#pressure washing chemicals

[spcleaningcanada]

Why Pressure Washing Chemicals Outperform Traditional Cleaning Solutions

When it comes to maintaining the cleanliness and appeal of surfaces, particularly in outdoor environments, choosing the right cleaning method is essential. Over the years, pressure washing chemicals have emerged as a superior alternative to traditional cleaning solutions. This article explores why pressure washing chemicals are more effective, efficient, and eco-friendly than conventional approaches.

What Are Pressure Washing Chemicals?

Pressure washing chemicals are specially formulated cleaning agents designed to enhance the power of pressure washers. These solutions target dirt, grease, mold, and other stubborn contaminants that accumulate on surfaces such as driveways, patios, building exteriors, and industrial equipment.

Advantages of Pressure Washing Chemicals Over Traditional Cleaning Solutions

1. Superior Cleaning Power

Traditional cleaning often relies on manual scrubbing, which can be time-consuming and less effective against tough stains. Pressure washing chemicals, combined with high-pressure water, can easily penetrate and break down:

Grease and oil stains

Mold and mildew

Rust and mineral deposits

This ensures a deep clean without the physical strain or extended time commitment of manual methods.

2. Saves Time and Effort

Cleaning large areas with traditional tools like brushes, buckets, or basic detergents can take hours. Pressure washing chemicals cut down cleaning time significantly by:

Breaking down contaminants faster.

Allowing the water pressure to lift debris effortlessly.

Eliminating the need for repetitive scrubbing.

3. Prevents Surface Damage

Traditional cleaning often involves abrasive scrubbing that can damage delicate surfaces. Pressure washing chemicals, when used correctly, provide a non-abrasive cleaning method that:

Preserves the integrity of materials such as wood, stone, or siding.

Reduces the risk of scratches or wear over time.

4. Environmentally Friendly Options

Modern pressure washing chemicals are available in biodegradable and eco-friendly formulations. These products:

Minimize environmental impact by breaking down safely after use.

Require less water compared to prolonged scrubbing with traditional methods.

5. Cost-Effective in the Long Run

While traditional cleaning solutions may seem inexpensive upfront, their inefficiency often leads to higher long-term costs in terms of:

Replacement of worn surfaces.

Excessive water usage.

Time and labor expenses.

Pressure washing chemicals, on the other hand, are highly concentrated, requiring smaller quantities to achieve excellent results.

6. Versatile Applications

From residential patios to industrial machinery, pressure washing chemicals are versatile and customizable for specific tasks. They outperform traditional cleaning solutions by addressing:

Graffiti removal.

Stubborn oil spills.

Algae and moss on outdoor surfaces.

Best Practices for Using Pressure Washing Chemicals

To maximize the benefits of pressure washing chemicals, consider the following:

Choose the Right Chemical: Ensure the product matches the surface type and cleaning requirements.

Dilute Appropriately: Follow manufacturer instructions to avoid overuse or residue.

Pair with the Right Equipment: Use compatible pressure washers for optimal results.

Protect Surrounding Areas: Avoid overspray on delicate plants or materials.

Conclusion

Pressure washing chemicals outperform traditional cleaning solutions in nearly every aspect: effectiveness, efficiency, cost savings, and environmental friendliness. By adopting these powerful cleaning agents, homeowners and businesses alike can achieve superior results while saving time and effort.

Make the switch today and discover why pressure washing chemicals are revolutionizing the way we clean!

[crowncleaning]

Explore Our Dynamic Range of Pressure Washing Chemicals

Revolutionize your cleaning routine with our advanced line of pressure washing chemicals, meticulously crafted to tackle dirt, grime, and stains with unparalleled effectiveness. At Crown Cleaning Systems, we understand the importance of a pristine clean, and our curated selection of chemicals is designed to make your pressure-washing tasks a breeze.

At Crown Cleaning Systems, we prioritize quality and innovation. Our pressure washing chemicals are engineered to work seamlessly with various pressure washing equipment, ensuring efficiency and exceptional cleaning performance. Trust in our expertise to provide you with the tools you need to achieve a spotless, rejuvenated environment.

Visit Crown Cleaning Systems to explore our comprehensive lineup and experience the transformative power of our pressure washing chemicals. Elevate your cleaning endeavors with solutions that redefine cleanliness and leave your surfaces looking as good as new.

[its-no-biggie]

demand avoidance is sooooo fucking dumb like. what do you mean now that i know i have to get up fairly early tomorrow i dont want to go to bed early anymore. i was already planning on going to bed early!!!! and now i have more reason to go to bed early!!!!! what do you mean its HARDER now that doesnt make any sense why are you doing this to meeeeeee

[high-5powerwashing]

Reliable Chemical Washing Services In Taylors SC

At High - 5 Power Washing, we turn grime into shine with unmatched expertise. Led by Jim David, we specialize in pressure washing, driveway cleaning, and chemical washing, ensuring every surface sparkles. Discover the Reliable Chemical Washing Services In Taylors SC, and experience the professional touch your property deserves.

