions or ask box by 3:00 PM EST Saturday, June 8th. Additionally, you need to submit a summary of the flavor and texture of your recipe, without saying the name of your secret ingredient.

For example: in my double mint chocolate brownies chapter, I would summarize it as - a dulcet double layer of cacao richness that's not too cakey and not too moist, that will leave you with a fresh and happy ending.

Or something like that. Get creative! I wanna rate your brownies! I'll be playing along too and for the sake of it, I won't be doing mint chips so I can leave y'all guessing too ;)

With the camera set in place, Killer dusted his apron and straightened his helmet one last time before pressing the ‘Go Live’ button, muttering a quick, "It's show time," under his breath.

“Hello, Killer here,” raising a hand in the air, the quarter sleeve of his dress shirt rolled neatly on his forearm. “Time for another day of relaxing vibes and delicious desserts. Today, I’m making Double Chocolate Mint Brownies. I love a goody, gooey brownie, especially when there’s mini chocolate chips and ganache involved.”

As he spoke the well-rehearsed introduction, Killer wandered around the kitchen pulling out mixing tools and fixing himself a glass of bubble milk tea, congregating on the island countertop. Oven already preheated, eggs and butter on standby and at room temperature. Slurping up a tapioca ball, he paused for a minute while he chewed.

“Mm, ‘scuse me, didn’t expect that one to come up all the way. Tasty. Moving on, you know my number one motto: A clean and sterile working environment is best when dealing with things you intend to eat. And please, enough with the Jason Vorhees jokes, my mask looks nothing like his. I’m trying to make a name for myself as an independent serial killer……of hunger and all your hearts,” he brought his hands together to make a heart shape for the audience.

The ping of a microtransaction being made caught Killer’s attention, leaning close to his phone. Someone had bought and redeemed a highlighted message, and it was one of those moments he wished he hadn’t added that incentive, now being forced to read and answer it live.

“MurderinoSquadAssemble has this to say – ‘a serial killer of hunger and OUR hearts? Seems sus but ok. #redflagbehavior.’ Calm down armchair detective. For the record, I haven’t been caught yet and it won’t be to the likes of you.”

Biting down a chuckle, Killer stepped back to put on plastic gloves, a baking hat, and his favorite apron. It was a faded blue color but what really made it endearing for him, was the print.

That’s Hot

It had a small whisk and measuring spoons sprawled on the bottom, and the capital T had a baker’s hat falling off it. Underneath the text, a stovetop on fire. A gift from Kid on his 25th birthday.

Smiling privately, Killer turned to give the audience his side profile as he tied the apron strings. His dress shirt clung to his muscled arms, threatening to burst if he flexed too hard. His ass looked firm and thick in the dark chino relaxed pants he wore.

Prepping the baking tray, Killer explained the ingredients he was using and his choices for alternatives. He preferred to use ethically sourced chocolate and tapioca flour instead of all-purpose flour. He used vegan butter but liked to brown it first to caramelize a bit before combining it to the batter.

“This flour is what I used to make the tapioca pearls for my milk tea in my 14th video. It’s still up if you want to check it out and give it some love,” he poured the batter into the pans.

Turning around completely, he walked to the oven to place the pan on the middle rack. Killer didn’t need to bend down as much as he did to place the pan inside. He also didn’t need to jut his hips backwards a little to make his butt look bigger on camera, but it was nice hearing the pings echoing in the kitchen as he was gifted with tips and praise. Not that he’d admit that to anyone of course.

Killer turned the volume of his Bluetooth speaker louder, enjoying the lofi channel playlist he chose for the day’s stream. It was hard to find good music these days, not with a DMCA lawsuit one flagged video away.

“You can find where I use the same ingredients for the pre-made mint filling layer in my 20th video, when I made my homemade No-reos.”

Underneath the kitchen island countertop was a small red button that Killer pushed. That was the alarm indicator Kid had installed to notify the redhead that it was time for him stop what he was doing, get dressed, and join the video for the taste test.

Hoping beyond hope that Kid would be wearing the clothes Killer laid out for him, the masked man entertained the audience. Acknowledging the redeemed gifts, answering comments and questions and taking a much needed bathroom break. Letting the ads run a bit longer to milk the revenue, Killer stood at the doorway waiting for Kid to make an appearance. Asshole was running late, unbelievable. HE WANTED to be in the live streams, Killer didn’t ask him to be a part of it.

Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the camera, preparing to be KillerCook once more. The oven had three minutes left on the timer and the smell of chocolate wafted. The stream continuing, he began whisking the ganache to pour over the brownies.

Killer heard Kid walking through the hallway as he whisked. Bursting through the door, shirtless, his golden piercings that littered his nipples, nose bridge and ears shined from the open kitchen windows that showed a beautiful sunny day outside.

Timer going off, Killer fumbled to the back while hissing out, “Put a fucking shirt on! Why do you do this every time?!”

“C’mon Kill, they’re not gonna ban you for male nipples, be real.”

“Not risking it, we’re already on thin ice for using copyright music after 2 warnings. Remember? That’s how you lost Your Job as the video editor. Put on a shirt or I pull the plug.”

Angrily swearing, Kid walked back through the door to find a shirt.

“The last step is pouring the ganache over the mint layer and spreading it evenly for a smooth coating. Then you’ll want to store it in the fridge to let the top layer set. This will take up to an hour or you can keep it in longer until you’re ready to eat.”

Cutting into the pan to prepare a square for Kid, the masked baker placed both the pan and the taste test piece in the fridge. Killer once again entertained the audience for the 5 minutes it took for Kid to come back, in a ruffled black vest that was unbuttoned. Killer pulled out a chair for him and went to retrieve the taste test square, placing it on the table in front of Kid.

Coming into view of the camera with an annoyed pout on his face, Kid shot a sneer at Killer before tightening his jaw and looking directly into the lens.

“Alright, now the reason you’re all really here. To watch me eat shit you can’t have and look hot doing it.”

Standing straight, he stuck out his right arm and flexed, slowly moving it down with deliberate motions that further focused on his bulging muscles instead of the baked good. Bringing it to his face, Kid licked his maroon painted lips before taking a bite with a grin. Letting out an approving grunt.

“How’s it taste?”

“Tastes damn good, brother,” Kid responded, biting into the brownie again.

