#pressure washing quotes

[hi2loexteriorcleaning]

Pressure Washing Windows

Pressure washing is a great way to remove dirt, grime, and buildup from a variety of outdoor surfaces. It can also be used to clean windows, but this task requires a delicate touch as too much pressure can damage window glass and frames. The following article will cover several factors that must be taken into consideration when using a pressure washer to clean windows, including proper nozzle use, proper use of pressure settings, and how to prepare the windows before washing. By following the advice in this article, you can achieve streak-free and sparkling clean windows that will complement your home’s beauty.

If you own a pressure washer, cleaning your windows may seem like an easy and quick task. After all, how hard can it be to hook up the hose and start spraying away? Unfortunately, it is not that simple. Pressure washing windows comes with a lot of risks and requires mindful handling in order to avoid damaging the windows and surrounding areas.

Before attempting to pressure wash your windows, it is important to prepare the area for cleaning. This includes removing any screens and securing them in a safe place. It is also a good idea to check the weather stripping and caulking around the window frame to ensure that they are in good condition and that water does not seep into the structure of your home.

Once you have prepared the area for cleaning and have tested your pressure washer on a non-window surface to make sure it does not damage any parts of your home, you are ready to begin the process. Always start with a low pressure setting and gradually increase it as needed to get the job done without risking any damage. It is also a good idea to have a nozzle that has a fan spray pattern and an angle of 45 degrees or less so you do not hit the windows directly.

After you have rinsed the windows, it is a good idea to use a dry cloth to wipe them down and to remove any soapy residue. You can also use a squeegee to minimize streaks and to help get the excess moisture off the window. It is a good idea to use a biodegradable cleaner when washing windows, but if you do not have access to a special cleaner, you can use a mixture of one part vinegar and two parts water in a spray bottle.

If you are not comfortable or confident cleaning your windows with a pressure washer, it is best to hire a professional. A professional will have the experience and knowledge to adjust the power of the pressure washer as necessary in order to safely and effectively clean your windows. A professional will also be able to provide testimonials and references from previous customers to help you make the right choice for your cleaning needs. Be sure to choose a company that is licensed and insured in your area. This will protect you from any accidental damages or injuries that may occur during the cleaning process.

Hi 2 Lo Exterior Cleaning is a company that specialises in Gutter Cleaning & Exterior Cleaning services for both residential & commercial customers. We use professional & industrial equipment to make sure the job is done efficiently, to a high standard & above all else, safely. Our company specialises in Gutter Cleaning, Installation of Gutter Guard & Gutter Brush, Roof & Solar Panel Cleaning, House Washing, High Pressure Cleaning, External Window Washing.

[ribosomeraisin]

just a tag rant. again

[stonecreationslongisland]

Pressure Washing Pavers and Concrete - Dix Hills, NY 11746

http://www.instagram.com/stonecreationsoflongislandinc

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[corawithfanfiction]

Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!Reader

(Kraven the Hunter, Request)

My Materialist

warnings: nudity, self-gratification, foreplay, masturbation, intimidation, oral intercourse, dirty tongue.

Summury: When you take a shower after a tiring day, Sergei comes back home to surprise you.

1634 Word

At Nova's (@novaawayne) request, I hope you like it, sweetie.

Ask for permission before quoting or translating!

Sergei had been away for a long time. He had business as usual. You never questioned much. Somewhere you knew the answers, but you also knew it was better not to ask. You thought a hot shower would loosen you up and help you fall asleep faster as the longing seeped into every fiber of your being.

You turned off the lights in your penthouse apartment, small but with enough space for you. You light one or two candles to create a calmer atmosphere and escape the tiredness of the day. The smell of the candles instantly permeated the small apartment and the dim light lulled you into a little bit of a stupor.

You get rid of your clothes and turn the water to the ideal temperature. Finally, before entering the shower, you found one of your favorite playlists on your phone and turned it on. You let the sound of the music diffuse into the environment just like the scent of the candles. When the water was warm enough, you got in and let the tiredness of the day wash away. Once you were satisfied that you were sufficiently soaked, you lathered yourself up. You let the vanilla and cinnamon flavored shower gel envelop your entire body. You tried to console yourself with the thought that Sergei had touched you wherever the lather reached.

You continued to cover yourself in bubbles until the thoughts became more and more desperate, until the longing filled your whole soul and reached your core. Desperate, you slid your hand down your body and began to rub yourself with your fingers. You accelerated your movements as the pressure became insufficient. Finally you gave up when a moan of frustration escaped your lips. You used to be able to satisfy yourself. Then you met him and all the things he could do to your body. After Sergei, nothing could ever replace him.