[ashevillencpressure]

Website : https://ashevillencpressurewashing.com/

Address : 119 Meadow Pathway Drive, Fletcher, NC 28732

Phone : +1 828-970-1726

Asheville NC Pressure Washing specializes in providing top-notch pressure washing services to meet all your cleaning needs. With a commitment to excellence, we take pride in rejuvenating your surfaces and enhancing the curb appeal of your property in Asheville, NC. Our skilled and experienced team utilizes state-of-the-art equipment and environmentally friendly cleaning solutions to remove dirt, grime, mold, and stains from a wide range of surfaces, including driveways, sidewalks, decks, and exteriors. Whether you’re a homeowner looking to refresh your property’s appearance, a business owner seeking to maintain a professional image, or a property manager aiming to attract tenants, our pressure washing services are tailored to your specific requirements. We prioritize customer satisfaction, ensuring that your surfaces are not only cleaner but also protected against future wear and tear.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

series masterlist

this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don’t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Wound Care

Wound care - involves cleaning a wound, flushing or irrigating it with pressurized water or an antiseptic solution, and applying or changing a dressing.

Immediate Wound Care

Applying direct pressure to control any bleeding

Examining the wound for dirt and foreign objects after any bleeding has stopped

Cleaning the wound by gently flooding it with saline solution if available, with bottled water, or with clean running water

Gently cleansing the area around the wound with soap and clean water

Patting the area dry and covering it with an adhesive bandage or clean dry cloth

Leaving uncovered bites, punctures, and wounds that cannot be properly cleaned to prevent trapping bacteria that could result in infection

Aftercare

Aimed at preventing infection.

Puncture wounds or contaminated wounds may require a tetanus booster shot.

Dressings should never be reused.

Any soiled laundry from wound care procedures should be washed separately from other laundry, possibly with bleach.

Sometimes a wound-drainage culture is used to test for bacteria, fungi, or viruses in open wounds from punctures, cuts, tears, or surgical incisions or abscesses.

Abscesses require making a small incision in the skin to obtain pus or fluid from the wound.

The tip of a sterile cotton swab or a syringe and small needle (needle aspiration) is used to remove the sample for culturing.

Some Terminology

Aerobe—Bacteria that require oxygen to live.

Alginate—Colloidal substances from marine brown algae, especially giant kelp, that are used for wound dressings.

Anaerobe—Bacteria that live only where there is no oxygen.

Antiseptic—Chemicals applied to the skin to destroy bacteria and prevent infection.

Autolytic—Self-digestion; breakdown of tissue by the body’s own enzymes.

Debridement—The removal of cut, dead, or contaminated tissue.

Dehiscence—The opening of sutures from a surgical incision.

Dressing—The covering of a wound.

Exudate—Drainage from a wound; an exudative wound is one that drains fluid and pus.

Hydrocolloid—Dressing material that turns into a gel when combined with watery drainage.

Hydrogel—A water-based dressing material.

Hydrophilic—Dressing material that absorbs water.

Irrigation—Flushing or washing out a wound.

Necrotic—Dead tissue.

Normal flora—The mixture of bacteria normally found at specific body sites.

Normal saline—Physiological saline; a solution of 0.9% sodium chloride, the approximate salt concentrate of blood and tissues.

Tetanus—Lockjaw; a rare but often fatal infection caused by the bacterium Clostridium tetani that lives in soil, dust, and manure.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References More: Writing Realistic Injuries ⚜ On Anatomy ⚜ On Wounds

[marzipanandminutiae]

I hope the statue that he is kissing is a modern replica.

The one time I visited the British museum, some people where taking pictures of them sitting in the lap of an Egyptian statue and they got so mad when asked not to do that.

Oh yeah. I've never witnessed it (I would instantly call a guard over; fuck that), but it definitely happens.

And the people who defend it always talk about how they're "just having fun" or "being free spirits" or "honoring what the artist would have wanted [how the hell do you know that? the artist has been dead for, in some cases, thousands of years]." it's presented as this sensual, Romantic thing that's pushing back against a stuffy, repressive museum culture

and like. no. that's not what you're doing at all

This display in the Ashmolean Museum demonstrates the effects of touching different materials- just touching with bare hands, not even putting pressure on them or applying other substances like lipstick or other makeup that might be on your face when you kiss a statue

I work in museums and even for objects where you don't have to wear gloves, I wash my hands before handling and touch them as little as possible. even in private antique jewelry shops, I warn the sellers that I have chemical sunscreen on before asking to try on pieces. once things are in my "collection" I'm often a bit less careful, but if it doesn't belong to me, I take the utmost precautions. and things in museums don't belong to you

they belong to generations that will come after you. they belong to other members of the public. they belong to the world. that's what museums are for. the rules aren't there to ruin your good time; they're there to make sure other people get to enjoy seeing these things, too we're collectively moving away from barriers in the museum world as much as possible, so people CAN see details of these objects more easily, but that relies on a level of trust between us and the guests

it's not cute or beautiful or sexy or Romantic to touch or kiss statues in museums. it's stealing from everyone else for your personal photo op- it's selfish and entitled in the extreme

[lady-lani-1707]

I think at some point, womankind equated the idea that looks serve as proof of their humanity and moral righteousness. Internalised it, memoralised it, worshipped beauty. Now you could say men also face beauty standards, but women will always be their intended and main customers for every fad and trend. Our bodies are not just bodies but political measures. Countrymen love proclaiming that women in their countries look the best or might be offended if women marry outside of their culture and race. They covet their women like resources. When birthrates fall, the blame is shifted onto women to encourage them to have children. Thinness does not count if you attained it through medicinal means, and women who get plastic surgery are still not seen as valid. This all brings me to my one point.