“Can you uh elaborate some more for the audience?”

“It’s chocolate, tastes like chocolate,” he grunted out in between bites.

Sighing deeply, “Does the texture feel balanced? Is it too dry? Can you even taste the mint I added with the chocolate chips?”

Licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of hand, Kid shrugged. “Tastes perfect. Like any good brownie should be, it’s moist,” devilish smirk on his face and he faced the camera.

Feeling Killer’s serious as fuck glare through the mask, “Yeah yeah you can taste the mint. It doesn’t overwhelm the chocolate but it wasn’t overstated either. Like a little nudge wanting acknowledgment.”

“And there you have it, moist and acknowledged. Tune in next time when I make one of my favorite dishes, Spaghetti aglio e olio. It’s simple to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

End Livestream.

Killer lifted his baker’s hat, helmet and took his hairnet off, pulling his hair from the tight wound rubber elastic he’d put it in.

“One of these days you’re going to get me banned, dickwad. Think about that the next time you want to fuck around. All those comments of praise and validation gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Because you can’t stop being a dumb whore for 5 minutes.”

“I’m a whore?! Oh stuff a brownie in yer mouth and calm down. You’re not you when you’re hangry,” Kid snickered, ducking out of the kitchen to avoid the stainless-steel bowls flung at him.

Bonus: The comment section

ICantEven101: Killer-san, why won’t my sauce stick to my noodles? KillerCook: You may be using too much oil or butter. A good trick is to add in pasta water to thicken the sauce. Corn starch is a good binder as well.

VanillyExtract: PunkNeverDied69 can I take you on a date? 🥺 PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes.

GimmeDa’Za: Day 15 of asking for a Heat cameo and dutch oven pizzas. FlamingHot420: Why are you people obsessed with me? I walked into the kitchen ONE TIME.

[giddlygoat]

an interesting thing about being alive that no one really prepared me for was just how easy it is to be physically changed by my surroundings.

like, being raised on a farm i didn’t think much of my farmer’s tan. it just happened to me, gradually and over time, and then i realized one day “huh, my arms are orange and my torso is white.” and there’s nothing to be done about that but let it fade over the years.

i first got my ears pierced when i was a young teen, but the holes would grow over very quickly and when i forgot to wear studs i would have to unofficially re-pierce my ears. for years i did this and it wouldn’t be agitated more than a few minutes, but recently i did and my ear got very agitated so i had to give up on earrings in my right ear all together. now i have somewhat of a knot of scarred tissue in that area that won’t ever go away and didn’t really occur to me until now.

i have matching scars on both my wrists from pulling the same skillet out of two separate ovens in two separate states, years apart. i have scars on my face from picking at acne. the feeling in my right third finger is a bit messed up from when i accidentally stabbed myself with a paint scraper while renovating a kitchen, and i doubt it will ever go back to normal at this point.

i spend a lot of time obsessing over my hygiene and feeling clean and comfortable, because the thought of my body somehow feeling ‘impure’ icks me out. and that’s probably not the best word to describe it, because i’m perfectly happy with my body, but it’s hit me lately that a ‘pure’ body just doesn’t exist.

i remember when i was very small and my feet were as soft as my hands. now neither are particularly soft on a good day, even though i constantly moisturize. it’s kind of a given, but these things seem to happen right under my nose, and next thing i know i’m witnessing my evolution.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Loving you means loving myself - Chapter 1

AN: Here is my first offering for Hot Bucky Summer, organised by @buckybarnesevents. I will be completing the first three weekly prompts with a little three chapter story.

For the Week One prompt “What should I wear?”, I have chosen Lingerie.

Thank you to @cableknitsweater for cheer-reading and @linnahiell for beta-ing

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Summary: After a tough week, Bucky prepares for Friday night with his partner, Steve.

Relationship: Beefy Bucky x Small Steve

Word Count: 1.8k

CW: Indulgent fluff, implied sexual content, domestic Bucky, Bucky accepting himself, small amount of feminisation, small amount of dirty talk, light D/S tones, everything is soft and nothing hurts

It had been a stressful day; a stressful week, even and Bucky had barely seen Steve in between the pull of both their jobs. He knew that his partner would be feeling the same frustration, but now it was Friday night. Their night. A night for reconnection, as well as for decadent pleasure. 

Just the thought of it made Bucky shiver with anticipation. He wondered what Steve would have in store for him? Would Steve tie him up? Use him like a toy to slake his own lusts? Or would he treat Bucky sweetly, wringing orgasm after orgasm from him, before finally succumbing to the pleasure himself? Both sounded like equally good options to Bucky. 

Although neither had had to go away on business this week, they’d both been so busy that apart from some cuddles, a few make-out sessions and one quickie in the shower mid-week, they hadn’t had much time, or energy, for sexual intimacy. Yes, sex wasn’t the be all and end all of a relationship, but it was an important part of theirs.

Which meant it had been a full working week since they’d been able to fully indulge. Five days of subsisting on teasing touches and heated looks. One hundred and twenty hours filled with decadent thoughts of how Steve would go about taking him apart and putting him back together again, being remade himself in the process. However, before it was time for the main event, Bucky had some preparations to make. 

He was home first today, so as well as getting himself ready, it was his turn to organise dinner and sort out the bedroom. Bucky turned the oven on to heat, and then went to tackle the bedroom. He stripped the bed and carefully remade it, with Steve’s favourite set. Crisp white sheets and a coverlet with accents of red and blue on it. He folded the coverlet down to the base of the mattress and got out their ‘play’ blanket - a fluid proof, soft, lilac mat, which covered the entire bed, and made for an easier clean-up at the end of their night. No-one wanted to come out of a post-coital haze just to change the bedsheets again.

He smoothed the blanket out over the bed, tweaking the corners to ensure it lay perfectly flat - he didn’t want any annoying folds or creases under him later. Next he set out the candles along the flat surfaces, and dug out the lighter - he would light them later at a more sensible moment, but having it all ready, gave him a sense of calm.

Next it was back to the kitchen. He’d decided to make lasagne, because then he could get ready while it was in the oven, and it would be the work of a matter of minutes to prepare the salad to go with it and toast the ciabatta. Bucky hummed to himself as browned off the onions, garlic and ground beef, and whipped up a white sauce. He added tomatoes and seasoning to the beef, and at the last moment decided to add some chopped mushrooms. Steve liked mushrooms.