You took a deep breath and decided to sleep tonight in disappointment. You rinsed your whole body one last time with warm water and turned off the water. You decided that the best thing to do was to wrap yourself in a bathrobe and spend a girly girl night in bed watching 'Sex and the City'

As soon as you opened the shower door and stepped out, you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. As your scream escaped your lips at the powerful sensation, your body betrayed you by the familiar warmth and instantly began to relax. You stopped screaming at the sound of laughter behind you and the warmth of breath on the back of your neck. A pair of full lips pressed a faint kiss to his neck.

“I'm sorry to scare you, my love, but I miss you so much.”

As soon as you heard Sergei's voice, you left his arms and immediately turned around to meet his eyes. Your breathing became ragged as you felt his blue eyes on you again. Your eyes welled up and you didn't want him to see you like this, so you wrapped your hands around his neck and buried your face in his strong body.

"Hey севгилим, won't you let me see your beautiful eyes?”

You let out a deep sigh, still holding on to Sergei's strong grip. You buried your face in his chest, feeling it rise and fall with each breath. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat brought you back to peace. “Cевгилим, I heard the moans coming out of your beautiful little mouth.” She sighed with disappointment. “Were you touching yourself while I was gone…” Shaking her head no, you pulled back to meet your eyes.

“Sergei…”, your heart, filled with longing and need, couldn't form a coherent sentence. More like a whimper escaped your lips. “Y/N, севгилим,” he took a deep breath and re-established eye contact. “We talked about this.” He moistened his lips with his tongue, as if he couldn't decide exactly what to say or do. “We agreed that you would wait for me, didn't we?” His voice was not angry or resentful. Every word came out of his lips with great care. You nodded quickly in agreement. “I miss you, I know…” he interrupted with urgency. You were in no position to continue explaining yourself when his tongue slid into your mouth.

Finally he pulled back to let you breathe. After his eyes lingered on your lips for a while longer, he made eye contact again. “I know, I know, my dear.” He leaned in again for a small kiss. Then he continued. “But I thought we agreed on this, no self-pleasuring without me.” He waited a moment to make sure you could understand his words. “And there must be some punishment for breaking the forbidden, right?”

You gasped with excitement and anticipation. Your heartbeat quickened. “Anyway, I couldn't do it without you, these,” waving his fingers in the air, ”were a disappointment.” He couldn't hold back his laughter at your words. “I missed you, Sergei,” you said, leaning in closer after accompanying his laughter.

He knew it, but your confession reawakened more primal feelings in him. His breathing changed for an instant. You could feel the intensity in their flow towards you, as evidenced by the amber color of their eyes. You could bring out the animal in Sergei. And you were always proud of it. The so-called “hunter” turned into a lion when he was with you. Your lion.

"Y/N" Sergei made a sound mixed with a growl. He could feel his hands trembling. He could feel the tiny ants moving in his stomach.

Finally, he took a few steps back and leaned himself against the sink. With his hand he pulled you towards him. Step by step you let the towel you were wrapped in slip from your body as you approached him.

Sergei held his breath, watching your skin being exposed second by second. He was mesmerized by your perky breasts, which were not too small.

A mischievous smile appeared on your face as your towel fell completely to the floor. “Should I be afraid, Mr. Kravinoff?” you asked coyly when Sergei gave a grunt mixed with a growl.

Sergei leaned down and kissed your lips. “Maybe you should be a little scared.”

When Sergei was about to pull back, you put your arms around his neck and pulled him back to you. Both of you were making unexpected moves at an unexpected moment.

Your hands ran through your lover's hair while one of his hands had already found his chest.

Sergei pulled back and this time began to run his lips over the fully exposed breasts. At first he ran his lips over the beginning of the breasts, where they began to rise slightly. Then, when this was too little, he supported your breasts from below with his hands and raised the tips higher.

He wasted no time in cupping the tips of her breasts with his lips as his eyes glowed with the pink he saw on your nipples.

His eyes glowed with the pinkness he saw at the tips of her breasts and he wasted no time in grasping the nipples with his lips. You were trying to stop your moans with Sergei's every movement. Your biggest moan came when Sergei crushed your nipples with his teeth. “Shh, beautiful, you have to be quiet, we don't want to wake the neighbors.” You had no idea how to be calm and quiet. Sergei was all over you.

Sergei's fingers moved to your waist. His lips trailed warm kisses down to your crotch.

He stepped back for a few seconds as if he wanted to memorize every detail of her body. And he studied every inch of her eyes. It wasn't the first time you were naked in front of him. But you blushed every time he looked at you like that. Finally, he decided that he had examined you enough and said “okay, it's time for us to be equal” and took off first his t-shirt and then his boxers and pants.