The reason that beauty is so important is because it's a sign of obedience. Seems a stretch, but when I link it back, it makes perfect sense. This is why other means of fitting the standards like makeup, surgery, and medicines like ozempic are all seen as invalid. It's also why influencers fight so hard to keep the lie that they had no modifications to their appearance through unnatural means. It's not just about the looks. If it was, then society would pressure women into taking all sorts of harmful medicines and surgeries, and women would proudly name every single thing they had done without hiding it. It's about that coveted title of being "natural."

Natural means perfect. It means submission and obedience. Going through the agonising hunger pains to look skinny at all costs, spending time and thousands of dollars funding industries that pump out billions of useless devices and mystical serums that promise to fix skin problems and weight issues. Or toiling hard in the kitchen collecting dozens of so called natural remedies and trying to concoct your own ticket to acceptance from society. As if the goalpost isn't constantly being moved to unachievable means. The point is for you struggle and never make it.

That is the true point of it. To keep women distracted, to keep them weak, to keep them firmly under the heel of men and lost in the never-ending trends. Anytime progress is made like the #me too, #man vs bear, #4B movement it's quickly washed away taking the focus from womens suffering at the hands of men to another celebrity drama or hot new aesthetic trend.

The beauty industry is an obedience measurement, a conformity tool, it's the blinkers blindsiding the mare that keeps us trotting gleefully in tow of what the patriarchy wants.

There is nothing more rebellious, than not playing their game.

Take care of your health and physical capabilities - the less you worry about beauty, the more beautiful you become, in terms of your skills and talent. I'm not saying don't take care of yourself but don't aim for perfection - aim for a healthy and happy body that works for you.

I know it's hard, trust me, I know. Start small, feel comfortable as yourself. Don't let yourself get trapped in the never-ending cycle of trends and aesthetics.

Beauty is not an indication of a good person. Your eyes are for seeing, your nose is for smelling, your mouth is for eating, your hands are for feeling, your ears are for hearing. Your body is a myraid of organs,cells,chemicals, and systems upon systems who aren't working with beauty in mind - but health. Remember that.

You were not born to be beautiful but functional. Resist beauty and advocate for health.

- Lani, your Lady

[eethelestia]

𝔽𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕙𝕪 𝕀𝕟𝕕𝕦𝕝𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖

Synopsis: 𝙰 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎.

➾➾➾➾

18+ 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗��: 𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚢𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕

freakii playlist

𖦹 Tokyo Revengers x Female Reader

𖦹 Hanemiya Kazutora and Sanzu Haruchiyo

Contains: 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔.

Versions: Jujutsu Kaisen - Blue Lock

A breathless sob escapes your lips as you arch your back against the bed, legs sprawled apart as your nails dig into the mess of your sheets. Your head lolls against the pillow as the crisp air of your apartment contrasts with the warmth of your damp skin.

A tight squeeze on your jaw tugs your face to the side as another set of lips crashes onto yours in a sloppy, saturated kiss. Teeth graze your mouth as their nails prick your skin. You groan against them as the wet muscle slides against your swollen, erect clitoris at an undeviating pace.

A string of saliva connects the two of you as he slowly pulls back from the kiss, forcing your mouth open before spitting a wad of slobber onto your tongue. His golden irises gleam through the darkness of the room as his thumb slides along your plump bottom lip.

The front blonde strands of his dark hair frame his face as he tilts his head. His tongue runs across his swollen lips before he moves his fingers around your neck, pressing you against the soft surface of the concealed mattress.

Your hips lift abruptly as the oncoming rush of warmth in your stomach follows the tension in your limbs, an orgasm washing over you. Despite the chemical reaction, the pink-haired man below you closes his mouth around your abused bud, suckling your clit as you grind against his face.

Grunts morph into whimpers as you buck through the overstimulation. The hand around your neck only tightens as you grab the golden-eyed man’s wrist. Blue irises peek through the male’s platinum eyelashes as his nails dig into the skin of your thighs, teeth nipping your nub.

A hot wind of air kisses your ear as the dark-haired man above you lowers his head, lips grazing your skin. He lets out a taunting moan before his thumb traces your neck. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he mockingly whines, voice low and drawn out.

Kazutora’s question causes your eyes to roll into the back of your head, along with the second wave of heat making its way through your abdomen. Your lips are far apart as another grunt escapes your throat. The same hand glides from your neck before it slithers toward your breast.

The man below you released your clit, pulling himself above you as a dark chuckle escaped his lips. You can see light, pigmented colors of his eyes and hair as you view him through a blurry vision. A grin stretches across his face as he stares down at you.