He layered it all up, adding a hearty sprinkling of cheese over the top, and then popped it in the oven. He now had about 40 minutes to get himself ready. First stop, a shower. 

He stripped out of his workwear, and it felt cathartic, as though he was taking off the old Bucky before making himself anew. He carried them through to the bathroom, placing them in the laundry hamper before turning on the shower.

Oh, how he loved this shower. It had definitely been  worth the money he and Steve had spent on it when they’d renovated the bathroom. He stepped in, letting the water flow over his body for a few moments, basking as the heat suffused his entire being, but he couldn’t linger for too long - he had a timetable to keep. He reached for his shampoo, inhaling the scent of jasmine from the bottle before he lathered up his hair and piled it on top of his head.

Next it was hair removal, but luckily he’d had a wax a few days ago, so really, all he had to do was look for strays and exfoliate. He rinsed the shampoo from his hair and applied conditioner, finger combing his hair to make sure all of the ends were coated. His light curls were prone to split ends if he didn’t treat his hair right.  The next course of action was the ‘all over’ scrub and clean, while trying to ignore his cock, that was starting to wake up between his legs. His brain only had to start thinking of how Steve might touch him, and the bloody thing would perk up with interest. He willed it to behave, but that was difficult when he started to clean up between his ass cheeks, and by the time he stepped out of the shower he had a raging hard-on.

With a sigh, and a promise to himself to pay a certain part of his body no more mind for at least the next ten minutes, Bucky briskly towelled himself dry and sat down at the dressing table so he could apply his favourite lavender body lotion, smoothing and softening his skin, as well as lightly scenting him. He’d worked hard for this body and was determined to treat it well. 

He swept his hands up and down his legs, over his defined calves and his muscular thighs. Steve loved his thighs, loved how they got wrapped around him, and how beautifully they marked when the mood took them both. Next he added a thin layer of moisturiser to his ass - obviously Steve loved that - coated his arms and then worked up his abdomen and chest, or tits, as Steve called them.

Look at these perfect tits, baby. Could spend hours worshipping them, playing with them. One day I’m gonna see if you can cum, just from me touching them, sucking on them. I think you could…

Shaking off the thought, Bucky wiped his hands on the towel and opened the drawer to get out his hair dryer, hair protection spray and round brush. Sectioning off his hair, he turned the dryer on low and began the process of drying his shoulder length. chestnut locks, using the brush to create loose waves so that his hair tumbled artfully around his face.

When he’d been younger, people had mocked him for his long hair, calling him a girl. He hadn’t cared. He loved his hair, loved how pretty and delicate having it like this made him feel, despite his height and build. Then, when he’d met Steve, the older man had been unashamed in stating how much he liked it. He loved to tangle his hands in it when he kissed Bucky, loved to put it in a ponytail and use it to control Bucky when having his cock sucked, and he loved to brush it out, with Bucky sitting between his knees, as a sign of his love and adoration for his younger lover.

Hair finished, and with a frivolous swish and smile in the mirror, Bucky added a dab of concealer, a quick dusting of foundation and a slick of eye-liner. Nothing too much, but enough to give him a little confidence boost. There was nothing wrong in wanting to feel his best. Now to get dressed.

From the back of the closet Bucky pulled out a bag. Work might have been a nightmare this week, but his lunch hours belonged to him, and he’d been able to indulge in some retail therapy with tonight in mind.

First out of the bag was the piece de la resistance of his shopping trip - his new lingerie. Having unfolded the tissue paper the store clerk had lovingly wrapped it in, Bucky trailed his fingers over the lilac lace. 

Due to the rest of his outfit, he’d decided not to purchase the matching garter belt, but, depending on how Steve liked this set, he might be tempted to go back to the store and get it. For now, however, he carefully slipped on the matching panties and bralette. He did it slowly, reverently, wanting to enjoy the sensation of the garments sliding over his skin, the juxtaposition of such delicate fabric encasing a body like his.

His cock, which had settled down as he’d done his hair and make-up, started to perk up again, but this time Bucky allowed himself to enjoy the sensations as the lace caressed his skin. He imagined how Steve’s hands would roam over it, making him feel small and fragile. Bucky’s eyes closed as the images took over his mind, only breaking out of his self-imposed erotic spell when he let out a little whimper.

With a shake of his head, he pulled the rest of his outfit out of the bag. Dark lavender silk pooled over the dressing table; a pair of wide legged, lounging trousers and a sleeveless top with a v-neck. As with his underwear, Bucky allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the feel of the indulgent material as it slipped between his fingers, before sliding it over his body.

In some respects this was his favourite part of his and Steve’s date evenings - the build up, the anticipation. This time, where it was just him, where he could indulge himself, mind, body and soul and be the Bucky he was inside, and not the carefully created facade society expected him to be based on his outward appearance.

Ding!

Bucky’s phone alarm went off, signalling that the lasagne was now cooked. He smiled to himself, a little self-congratulation at his timing skills, as he got up and padded back through to the kitchen. 

With an apron covering his precious outfit, Bucky turned off the oven, - dinner would keep beautifully warm for the next 10-15 minutes in there - opened and decanted a bottle of Steve’s favourite Chateau Neuf, and got out the vegetables to put together a little garden salad for the side. Everything was ready. Now all he had to do was wait.

Unfortunately this was not his forte.

Removing and hanging his apron back up, Bucky checked his phone, pulling up the ‘Find my phone app’ so he could see how close to home Steve was. As the little green dot pulsed on the screen, Bucky felt an echoing pulse of excitement in his blood. 

Steve was only a block away. 

With a lack of grace he was glad that Steve couldn’t see, Bucky ducked back into the bedroom and put his phone away - he wouldn’t need it for the rest of the evening and wanted nothing that would distract him from Steve, if that were at all possible. Then he returned to the main room and knelt down on the soft rug, about 10ft from the door. He rested his weight back on his heels, placed his hands on his thighs, lifted his head and waited.

Chapter 2

Tag list: @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @talia-rumlow @peaches1958 @pono-pura-vida @writing-for-marvel

[trivialbob]

When drinking a fancy beer, I like a fancy glass.