When he leaned in to kiss you, you pulled back. When he looked at you confused, you bent down. As he looked at you with disbelieving eyes, you moistened your lips with your tongue and reached for your favorite dessert. Sergi's eyes had both pride and disbelief in them, but it didn't last a minute. He was already saying something incoherent as you started to lick your man.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

“Come here before I lose my mind,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

Except your wild lion.

And you knew that your lion was hungry and this was just a preparation for dinner.

My Materialist

TAG LIST:

[yourlocalsmutwriter]

Tell me something awful like you are a lover stuck in the body of a racing guy - Fernando Alonso x reader

Pop music blares through your headphones from your guilty pleasure playlist as you're scrubbing a kitchen counter. The blonde singer's words about hating it here couldn't resonate with you more. Living with strangers was bareable. Them being students and not really sticking to a cleaning schedule was to be expected. You'd committed similar sins before. But texting your landlord to fix your water pressure while the state of the kitchen (and honestly, the whole flat) was abysmal wasn't the smartest. You hated confrontation,so it was on you to bring everything up to the guy's standards. One bit of the shared space took you an hour. You were tired. Unemployed. Done. Cold. Just as you were about to follow your astrology app's suggestion of a good cry, you get a WhatsApp notification from your boyfriend, asking you to call him.

"Hey, Fernando. Everything all right?"you say as his face pops on screen.

"Yeah, I just woke up. Figured I wanted to give you a tour of Sin City, but I think you'll have to wait a bit," he trails off.

"What, not feeling like an early bird, huh? Usually, I'd be the one bugging you to stay in bed with me and cuddle more. What's new, hmm?" you ask, curious as to why he's called you out of the blue.

He just grunts and flips the camera. Your eyes take a second to process what you're seeing. And then you focus on the tent in his boxers. As if intent to kill you both on the spot, he adds, "You know, it's your fault. Had a dream about you, and apparently, even fake you has the same effect as the real thing."

You laugh, just a bit.

"Sorry, sorry, love. Just the thought of you getting a morning boner like some teenager is hilarious." Sensing that he's about to hang up and not wanting to deal with it, there's a plan forming. The good cry you were considering a few moments before was going to be turning into a good wank. "Wait. Let me help you. Please?"

Fernando pretends to consider it for a moment. You both know that phone sex is the key to not loosing one's mind during a triple header.

"Fine." He agrees. "But you gotta put on a real show on for me, beautiful. Wanna see you ride your toy like it's me.".

"It is you,". Nando's reaction to your previous dildo was to replace it as soon as possible. You were flabbergasted that he would go through with cloning his willy, as the kit said, just to stake a stupid claim on you. All your annoyance evaporated the first time you used the new toy and came so hard you questioned every other solo orgasm before. You tell your boyfriend you'd be right back as you swiftly disappear to wash the dildo. Thankfully, no one's around to see you. You prop your phone on the edge of the bed, following Nando's example. His hand is already slowly palming his cock. You're about to spread the lube on your hands, when you realize you're still fully clothed.

"Teasing or quickie?" You ask him.

"You know the quote, honey. As much as I wanna watch you touch yourself and suck it first, on a time crunch here. So, clothes off and giddy up, cowgirl." He says.

You spread the lube on the dildo, matching Fernando's pace. God, the visuals of his cock, ready for you but out of reach was driving you crazy.

"You know what to do, baby. Rub your clit like I would touch you. Don't be cutting corners just because I'm not there to guide you on it properly." He adds.

You loved his more commanding side. Before you two had sex for the first time, he wondered why you'd pick someone his age to date. It became glaring obvious during fucking you, the way you melted against his words, how you begged him to be faster, harder, rougher, to not hold back on you. You depended on him to give you just what other partners often missed to do.

You realized that you were spacing out and returned to the task at hand. Circling your clit, once, twice and thrice and already you're wet and ready. You straddle the toy, making sure Fernando gets a premium view of how the plastic cock sinks inside of you slowly.

He groans and tightens his fist, squeezing it against the base.

"Faster, honey. Show me that I taught you how to take it. Ride it for me." He commands, needing to see you fall apart and soon.

You bite your lip and find your rhythm. Usually, when you used the dildo, it was in missionary. This position was making everything so much more intense for you it was as if you were doing it with the real thing. Speeding up, you could feel the toy going deeper, making you clench against it. You let you a quiet moan of Fernando's name, a plea, and a futile action.