“So fuckin’ weak, already?” Sanzu drawls, tone low and taunting as he looms over you, a moist pressure placed against the lower region of your vagina.

Your stomach tightens as you feel the compulsion of a thick, pulsating warmth piercing you open, his expression contorting into a mocked version of your disheveled mien.

Kazutora releases a drawn-out, higher-pitched moan as if to mimic your wail. His hand cups the nearest breast as he flicks his tongue against your nipple before closing his lips around the nub. His groan vibrates against your chest as your head falls back.

The man above you releases a breathy grunt as your walls suck his creamy length in deeper, finally reaching the base of his cock as he gives a sharp snap of his hips. His teeth catch his bottom lip as he places your legs over his shoulders.

The golden-eyed male removes his mouth from your nipple before snatching you into another deep, rough kiss. You whimper against his lips as the man above you leans forward and begins thrusting into you with precisely deep, brisk plunges.

You can feel the hardness spreading from the inside as your hips move sloppily against his force. You can’t think straight, your mind a mushy mess as you mindlessly take all of what he gives you.

“So fuckin’ good,” the blue-eyed man says between thrusts, eyebrows furrowed as his mouth hangs open.

With every passing second, the head of his tip beats against your g-spot at a sickly, pleasurable rhythm. You can feel yourself coming undone as he accelerates the speed of his plunges, the bed shaking as he groans.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls as he thumps against you harder, slightly sitting upright as he grips your legs, eyes going white as he feels the familiar warmth rushing through his abdomen, along with the tensity of his testicles. “M’ gonna fuckin’ burst.”

“You gonna cum, baby? I can see it in your face,” Kazutora taunts as he bites your ear. “It’s gonna feel so good. That’s right, let it out.”

“Oh God!” Your eyes shut tightly as you cry out, high-pitched moans escaping your throat as you buck against the rapid movement. A wave of heat surges through you as your climax releases.

“Yeah, that’s it,” the dark-haired male exhales, chuckling as he leaves multiple kisses against your cheek. “Shit, you’re so hot like this. So fuckin’ ruined.”

A drawn-out groan releases from above you as the man shoots semen deep inside your pussy, snapping his hips at a sharp, slower pace while he rides out his orgasm. He exhales sharply before his body pressed against yours, teeth nipping at your neck while he grinds out the last of his cum.

The pink-haired man laughs against your skin as he plunges inside you, pressing as deep as he can go before pulling out. The moisture practically falls out of your vagina as the three of you breathe heavily against each other.

Before you can drift off into the darkness that tugs at you, the dark-haired man lightly smacks your face. “Hey, you can’t go to sleep yet. It’s my turn now.”

[spcleaningcanada]

Pressure Washing Chemicals for Green Cleaning Solutions

In an era of environmental consciousness, traditional cleaning methods are being replaced with sustainable alternatives. Pressure washing, widely recognized for its effectiveness in cleaning stubborn stains and dirt, is no exception. By incorporating eco-friendly pressure washing chemicals into your cleaning routine, you can achieve excellent results while protecting the environment.

This article explores the world of green cleaning solutions and provides essential tips to use pressure washing chemicals effectively.

Understanding Green Cleaning Solutions

What Are Green Cleaning Solutions? Green cleaning solutions are products formulated to minimize environmental impact. They are biodegradable, free from harsh toxins, and safe for plants, animals, and humans. When combined with pressure washing, these chemicals can clean surfaces effectively without compromising sustainability.

Why Choose Green Cleaning Solutions?

Environmental Protection: These chemicals reduce the release of harmful substances into waterways and soil.

Health Benefits: Unlike traditional chemicals, eco-friendly options do not emit harmful fumes, ensuring safer use for operators and bystanders.

Regulatory Compliance: Many jurisdictions promote or mandate the use of green cleaning agents to meet environmental standards.

Common Green Chemicals for Pressure Washing

Citrus-Based Cleaners: Derived from natural citrus oils, these cleaners effectively remove grease and grime while leaving a fresh scent.

Sodium Percarbonate: Known for its bleaching properties, this chemical tackles mold and mildew without harmful chlorine.

Vinegar-Based Solutions: A natural disinfectant, vinegar is effective for light cleaning and deodorizing surfaces.

Enzyme Cleaners: These break down organic matter, making them ideal for areas with pet stains, food residue, or grease.

Tips to Use Pressure Washing Chemicals

Understand the Surface Before applying any pressure washing chemical, assess the material. Different surfaces, such as wood, concrete, or metal, require specific cleaning agents to avoid damage.

Dilution is Key Most green pressure washing chemicals come in concentrated forms. Follow the manufacturer’s guidelines for dilution to maintain effectiveness and safety.

Test in a Small Area Always test the solution on an inconspicuous area before cleaning the entire surface. This ensures compatibility and avoids unintended discoloration or damage.

Apply Pre-Treatment For heavily soiled areas, apply the chemical and let it sit for a few minutes to loosen dirt and grime. This reduces the effort needed during the actual pressure washing.