The other night I did a Target run. With fewer than three new filters next to the furnace, I was a bit uneasy. If the zombie apocalypse arrives I still expect clean air.

On my way home I stopped at the liquor store by my house. Signs taped to each cooler door apologized for a broken refrigeration system.

No prob, as the kids say. I was still in prepper mode. This beer wasn’t for immediate consumption, so it didn’t matter if it was as warm as a slice of toast.

For me there was a four-pack of a fancy, bourbon barrel aged IPA. For Sheila I selected a traditional American light beer in clear bottles with twist-off caps.

My beer is sold unrefrigerated anyway. It has to be cooled at home. Sheila’s beer is supposed to be sold cold, probably so you can have one in the car on the way home. Right?

The store manager gave me 10% off of Sheila’s beer because it wasn’t cold. A discount! That made me want some warm, light beer for myself, but I stuck with my first choice.

Last night we stayed in and made a frozen pizza while enjoying some of that now-cooled beer. A good steak should sit for several minutes before serving, while it cooks a little more away from heat. Don’t rush things. The same idea applies to frozen pizza, though instead of cooking a little more, it needs to cool. I think of  all the times I burned the roof of my mouth, too impatient to wait for the pizza sauce to be a reasonable temperature. Not fun.

We had Home Run Inn pizza, my favorite frozen brand. It sat for ten minutes after coming out of the oven. It was perfect.

[ramenaddicted]

Nice and warm

synopsis: I cook soup for my man and reminisce about how we met, also recipe included.

an: So this little ditty is part of the @love-and-lore autumn self-ship collab, so if you are not into that feel free to skip this one.

The stage is set. My boyfriend won't know what hit him. I chuckle to myself as I continue to dice my yellow onions. The strong scent of onions stings my eyes and they start to water slightly. It’s September; that means soup season, and I aim to introduce different soups to my boyfriend through the fall and winter. My boyfriend is so picky. He only likes to eat foods that are easy to cook and easy to eat like chicken tenders and mac & cheese. There’s nothing wrong with those foods. I love a good bowl of mac & cheese every once in a while. However, I also like to get my daily intake of veggies so to increase his intake of veggies, I’m going full throttle.

As I finish chopping my onions, that’s when I start peeling and mincing my garlic. The delicious yet pungent aroma of garlic is a promise of the delicious soup that is to come. My kitchen is on the smaller side with its light green walls and the awkward color countertops. I have zero space so I have to mince all this garlic by hand. 

I turn my attention to a bowl of potatoes sitting in water, soaking and cleaning, the last of the prep for the heavy load of soup. With all of my fresh veggies neatly prepped and put into bowls, I start on the potatoes. Taking my peeler, I swiftly peel each of my potatoes and then cut them in halves. To make sure I don’t get early-onset arthritis, I bought a little gadget to help me easily dice my potatoes. I transfer them into a large bowl with cold fresh water to keep them all nice and white. 

I take a step back and marvel over my work. Wow! All of my items have been perfectly prepped, but now here comes the fun part: cooking! I decide to take out my beautiful butternut squash-colored Dutch oven and turn the fire up high on the stove.  As I feel a tiny bit of heat radiating from the pot itself, I layer the bottom half of the pot with bacon slices.

The bacon does its job and slowly cooks. I decided to take time out and measure my wet ingredients: 4 cups of chicken stock and 2 cups of milk. 

As the bacon slowly cooks, the scent radiates throughout the kitchen. It’s a wonderful smell. Hopefully, my boyfriend likes it. I had decided on a soup that was easy to make and very pleasing with the accouterments such as the bacon in the cheese.

Cooking bacon takes a while, especially when it’s still in its strip form and not chopped up like I should’ve done it. Still, who cares? As I slowly drift off into La La Land, the bottom of the pot with the bacon starts to turn brown. I am reminded why I am doing this. I'm doing this because I love my boyfriend and I want to eat soup; two birds. one stone.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for about two years. Within those two years, I found out so much about him; I know he’s a picky eater, a hard-core gamer, and I know he has a selective group of friends whom I affectionately call the ragamuffins or the little bastards. Anywho, when I first met my boyfriend, Tomura Shigaraki, I was a bit put off by him just because he didn’t traditionally approach me.  I was just minding my business when I heard a cheery feminine voice call out to me.

“Hey! You’re Yasmin, right?” A cheery voice called.

I turned around to see who was calling me. It was a short blonde girl wearing a dark hoodie and sneakers. I could feel an invisible pair of eyes staring at my dark skin from the shadows. A small chill ran down my back.

“Yes, who’s asking?” I balked at her question.

“So my friend over there likes you and would like to get to know you,” she stated while turning behind to point at a shadowy figure trying to conceal himself by a nearby tree.

The figure in question was a tall lanky man dressed in a dark hoodie and dark sweatpants. Blazing ruby red eyes with deep bags under his eyes, chapped lips, and the aura of an enraged Discord mod*.

“Why does he look like that?” I inquired while physically taking a step back. The man wasn’t even in my personal space and I felt like I was gonna get stabbed.

“He’s just shy,” she tried to assure me.

She was not doing a good job, plus with his intense staring, he was also shooting himself in the foot.

“Naw, I’m cool.”

Afterward, I got hounded by other people in his friend's circle. The blond girl introduced herself as Himiko Toga. We hung out more just because she was approachable and not stalking me from the shadows. A week after the informal meeting, I was approached by another man with tall dark spiky hair, turquoise, blue eyes, and a bad attitude: Dabi.

Dabi’s method of persuasion was terrible. He was more annoyed than anything as he tried listing off the non-redeemable qualities of his friend.

“Stop please,” I begged. As I would come to find out, Tomura truly has some odd friends. Dabi didn’t do a good job of painting Tomura in a good light. The heavily tattooed stranger emphasized the other was a hardcore gamer with mommy issues.

With friends like these, who needs enemies? I collected myself and turned away from Dabi.

“Listen here, if your friend wants to talk to me we can sit down at the campus coffee house and talk.” Dabi could feel my frustration as I spoke.

I turned on my heels and went in the opposite direction of the campus coffeehouse. “Otherwise I’m going to the campus police and reporting him for stalking!”

The scent of freshly ground espresso was a welcomed scent inside the coffee house. The campus coffee house was a nice and quaint place; pastries, coffees, and teas were their game, and serving espresso and other caffeinated delights was their cash cow.