"You look so good like this, my love. God, when I come back, I want to taste you as you play with this. Would you like this? To feel my tongue on your clit as you're fucking yourself on my dick, huh? Sound good, no?". Nando's fantasy reminds you of how his hands will be on you soon, how you'll fall apart on his lips, how he'll make sure to have you coming in exotic destinations, away from everything you hate here. This fuels a fire in you and you're thrusting your hips, the toy slick with your wetness.

Your boyfriend's pumping matches your speed, and you can see how he's rubbing down drops of precum down his shaft.

"Tell me when you're about to cum for me, beautiful. Let's do it together." Less than a minute later you're a moaning mess, pussy clenching against the plastic replica of your lover's cock and saying that you're about to finish. Fernando encourages you to go over the edge, to finish you both off like a good girl. And that's exactly what you do. You wish you could take the shot where he angles his cock and cums all over his stomach and have it burned behind your retinas forever. You're both panting and spent and taking a few minutes before starting your actual post-orgasm rituals and clean up.

"I'll call you again in half an hour, okay? Let me know what you wanna see of Vegas, and I'll have my driver pass it. Think I have the time to even walk into some landmarks and get you whatever souvenirs what you want. Plan and let me know. I love you, sweetheart." He says. Underneath the tough exterior and the sometimes arrogant facade was a gentle, wonderful boyfriend. Maybe you didn't really hate it here. And just maybe he was a lover, stuck in the body of a racing guy.

[endearng]

[bonus blurb] hotch!reader helps spencer sober up. warnings: alcohol consumption.

not proofread, darlings. enjoy <3

The team was out, in a bar, after a successful case — you had gone straight home, desperate to wash off the remnants of the last city and precinct you've been to. Derek, though, thought it was going to be funny to get the rookie, Spencer Reid, drunk. 23 year-old Spencer Reid, who had never drank more than three shots because his head got too heavy for his liking. You were home, watching TV and happy to be in your place, having rejected Morgan's invitation, not really in the mood for drinking or the noisy place. Two messages made your phone buzz.

[9:12 p.m.] Hiello! Why aren't you here? Everybody's here. - SR

[9:12 p.m.] Derek and I are playing a game.

Oh, hell, no. Playing a game with Derek? And no signature?

Oh, hell, no.

Grabbing your keys and your wallet, you left your apartment. You looked nothing like usual, wearing jeans, a plain t-shirt and a pair of Converse. Pairing that with a jeans jacket, you looked like a teenager. You drove your way to the bar and if the security hadn't seen you parking (which you hated, but tried to do it perfectly), he would've probably asked you for an ID. Upon entering the place, you spotted Penelope, ogling Derek shamelessly.

"Oi, Penelope." You greeted her, who angled her neck so you got out of her way, not willing to let you interrupt her ogling. "Where is Spencer?"

"Hi. What, did you join Panic! At the Disco or something?" She teased, looking at your outfit. "I must say, your dad won't like the switch of careers."

You smirked in response. She shaked her head, laughing and leaning back on her seat. "Come on, where is him?"

"That one over there?"

Spencer was surrounded by people, chatting excitedly with strangers. You found it... odd. To say the least. It took him three weeks to be able to look you in the eye properly and not stutter when you were around — composed as ever, he kept digging himself a deeper hole when he embarrassed himself further and further when you were around. You brushed it off, thinking it had to do with pressure he was under, all the genius, overachiever thing going on for him. You truly didn't mind. You wanted to be his friend, because he was the only one around your age in the BAU. It was like being a kid, all over again, and your father took you to dinners over at friends. You searched for any kids in the room. You often weren't lucky.

Approaching Spencer, having the actual need to excuse yourself past people, you finally spotted him, a bottle of beer in his hands. Huh, unusual. He was entertaining people, reciting quotes perfectly from whatever show or book he could think about and was requested to. You rolled his eyes, he didn't even noticed your presence with how much passion he was speaking. You grasped his hand abruptly, but the softness that he felt was what made him stop dead on his speech. Suddenly, his tongue felt like twisting inside his mouth. Upon searching the owner of the hand, he spotted you. He couldn't stop his excitement and the big grin spreading on his face when he recognized you. "You came! You're... you're here!"

"I am."

"I can't—hic—believe it!"

You didn't spare a glance at those around him, dragging him across the bar to sit him down. Maybe you had been rude. You'd think about that later.

"Are you okay, Spence?" You ask.

"F—fiiiiiine!" He answers, giddily. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

"Why did you drink so much?"

"Five. Shots, I mean. Approximately 44 milliliters each."

"That is not what I asked." You said, taking the beer bottle from his hand. "Why did you drink so much, hm?"