Use Proper Equipment Choose a pressure washer with adjustable settings to ensure the chemicals are applied evenly without excessive force, which can harm delicate surfaces.

Rinse Thoroughly After using the cleaning chemicals, rinse the area with water to remove any residue. This step is essential to prevent streaking and to protect surrounding vegetation.

Dispose of Waste Responsibly Collect and dispose of wastewater properly, especially if it contains residues that might affect local ecosystems. Use biodegradable options to minimize environmental impact.

Benefits of Using Green Pressure Washing Chemicals

Protecting Ecosystems Unlike traditional chemicals, green solutions break down naturally, ensuring minimal harm to water sources and wildlife.

Sustainability in Cleaning Using biodegradable products supports the global shift toward sustainable practices, reducing reliance on petrochemicals and other harmful substances.

Enhanced Safety Operators using green chemicals are less exposed to irritants, allergens, and harmful toxins, leading to a healthier cleaning environment.

Improved Aesthetics Many eco-friendly chemicals are designed to clean effectively without leaving behind residues or streaks, ensuring a spotless finish.

Challenges and Overcoming Them

Higher Initial Cost Some eco-friendly chemicals might be pricier than traditional options. However, their concentration often means you need less product per job, balancing the cost in the long term.

Limited Availability In certain regions, finding high-quality green cleaning solutions may be challenging. Opt for reputable online suppliers or local eco-friendly retailers to access these products.

Learning Curve Using eco-friendly chemicals might require adjustments in cleaning techniques. Stay informed by reading product labels and consulting resources for best practices.

Future Trends in Green Cleaning with Pressure Washing

Innovation in Formulas: Advances in green chemistry are leading to even more effective, eco-friendly cleaning agents.

Smart Pressure Washing Systems: Integrating AI and IoT in pressure washing equipment can optimize chemical usage and minimize waste.

Increased Regulation: Governments worldwide are likely to enforce stricter laws favoring eco-friendly products, making green cleaning the industry norm.

Conclusion

Transitioning to green cleaning solutions with pressure washing chemicals is not just an environmental responsibility but also a smart business and personal choice. With the right techniques and products, you can achieve the same high standards of cleanliness while contributing to a healthier planet. Remember these tips to use pressure washing chemicals effectively to ensure safety, efficiency, and sustainability in your cleaning efforts.

By embracing green practices today, you are paving the way for a cleaner, greener tomorrow.

[crowncleaning]

Unlocking the Power of Pressure Washing Chemicals for a Spotless Clean - At Crown Cleaning Systems, we're your go-to source for comprehensive solutions to maintain the impeccable cleanliness of your business premises. In addition to supplying top-tier commercial and industrial pressure washers, we proudly offer a range of high-powered pressure-washing chemicals. Our cleaning chemicals, detergents, and degreasers are not only exceptionally effective in tackling dirt and grime, but they also prioritize environmental responsibility. They are biodegradable and butyl-free, ensuring that your cleaning efforts are tough on stains while being gentle on the planet. This commitment to safety and sustainability means you can rely on our pressure washing chemicals to provide a thorough and eco-friendly clean for your business space.

[edenspoem]

ellie trying on those pheromones perfumes ? like those sex ones 😭😭

thought abt this days ago.. guess I manifested this ask in a way!!! MDNI ✰ . . not a full smut but highly suggestive. could be a smut tho if someone asks, wink wonk.

ellie knowss she doesn't neeed a fancy elixir or a spell to woo you over any day, however. to rouse you up further than usual? now that's an experiment worth her adherence.

spritz, spritz– goes the pumps of a perfume bottle, the only perfume ellie will ever meet palm to plastic with. the only time her plender gap will ever taste the chemicals and hints of rosy luxury. now, intentionally forgetting she even puffed some of that shit on, she just relaxes. she waits. lounging upon your shared bed, attired in a tight ribbed tank that sports an eye–candy viewing of her muscles, mhh, and a pair of loose plaid boy shorts. forearms press arrant to her ribs, extending down to her pelvis– controller in hand. her eyes pore over that large television screen blaring with a multitude of hues, totally mind bent to the game she plays.

then, you roll in. languid after a full shift of working, you plop down. face to cotton, you take a whaff in of freshly washed sheets, nose smudged against the cushiony material. next, you scurry over like sludge and pulp into a sweat puddle atop your girlfriend– knee tucked between hers, crotch plane and dimpling against her firm thigh, nosedived into the angled nook of her scruff. you take another whiff, wait, where did the lovely scent of her perspiration go? all that buries a hole in your nose is something rosy, a sapid rose smell. a flare of sensations unlocks in your loins. for an aphrodisiac has aquilined your mind– and your cunt, to its rein. caught under a spell. you crisp your tone, "babe, why do you smell like a flower shop?" that, ignites the memory back in ellie. yet she fiddles innocence, husking with a chuckle, "huh, dunno' what you mean." you frown, brows declined, "m'not dumb, els, why the fuck do you smell so good. you legit never touched perfume in your life." tapping a small button, ellie pauses the game, veering her head slightly to gape at you. on comes a ridiculous question, "d'ya not like it?"