The jingling of the bell alerted the barista to my presence. They greeted me warmly as I made my way to the counter to order. I ordered my usual – a London fog tea latte and a vanilla bean scone. After paying for my goods, I went to find a nice and secluded area for me and hopefully my stalker.

After my items were done, I quickly took them and sat at the very back of the cafe with a window seat. The coffee house doorbell jingled harshly as the perpetrator entered. Lo behold, it was my skrunkly stalker. Tomura was dressed in a gray hoodie and sweatpants. His hair at the time was blue-tinged. His striking red beady eyes stared straight at me. I waved him over, and he ran towards me like his life depended on it.

"So you want to tell me why you have been stalking me from the shadows?" I asked, cutting to the chase while sipping my latte.

The silence was deafening as I sipped on my latte loudly. The poor boy was sweating bullets while trying to concoct an answer.

"Because you smell nice," His answer stunned me as he continued to explain. 

"We have some connecting classes so when I sit behind or near you…I sniff your perfume." He admitted as his cheeks blushed a furious shade of red.

"That is so creepy."

The smell of cooked bacon pulls me from my daydream as I go to collect my bounty of cooked bacon. Swiftly picking the bacon strips out of the Dutch oven with my tongs, I put the bacon on a paper towel-clad plate and then turn the heat to low.

With the bacon secured, I quickly move on to building the soup base. Next, I add two tablespoons of butter, diced onions, and minced garlic. With those ingredients, the kitchen quickly becomes more fragrant and delicious. My onions cook down and are thoroughly translucent, and the garlic is browning in color: not burnt, but beige. 

I measure my liquids: chicken broth and heavy whipping cream. Then once the vegetables look nice and golden brown, I add half a cup of flour.

As much as Tomura’s friends would tease him about our initial courting, I wouldn’t have traded the experience for the world. After our impromptu date at the campus coffee house, Tomura went out of his way to talk to me. He still stalked me from the shadows but that kept the real creeps away from me. So a win is a win…I guess.

With the veg and flour mixture fully turned into liquid goodness via the six cups of chicken stock, I quickly add my chopped potatoes and herb mixture: rosemary, thyme, salt/pepper, and a couple of dashes of Montreal steak seasoning.

Keys jingling and the lock turning makes a smile spread across my face.

“Babe, I’m home,” Tomura calls as he waltzes into our shared apartment.

“I’m in the kitchen!” I yell.

“Smells good in here, what are we having for dinner?”

“Loaded potato soup.”

Slender arms wrap themselves around my waist and I feel slightly chapped lips kiss the side of my cheek. I giggle at the affection my boyfriend dotes on me in private. I tell him to go wash up and that dinner will be ready in a minute. I took the time to crumble up the cooked bacon for garnish. Along with shredded cheddar cheese, chopped green onions, and the crumbled bacon on top of the piping hot soup dinner is complete.

Once back, the table is already set, and the man of the hour is wearing his at-home sweater. Dressed in a white t-shirt with a black sweater with cream lining, it gives off an academic vibe.

“Someone looks fancy,” I tease.

“I can’t help it, it's comfortable,” he playfully pouts while taking his seat across from me.

I hand him his bowl of loaded potato soup. My gremlin doesn’t even set the steaming bowl on the table before he begins chowing down on the cheesy and bacony goodness. I laugh at his antics; the man is acting like this is the first time he'd ever had my cooking.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, acting like a starving kitten.”

He blushes furiously at my taunt and looks away from me before going back to eating his soup, this time less comically.

“I’m glad you like it though,” I beam at the praise. “I thought about you while making it.”

Tomura stops eating for a moment and looks at me. Carnelian eyes glow with amusement as he reaches out for my hand on the table.

“Yaz, I don’t care if you served me those abominations from the 50’s,” I giggle at his words. “I will treasure anything you make.”

He quickly stands the both of us up, and I point to his sweater.

“I didn’t make that, but I bought it for you.”

“Doesn't matter, this was bought with the intention of making me happy.”

“And warm,” I mock him.

“And warm,” he repeats.

[rustyironskillet]

Writing Prompt #2

Darkness, sweet, kind, darkness, cradled me as I floated on a sea of dreams. Waves splashed against my weightless body as soft hum danced through the air and somewhere distant I heard the song of birds. Peace spread over me while I rocked side to side in oblivion. Bird songs grew louder as I floated and gently woke me from my deep slumber.

Light filled the room as I opened my eyes and everything was bathed in a nice golden. Outside my window, I heard the birds that had awakened me from my slumber. The songs were so sweet as I watched them going about their morning routines.

As I turned away from my window, I looked across the room to the other bed, empty. My roommate Antagonist must have gotten up early, as they usually did. The bed was undone and their pajamas were left on the floor haphazardly. I chuckled to myself, they often did this and I would always clean it up for them. This time was no expectation.

I made my bed first and put on an outfit for the day, then folded my pajamas and put them under my pillow. Once I was done with my things, I moved to theirs and did the same. Once I finished, I stretched and glanced at the clock.

“IT’S 12:00 O'CLOCK?”

I left my room and raced down stairs to the dining room, nearly falling down multiple times. When I entered, there was no one to be found, not a teacher or student or anyone. Only when I checked the kitchen did I see another person.

“Oh, you're finally awake,” Antagonist commented as he rummaged through the cupboard, “How did you sleep?”.

“Antagonist, where’s everyone?”

“Surprised field trip”

“Why didn't you wake me?”

“You never sleep in, so I thought… here it is… you were tired,” they grabbed vanilla extract from the cupboard and turned to me, “I decided to stay behind, want to make a cake?”.

“Sure. Thank you for staying without you, I would have been so confused,” I thanked them before beginning to help him get the ingredients.

Once we got all of the ingredients, we started to bake. While mixing the batter, I caught Antagonist trying to eat it multiple times and chided them. In retaliation, they threw flour at me but I made them clean it up while I put the cake in the oven.

“That was fun,” they said, smiling as he sat at the counter and waited for the cake to bake.

“Yup, it was,” I smiled at them while putting the ingredients away.

“Would you like me to make some coffee while we wait?”

“Of course,” I replied, as I joined them at the counter, Antagonist made the best coffee in the world.