els knew what adventure she donned upon her skin the moment her knuckles bent on that perfume nozzle, she knew how it might having you purring wanton with both lips. might, cause she's definitely a tinge of skeptic. so it was no surprise when you rollicked your butt on the crests of her pelvis, forcing threadbare kisses on her gracious pink lips, flushing your knuckles of pigment as you press them into her hips– laughing like a whinnying unicorn when ellie dandles plushy volumes of your ass in her grippy digits, whacking her wrist back to land short–timed blows to ripple on the pigment plentiful cheek, no doubt sore. a playful makeout. her own hoarsey chuckles vibrate on your lips, her kisses sweeter than honeydew squeezing when she purses. you continue a giggle, struggling to peel the band of her shorts due to the applied friction pinning it down, "ellie! c'monn.. m'wanna take your shorts off–" she counters, "why baby? tell me why.." and breaks off into a chuckle as well, as her question was fraudulent. the answer lingers hard on her brain. you whine, "baaabee.. i wanna eat your pussy.." and she just muses, cooing, "ohh, you do? yeah? lick this pussy up n' make ellie cum? ohohohh~" a deeper laugh murks her melody, "think ellie really wants that baby, needs that slutty little tongue– mhmm.." she accentuates her own name with airy speech, ardent on your mid–face. her clammy hands imprinting a hot compress to your ass–crease slowly slide out and travel the rump, pressure tender as milk given when she cups your waist gently. antsy as a sex spell can make one, you slowly begin to mooch your hips down her thighs, only for her tender grip to turn– sharp, lodging you in place.

"excuse you, did i tell you t'go down there?" a picky grin pricks her cheeks, teeth bore. you reply bumbly, "but– you said– uh!" another slap enlists to your cheek, hitching a stone in your larynx. she reprimands, strictly in such a dewey smooth voice, "nuh–uh, gimme' a show first, show me how you'll play with my pussy, on yours."

(pic by me)

[hughiecampbelle]

Healing (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,576

Inapired By: Amusing by Genevieve Stokes

Warning/s: self harm, self harm scars, self harm mention

A/N: Just a silly little therapy fic. Back in my "Roman Roy is my husband" phase lol. I will get back to writing and posting and requests, my brain is just acting up and I think my meds need to be adjusted. Things are getting serious with the LSATs coming up and applying to law school. I'm taking a couple classes at the local community college with law and fiction writing (so my fics will hopefully get better lol). Scars are nothing to be ashamed of no matter what they come from and I hope you know that my loves 💕

Your love was bruise-like: healing, but oh so tender. Place your fingerprints atop it, apply the slightest bit of pressure, and an ache would form from the heart of it. Beating. Pulsing. Changing, too. Adapting. In its infancy it was pink and chewy, at times (in certain lighting) red and bloody. Crude, you used to call him. An anomaly. Strange, this stranger, with his defenses up, his walls built. His words are needy, but his body is repulsed by the idea of love, of holding. Gory, you used to think, before it settled. Settled into a deep blue, a purple, a dark, cool tone atop the skin. An irresistible want the way your tongue finds a gap between your teeth, playing with the gummy socket. Hurting, you’d think, but less so. Ripe, the word comes to mind with a certain sweetness. Give it time. Give him time. Shared moments between meetings, calls, emails. A joke here and there just to get you to smile. One or two dates. Casual. It was only meant to be casual. The tone warms into a green, a yellow, blooming under the flesh like a spill. Of what? You’re not entirely sure. Still nothing to cry over. An affection developing for it, for him, one you cannot quite name, but feel for regardless. More than friends, more than casual, that much is clear. Between here and there you became official. Introduced not as an employee, but someone to share dinner with, attend parties and vacations. Someone trapped in family photos where he is silly and unserious. Between here and there the yellow, so potent, so pigmented, fades until there is little sign of anything wrong. Moved in together. Move up in the company. Your clothes mixed with his in the washing machine, tumbling together in the dryer. Your things melded with his: indistinguishable. A life not of two, but of one. Together. You press, and wait, and sometimes you still want it to hurt, to throb, but mostly you are content with the way things have played out.

It’s the softness of his cologne. The sharpness of your hair dye. Toxic, you think, chemical, though you love it anyways. The dust from the heaters, off for so long it stirs up that familiar scent of time passed without even noticing. There are others, too. Fabric softener, various candles, soaps and shampoos. Hints of him, of you. The front door shuts behind you and you are enveloped in warmth. Outside the snow falls in fat, round flakes and the cold kisses your cheeks the whole way home. You consider yourself grateful. Every day. Every time you walk through this door, every time you are greeted by warmth and safety and security. Nothing bad has ever happened here. Nothing will. That is not a fallacy or lie you say to yourself like you used to, so many years ago. This is true. Whatever, and whoever is out there cannot get to you in here. They cannot scold you. They cannot sexualize you. They cannot strip you of your home or sense of security. In here, this place, this home, you are in control. You have a say. This place is your domain and you may do whatever you please. 