He got up to start brewing and I couldn't help but smile. Antagonist was from a rough place and when they first arrived, it showed. they was distrustful of everyone, snarky and rude, and sometimes a bit violent. But they has changed a lot since they first came and while there are still some setbacks, they still is making good progress to be a better person.

“Hey, you good?” Antagonist asked with two cups of coffee in hand, offering me one.

“Sorry, I just spaced out,” I said, accepting the coffee,”I was thinking about you and how you have grown since you first got here”.

“You think so?” they said as they sat down,” Everyone is still really hesitant around me, I don’t think they’ll like me”.

“They don’t have to like you, the world is full of lots people, there's bound to be some who dislike with you,” I paused to take a drink of coffee,” but I know you will find more people who don’t judge a book by it’s cover”.

“...Thank you”

We sat for a bit in a pleasant silence. It was so nice to have some alone time with him without any interruptions or-

A wave of nausea hit me like a semi truck.

Everything started to spin.

“Protagonist, are you okay?” Antagonist asked, but the world was spinning to quickly respond.

I moved away from the counter and tried to make my way to the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?”

I fell to my knees as everything I ate in the last few hours exited my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” came again but this time sounded mocking.

Antagonist yanked me from my hair and pulled me up to their eye level.

“What’s wrong?” they said again looking at me in the eyes without a hint of the kindness and warmth there was a moment before.

“Wha-” I tried before another wave of vomit left me.

“How dumb do you have to be to think there would be a surprise field trip and that they would leave their golden boy with me?!” Antagonist asks harshly.

“You really thought I wouldn’t betray you?” they said barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I managed.

“You believe in me too much,” they threws me across the floor, before putting his foot on top of my chest.

“I don’t care, I want to believe in you because you're my fr-” I tried to get out but Antagonist put pressure on my chest making me wheeze and causing specks of black danced along my vision .

“Because I'm your friend?” they mimicked an innocent child-like voice before sighing dreamily, “oh, you're one of the only kind people left in this world, that's why I decided…”.

They knelt down moving his face inches away from mine.

“I want you to join me”.

“No thank you” I tried but Antagonist just tsked and walked away.

“As if you had a choice in the matter,” they chuckled.

And then a cold kind of darkness swallowed me whole.

[thebloomingofawildflower]

I was in inpatient treatment twice last year.

The clinic was not severe enough to require a hospital wrist band, but secure enough to need a lanyard.

We - myself and nineteen other participants - had each a bed, a mini fridge, a shower and a toilet. There was also a desk in the corner with a lamp and a bedside table, a lockable drawer and a small key to go with it. There were no facilities like a gym or library, but there was a treadmill and a shelf with books. We entered and left with permission of the staff, but if we wanted to head out past the building’s jurisdiction, round the corner to the grassy slope to have a cigarette, we could just give a wave. We were participants, not prisoners.

I met a guy there who was much older than me - a lot of them were - and had a lot to share about his life and experiences. He was go go go, selling his house and buying a car and renting a house and going on the dole and getting off the dole. He didn’t like the clinic we were in, though its sister clinic down the city didn’t have as many DVD’s or two ovens. He’d been to both. He preferred the one we were in, but still hated it. Sometimes,  people can be forced into staying at this clinic without getting a say. Those people are more closely monitored, get their medication via the office, and don’t help out with chores until they’re asked.

This man I met lent me cigarettes, which wasn’t allowed. He drove me down to the shops nearby, which wasn’t allowed. I’d been in the clinic before, gotten the rundown and the rules, but I must’ve forgotten one because I got pulled up my first day by a staff member with red hair. I remembered them from last time; polite but in a structured, learned way. I’d been helping too much with this guy I’d met; I needed to focus on myself and let him focus on himself. I cried and was given a tissue. Apologised and was forgiven. But the scolding set me off, and I decided then and there I didn’t like this staff member, Jules. I decided their name was stupid, that Hunter Shafer wore it best, that I was right and they were wrong and I was never going to talk to them again.

I had group therapy with them the next morning. The guy I met was there, and so were most of the others. Morning group was most important out of all, because it’s where the staff took a head count and listened to maintenance complaints or take requests for the next night’s meal.

Staff would cook our meals, but we had to help prepare, serve and clean. There were twenty mouths to feed, and twenty people to help with the chores. I reckon on any given week, it was the same five of us unloading the dishwashers, cooking the dinners, wiping the benches and taking out the bins. That was all we had to do. A rotation of cleaners did the rest, twice or three times a week.

The clinic was perfect for me because I had to keep myself safe, be up for morning group therapy, pitch in, participate, and be a generally good human being. It was responsibility, but not too much. They provided four groups a day, plus mindfulness activities at night. I could exit an upsetting conversation with the words ‘I’m upset’.

I felt restless sometimes, being there.

I spent my first week being a ball of anxiety, thinking I had seven days to improve my life, my relationships, my personality, my brain. I ended up having fourteen days to do all that, but it didn’t get done.

I was back in the clinic later that same year, the staff and the building and the rooms all the same, but its residents all different. I was different, too, changed every time by the experience of my episodes. They’re never the same, which makes them impossible to fully prevent.

After the second admission, I was referred to an inpatient-leavers program to help me better adjust to everyday life, and to hopefully keep me out of the clinic for a while. I saw a psychiatrist once, who removed two medications from my chart and bid me well. It’s been a month since then. I haven’t been sleeping.

This happens to me a lot. Each time, the psychs have a different opinion on what is wrong with me. One said there’s nothing wrong with me, but instead the alternate personality in my head. Another, that I severely dissociate and experience transient amnesia. Another, that I experience episodic psychosis as a result of complex post traumatic stress. I went to a specialist psychosis clinic for several months, and when they received my full medical history midway through the year, they saw that written somewhere at the bottom of the sheet was ‘Borderline Personality Disorder’, diagnosed by Doctor Vanessa Turnbull, whom currently has a two star rating on her own website.

They told me this is common in with borderlines. I heard ‘We think you’re not sick enough. We think you’re faking’. I told them BPD has nine criteria and while I do fit all nine of them, this isn’t BPD. They reminded me of Doctor Vanessa Turnbull’s conclusion and discharged me from the service.