You hang up your jacket, dropping your bag. You can hear his patter far away, humming to himself, unaware of your presence. Quietly, you make your way to the bedroom, following the buttery light dripping into the hallway. He is a welcomed sight. A sight for sore eyes, you think. Softly you move, your socks lightly across the carpet. Hi, you say. Hey you, he says, startled only slightly. He turns to face you. The button of his shirt is undone, but only one. Instinctively, you reach out, your fingers moving automatically down his torso. His shirt, crisp and white, opens to a t-shirt beneath. Thin, you note, too thin for this cold, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He used to squirm, uncomfortable with the touch of another person, uncomfortable with the idea of being taken care of. You have been together long enough for him to grow used to it, accustomed, welcoming it even. He stands still, his breathing shallow, until you meet his gaze, a smile spreading across your faces. No need to thank me, you joke. Wasn’t going to, he shrugs, placing it on a nearby hanger. 

It is late. The sun has set, though it does so so early. You follow him. You stand beside him, facing your closet, large enough to throw a party from within. Prompt, he speaks about his family: something stupid his brother said, a joke his sister made, and his father. . . well, there were a few kind words. You share your day: meetings mostly. Kudos shared with how technical your work has become. He smiles, listening intently. Praise is given in rations at Waystar. It is not an easy feat to earn. Together you undress, tired from the day, welcoming the quiet of the night. You unzip your pants, letting them fall around your ankles. Your skin prickles in the open air. Scars, mostly, stare back at you. Old and new, healing and trying to. Patterned. Stitched, like that of a quilt. He does not take a second glance. They, like the rest of your skeletons, had been exposed a long time ago. In return, he plucked his bones from under the bed, scattering them out where you could look and touch and learn. He has never started. Not then, not now. Your words are muffled by your shirt, pulling it over your head. I couldn’t believe they actually liked. . . In nothing but your undergarments and yet, perhaps foolishly, doing so unafraid. 

More scars. 

There is nowhere else to truly look at them, see them as they are, except this place. Not just this room, though these walls have seen more of you than any other. The kitchen where you can cut up vegetables with your forearms out. The pool where you let the sun warm all of your skin, diving into the water, fearing only the cold and not what others might say. The couch you sit and work without pants on, your legs stretched and tangled with his. There is no person or place that offers the same kind of comfort, the same kind of radical acceptance as him. He’d noticed them, of course. A sleeve rolling down when you’d fetch printer ink on the top shelf, back when those kinds of things were part of your job description. The change from work to party attire, the transition daunting, at times impossible, as more skin was seen as acceptable. Back when the bruise was still gnawing. He’d stare, just as everyone else had, politely saying nothing, waiting until your back was turned. The more he sees, the more frequent you undressed in his presence, the less interesting they seemed until, finally, he could go from subject to subject without so much as a glance, choosing to poke fun at Tom and Greg, their odd yet delicate dynamic, instead. 

Hidden from the rest of the world, this is the only company you let them show. Shameful, or, worse, sickening. They wouldn’t understand. They don’t, and so you keep them beneath fabric. You do what you can to minimize the attention. Did I tell you what Kendall did today? Grab something warm to put on, to sleep in, just as he has done. You shake your head, grateful for the smooth fabric against your body. Your skin does not hum the way it used to, alive and breathing and begging. Loud, you think, screaming, even. Okay, so. . .  It whispers. That you cannot avoid, but you can ignore the best you can. When you are done you turn to him, wanting him to know you’re listening, plucking an eyelash from his cheek and making a wish in the process.

His hands move as he speaks and you cannot help but watch them dance. Frantic, you think, and you wish to soothe him, but for now you must listen. You will laugh as you always do. He paints a picture of absurdity and humor, fitting for his brother and all his intricacies. He’ll tell you he ordered takeout from that one place you like around the corner. You’ll take out plates and silverware, pour something old and red into two glasses. You’ll sit together and swap containers, praising the new recipes. You’ll feel full and warm and grateful, watching him instead of the television. The way his chest rises and falls. The brightness of his eyes. His laugh, like music to your ears. You will stay up and work, your computer screen blue and hazy. When it is late and he cannot keep his eyes open, you will go to bed. Sleeping soundly beside one another, just to repeat the cycle again tomorrow. For now, though, you listen. You watch his lips turn upwards as he pokes fun at his brother, the highs and lows he falls into, putting on a show before everyone's eyes. The bruise has healed. The color faded until you can no longer distinguish it. You brace yourself when you touch it, afraid, though there is little to fear nowadays. There is little to worry about, to anticipate, for it is you and him in your home, your life built imperfectly. Lopsided, crooked even, but better than you would have ever expected.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Grad school Spencer in his little white coat and glasses getting his chem PhD and he just spills everything and goes 🫠 because he sees English lit major reader walking by from the lap window.

because I will die on the hill that this actually happened.

hiiiii 💕

like 23 year old phd candidate spencer in his white lab coat is everything to me and i took some liberties so bear with me :)

spencer reid x female reader

So he’s working in his lab doing something sciencey and smart

He’s already a phd in math and engineering which makes him something a myth in his departments

Part of his program makes him work as a TA for a chemistry course which is how he meets you

You’re a Literature major and Sociology minor and in his Chemistry class. It’s filled with many students, but Spencer wouldn’t need an eidetic memory to remember you

He never found the courage to talk to you, thinking that you’ve probably already have a boyfriend on a count for how pretty and smart you are.