Having borderline is a haunting. Most people don’t know what it is, and when they do, it’s never an understanding. It’s more of a judgement - they hear ‘personality’ in there and think ‘Oh, so this is a you issue’. It feels like something to be justified, to be countered with:

‘I also have X and Y and Z, there are other reasons I act the way I do, there are factors at play, it’s not me, I swear this is not on purpose.’

It’s like they can see my haunted house.

---

Google tells me I am in a mixed episode. It's an AI, so I don't know whether to believe it. Chloé knows about AI but is sleeping.

Lou knows about mixed episodes.

I call them after I find out they're nearby, and they're here within the hour. Lou has a cigarette on the deck and tells me it's going to storm soon. We chat while drinking coffee. They have a cigarette while I puff on my inhaler. It's windy, which is nice. The breeze offsets the heat, hotter than yesterday, but I won’t be walking in it today.

I’ll need to be up early tomorrow for an appointment in the city, checking in on a health issue that’s cropped up recently. It’s like my cells replenish different every time I get a cut or a scratch, making me an entirely different human over time. It would explain why people think I’ve changed so much, just not in the way they expected.

So now I may have a body issue and not just a brain one, nothing serious but something to be monitored. I have had the blood test and the UT and the SA-CS and am waiting on results. My doctor, the one I see for this specific reason, won’t be happy with my progress since I saw him in August. My levels are out of whack, he will say, I haven’t been following the diet instructions he gave me, and my appointment is too late.

Lou says I should stop stressing, so we pile into their car and head off to get burgers. There’s vegan burger joint near the cinema; I order a pickles and onion and she orders a salad bowl for takeaway. We get tickets for the next showing movie, which is just enough time to eat my pickle-and-onion before it’s my shout for the popcorn. I don’t know if it’s vegan, but don’t really care at this point in time.

The movie, for which I haven’t seen the trailer or any ads, begins in three minutes. We make it in time for previews and are the only ones - aside from a couple down the front - in the theatre.

I guess the plot, but not all the beats, so it’s still an enjoyable watch. Lou laughs and I smack their arm a few times in amusement. The silliness is tempered with seriousness, and a few times I even wonder if some of the words said on screen are too much for Lou, but they don’t ever get upset.

As soon as the first credit rolls we stand in the dark, bellies full of salt and sugar, rubbish already packed up, and leave the theatre.

Lou starts driving and I start mentally crashing, needing a hit of nicotine or dopamine or caffeine. They say we can go through a drive-through to get coffee before their hair appointment. I say it’s fine, but really I mean please.

I ask Lou if it’s the same for them, the doctors and the shrinks and the denial of treatment, and they’re confused, so I say no more. It’s something unexplainable, and I don’t have the right words anyway.

If Chloé was awake I’d use my car sitting time talking to her, but she’ll be asleep for another good half hour, so I try to focus on the time I’m spending with Lou and getting by them to chill out a little. We’re late, but it’s ok. I get it. I wouldn’t want to be told that; it wouldn’t comfort me. I say it to Lou anyway. They take a couple deep breaths and we reach our destination at quarter past.

A short while later, I'm home. My brain is moving too fast for me to even process the minuscule minutes I had to wait. Mother asks if I want to watch TV and I know that's code for let's spend time together, but we walk and talk in the mornings or have coffee or watch movies together most nights, so I'm sure she won't mind that I'm watching telly seperate from her.

- - -

I have the nagging feeling I wasn’t finished.

That I have written and written and the words are lost somewhere in the draft ether.

It doesn’t matter. There’s a little blue button that will publish this, and another to make a seperate post.

This is an important distinction.

Since the focus of this post has been around BPD and treatment, I’ll leave with this:

I don’t know you, reader. I don’t know your age, location, situation, but I know this: you are not a bad person. You are not alone.

[dailyrandomwriter]

Day 411

There’s a content creator by the name of Kaelynn who made a short video on a technique called ‘behaviour momentum’ and at the time I came across it, I didn’t think much of it. It was just a neat trick to get a person going into doing their tasks.

What I didn’t realize, until after I was finished spritzing my bathroom sink, bathtub and toilet one day was that the way I was filling my cleaning bingo card was an example of behaviour momentum.

By accident.

See, even though I talk about me bribing myself to clean my place on a semi regular basis, the way I wrote out my bingo card and designed its use, is already using several tricks I use to get anything done in my life. 

Ever since I was in my last year or two of high school, I’ve always made lists of things I had to do, but I didn’t just make lists. I always made lists of small tiny steps of things that would lead me to what I wanted to get done. In university, I didn’t just write, ‘work on research paper’. I would write out the steps, pick a topic, find information on the topic, write the outline, write the first draft and so forth. 

I actually still do this for work, and on days where I feel particularly overwhelmed I’ll put a number on how many calls for any particular program I have to make. And I do this so I can either cross the task off my list or note down how many calls I actually got done. Because it made me feel like I made progress. I made lists, for the sole reason of being able to cross them off.

So what does this have to do with accidentally using behaviour momentum? Well, on my bingo card, I treat it like a list. So instead of saying ‘clean my bathroom’, I put down the different tasks that are required to clean a bathroom like clean my sink, my toilet, my bathtub, my shower, my floor, etc… And since I knew I had set myself two weeks to get this all done, I’ve been checking over my card and picking 2 to 3 things off of that card to do depending on how much effort it takes. It makes it a lot less overwhelming to me to do the thing if I’m not required to do it all at once.

But while doing those two or three things, I decided… “Hey, I have this thing in hand anyways, let’s go spritz some more things,” or “You know what, I’m washing these dishes and not planning to cook tonight, let’s go and scrub out the toaster oven the best I can and wipe down the counter-top.”

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel bad to clean, instead it’s just a thing I do.

I’m still bribing myself though, because I can always use a good excuse to buy things I want but don’t need.

[blergeatkitty]

I wish I had taken “Before” pictures, because the underneath-the-kitchen-sink was super disgusting.

Imagine an under-sink area that was disgusting to begin with, with cracked white melamine where the idiot previous tenant had overtightened a bunch of screws, and full of nasty gunge and bunches of grease-stained cleaning products and stuff.

When I moved in (ten years ago, woo!) I had just gotten the divorce papers signed and stamped and had moved here while the X stayed in our fancy old place, rent-free, with her midlife crisis downgrade, Neanderthal-boy.

Psychologically speaking, the technical term for my state of mind at the time was “FUCKED”, but the DSM-V clarifies this as “hot mess with a side order of grief, dejection, and treatment-resistant depression. Also an inglorious helping of self-pity”.

Recently, after years of uncoiling the hot mess, two autistic and depression related work meltdowns that had me on disability for a year and a half in total, a number of different treatments that didn’t work, one that nearly drove me to self-harm (eek!) one that FINALLY worked (you wouldn’t think it, but it was a new research project involving an intravenous ketamine protocol and if you send an ask I’ll be happy to oblige with that story), a bunch of self-care work a truly hip and fantastic psychiatrist, and a few supplements, I finally FINALLY found my SPOOOOOOOONS!

Like, energy, folx.

I found my GAS. My Giving A Shit.

It had returned.

I had enough energy to look around and start thinking about improving my environment, in other words.

It started with my daughter’s room about a month or so back.

She turned 18 a little while ago (yeah, poor kid han’t even turned 8 when all this horrible shot first went down) and moved into her own place with a friend so I took the opportunity to turn her mess (no judgment, it was just a regular teenage mess, nothing special, and I was not about to call her out on it because [gestures helplessly to rest of untidy place that I should have been cleaning had I the spoons] of a room into something she would enjoy coming back to visit anytime (and it would make a tidy guest room and bathroom area as well).

But today I found time to do something strictly for Me.

My kitchen.

And it started with wanting to put up some wall decals to brighten the atmosphere a little. But the walls and cupboards had a thin (cough, decade-old, cough) coating of neglectful grease on them that made me stop before I even got started.

So I pushed a pebble down a hill full of snow and yeah, it avalanched. Looney Tunes style.

No. Malcolm in the Middle style!

Https://YouTu.be/AbSehcT19u0

Wiping down a counter made me realize the spice rack had a greasy feel to it.

Cleaning the spice rack made me think of wiping down the backsplash behind it.

Which made me notice the microwave.

Which led me to notice the OVEN. (Ew).

And the oven and microwave lights needed replacing.

From like, ten years ago.

Cleaning a cupboard surface made me realize the side of the fridge was dirty. Cleaning the fridge made me realize the floor needed mopping and the grout was dirty and gross looking.

And from where I sat scrubbing floor tile. I noticed the sink.

Specifically, the underside of the sink.

And I REALLY should have taken a Before picture because no description I can provide will truly give it Justice.

But here’s a 1000-word substitute for what the upgrade looks like, and I’m sooper-proud of myself:

And the rest of the kitchen looks nice too:

And I even went to the hardware store to get new fluorescent lights for the main lighting because it had been too long since a couple had burned out and needed replacing.

And yeah, I didn’t forget the whole reason I started this avalanche of home care.

I even put up one of the new decals. (The onion, not the birds).

[thedisneychef]

Disneyland Famous Cornbread – Disneyland

I shared this recipe during my first video last week and I know I’m a bit late with the written followup, but hey, better late than never, right? I’m sure most people who’re on Pinterest have seen this recipe… It one of the most pinned recipes of 2012 and 2014 and it claims to be the recipe for the best cornbread out there. And what makes this recipe ridiculously unique is that it involves the use of golden butter yellow cake mix.

Now, I’m not sure if this recipe is truly a genuine Disneyland recipe (I can’t find information online confirming it is or isn’t used at Disneyland, I’ve got several recipes from Disneyland that don’t use cake mix), because it’s so popular, so widely shared, and because I had all the ingredients in my pantry, I figured “why not?”

This recipe couldn’t be any easier. Basically, you make the cornbread and the cake mix in separate bowls according to the package directions, combine the batters, then bake. Seriously, that’s it. How easy is that? “Authentic” Disney recipe or not, this cornbread is phenomenal. Mixing it all together made my kitchen smell like a birthday party… So delicious. Then baking it? Yankee Candle needs to come to my house, smell how amazing it smells, then make a candle. This amazing combination of butter and warm cornbread. The cornbread itself… Oh… My… Goodness.  Incredible. Absolutely spectacular. For sure my go-to cornbread recipe from now on. It’s moist, soft, flavorful, and it melts in the mouth like butter. It doesn’t crumble and, unlike a lot of cornbread recipes I’ve used, it doesn’t crumble to bits when you cut it. Thank goodness this recipe makes a ton of cornbread because less than 10 minutes after pulling it out of the oven more than half of the first loaf I made was gone. While researching this recipe, I found a lot of suggestions saying that when picking the cake mix that the mix without pudding in the mix works the best. I ended up getting a mix with the pudding in it because I couldn’t find anything else. Apparently it makes the cornbread too sweet, too cake-like with its flavors. Personally, I didn’t find it to have the taste or texture of cake and I didn’t think it was too sweet at all. That said, for those who may want a more savory version, see if you can find the Jiffy Yellow Cake Mix and use that instead (if using the Jiffy Yellow Cake Mix, use one box of cornbread mix to one box of the yellow cake mix as opposed to two boxes as directed below). This cornbread is incredible. I consider myself a cornbread connoisseur (it’s one of my favorite carbs)… If I see it in a menu, I order it. I make it all the time. And this version of cornbread is hands-down my favorite. I’m already thinking about when I can make it again. For those interested in watching how I make this recipe I did make a video, the first of what I hope are many upcoming webisodes for the website! ~~~~  °o°  ~~~~

Disneyland’s Famous Cornbread

As is supposedly served in Disneyland 2 boxes of Jiffy Cornbread Mix Ingredients listed on the back of the boxes to prepare EACH BOX of cornbread as directed 1 box of Yellow Butter Cake Mix Ingredients listed on the back of the box to prepare cake as directed Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare the Jiffy Cornbread Mix as directed (since two boxes are being used, prepare each as directed, essentially doubling the recipe). Combine ingredients but under mix the batter slightly. Set aside. In a separate bowl, prepare the Yellow Butter Cake Mix as directed, undermixing the batter slightly. Combine the prepared cornbread batter with the prepared cake batter and mix thoroughly while being careful to not overmix. Pour into greased 9×13 pan (or loaf pans, but fill only slightly over halfway… This rises considerably!) and bake for 30-35 minutes or until bread is golden, springs slightly to the touch, and a wooden stake inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool slightly before removing from the pan and cutting. Read the full article