Every Tuesday and Thursday he sees you walk by his lab. He forces himself to not recognize the pattern, but it’s impossible when you’re so magnetic to look at and think about and patterns are so recognizable to his brain. And out of risk of you thinking he’s a stalker, he decides it’s safer if he ignores you walk by

What Spencer doesn’t realize is that you’ve also noticed his pattern of being in the lab the same days you’re in the Sociology wing.

One day he’s busy his lab, and he can see you through the big picture window. He feels his hands grip the beaker and his grateful that the chemical liquids he’s working with today are something as simple as water

As he gazes through the big window he watches you walk with a big stack books in you arms

He walks to the sink, needing an extra 30mLs of water in his beaker, but as his does he accidentally trips over a stool and crashes to the floor

He jumps up, and sees you look at him in horror. Which wasn’t the way he planned on you looking at him (he forced the thoughts of the various ways you could look at him from his mind)

Suddenly you rush into the lab and just as Spencer tries to stammer about maintaining proper hygiene protocols in the lab, your hands are gripping his wrist

“You’re bleeding” you say, and Spencer watches as you maintain steady, tight pressure on his open wound to stop the bleeding

“I didn’t realize” Spencer says with a stained smile. He’s planned on how he’d approach you over and over again in his mind ever since he saw you in the Chemistry class he TA’ed last semester “I was preoccupied”

“It’s alright, Doctor Reid. You’re not going to need stitches or anything. But let me put some bandaging on it.”

Spencer gulps, as he tries to remember how to breathe. All he can focus on is how your hair frames your face perfectly and how your perfume smells like earl grey tea and honey and apples

“You can call me Spencer, Y/N” He whispers, listening to as you practically drag him by the wrist to the first aid kit

“You know my name?” You ask, a look or wonder and amusement washes over your face

Spencer jerks his head back not in pain nor in discomfort, but rather in confusion. “Of course I do, why wouldn’t I know your name. You’re Y/N.”

You lick your bottom lip as a small smile plays on the corner of your mouth. “there were a lot of students in your class last semester. I’m not very good at chemistry. Nor do I have a particularly memorable face.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows in disbelief. You gently placed a bandage on his cut. “You did very well in the class. And as for your face, it’s very memorable. More than memorable, honestly. It’s gorgeous—oh, no I didn’t—I don’t intend to be forward…”

“I think you got a memorable face too, Doc” You say, smiling as you sit knee to knee on the lab stools

“It’s Spencer,” He says, blushing as he nudged his hand forward to just barely touch yours

You stand, smiling as you do so, “Doc suits you. You’re kinda a legend and you’re really cute when you flush like that when I call you Doc”

[prettieinpink]

Hi I really love ur blog and I was wondering if you have any tips about nails, bc my nails grow long but are so flimsy that they keep breaking off and bending easily, no pressure or anything

♡♡♡

GUIDE TO TAKING CARE OF NAILS

DAILY CARE

Avoid nail polishes that contain formaldehyde and dibutyl phthalate as they can cause your nails to weaken over time. Highly pigmented polishes can also cause weak nails. To avoid this, take breaks from nail polish and go natural from time to time. 

Use cuticle oils frequently, which varies from the condition of your nails. If you don’t have cuticle oil, vaseline or a lip balm is a good alternative.

Keep your nails away from dirty or wet environments. Dirt can nurture the growth of bacteria and wet nails are weak nails. If you have to be doing things that include excessive moisture or dirt, try to wear gloves of any kind.

Stop biting your nails and picking at them. While both are difficult habits to break, both can destroy the health of your nails. Be very mindful of how you treat your nails.

Wash your hands thoroughly when needed. Before and after you eat, you go to the loo, you handle food etc. When we wash our hands, The grime under our nails is also being washed away.

Nails are not tools. Don’t use them to open cans, remove stickers or open boxes. This will weaken them in the long run and increase the chances of them being chipped or broken. Use the provided tools you have instead.

Avoid prolonged exposure to harsh chemicals like cleaning products or acetone-based products. They can strip your nails of moisture which causes breakage

WEEKLY (AT-HOME) MANICURE

If you have nail polish on, don’t peel or pick at it but use a nail-friendly nail polish remover gently with a cotton pad/ball.

After that, if needed, file or trim your nails to your desired length. For smooth cutting, wipe down your nails with a wet cotton ball or wipe. 

Get a bowl of warm water and soap to soak your cuticles in. Then use a soft brush or a clean toothbrush to gently exfoliate your nails. You can usually use a little bit of your body scrub or a tad bit of sugar. Then, dry your hands & nails with a small microfiber towel.

Apply cuticle oil or any cream to moisturise your nails, then massage that it for a few minutes to stimulate nail growth.

Apply your polishes in the correct order. Base coat, nail polish then top coat. 

Moisturise with a nice hand cream!