"I... I dunno," now, out of public speaker mode, Spencer was slurring his words slightly, "Morgan said that I—hic—I needed to unwind and, and... he kept, just... cheeeering..."

You rolled your eyes at that. You were so gonna kill Morgan. First, you hated drunk people and how all over the place they were and how they needed to be cared for. Not Spencer, though. No, never Spencer. Sighing, you mutter, "Stay here, okay?"

"Okay."

It's not like he could walk, anyway. His legs felt heavy and wobbly. As the alcohol ran through his veins, he felt hot, sweaty, desperate to remove his clothes, that were starting to bother him. His brain was also turned into mush, he was so relaxed, but he wanted to talk. To you, that is. And he couldn't because his tongue was tied and he preferred to blame it on the alcohol and not in the way you were so casually dressed, so out of your persona, so close to him.

Close. Closer. The closest you've ever been.

Close, but never enough.

You reached him again holding a bottle of water in your hand. You twisted the cap open and poured the liquid into a small disposable cup the bartender had given you. "Drink it."

"Thank—Thanks." He muttered quietly, holding the cup and drinking it. His actions felt so numb, and he was scared to embarrass himself in front of you. Suddenly, he felt so small. As he downed the water, he couldn't help but ask, "Am... I am making a fool of myself, aren't I?"

You sighed. Spencer could swear that he could feel your eyes soften at him. No. It was the alcohol. Sure, it was the alcohol. "No, Spence... Don't worry. Just drink the water, please."

He drank it again as you poured him some more. "That is not how you unwind, okay?" You muttered.

"I... I'm realizing that now." He chuckled, embarrassed. Spencer felt better after drinking water. "How do I, uh, how do I look now?" He asked, trying to zero his eyes on you.

You snorted. "Drunk."

"Oh, God... you... you're going to remember this, aren't you? How drunk and—and, and how pathetic I am!" He asks, covering his face with his hand, the other still holding the disposable cup, trying to hide his reddened face. The last thing he wanted was you, the epitome of sobriety, to think any less of him.

"Don't worry. It's not my style." You revealed.

The corners of his mouth curled a bit at your words as he removed his hands from his face. "You're not?"

"I know these idiots will," you murmured, referring to the team, but looking at Derek, especifically. Turning to look at him, you tried your best to feature reassurance into your expression. "They have been in that state, too, at some point. Keep that in mind when they tease you about it."

"Yeah—hic—... I'm just..." he trailed off, closing his eyes softly. "Glad you're here with me."

You tensed, but hid it under a layer of sarcasm, "Yeah. You better be, since I'm not shoving alcohol down your throat."

He snickered, and the sound made your heart flutter and all the annoyance (at Derek, of course) leave your body. Spencer felt like the barrier between daring honesty and acceptable words was as thin as hair width. "You... you're here. Taking care of me."

"Yeah, yeah." You said, looking away, trying not to give his words importance. He was drunk, after all.

Spencer took some time to study your features. The soft skin, the color of your eyes and the color of your lips, the tip of your nose. He fought the urge to plant a kiss on your cheek... It just looked so... inviting. The way your face look under the bar dim lights. He fought, struggled, warred against the urge to touch your skin, in any way he could. With his hand, through a graze of his arm against yours, with his lips...

Inside your head, you warred against the questions swimming in your head. About him. All about him. You decided to be subtle, instead. "Do you have anyone I could call, Reid? A roommate? A girlfriend?"

Spencer spluttered, face beet red. "N-no... No... No roommate or... or girlfriend," he said. You were selfish enough to feel relieved. "I live—hic—on my own."

"Do you need me to drive you home, then? I won't let you drink anything other than water."

His cheeks flushed even more at the appealing thought of you driving him home and he giddily nods, not trusting his mouth to speak properly without pulling you in to cover your face in kisses. The thought of him, in your car, engulfed by your smell, as well as the thought of you, in his apartment, surrounded by his stuff, was so... fitting. So, so right.

Spencer stumbled a bit to rise to his feet, tentatively leaning on you for support. It wasn't necessary, but he thought it was a nice, indulgent excuse enough to be close to you. So close he could smell your shampoo and perfume. So close he could count your eyelashes if his vision wasn't so blurry. He leaned on you, heavily, and it surprised you that he was so light despite his tall frame.

The air outside was cold. As you walked to your car, you helped Spencer get on the passenger seat. Texting Garcia quickly that you would be driving him home so they wouldn't worry (not that you think they'd notice), you sat on the driver's seat, buckling your belt. Spencer was quiet all the way there, and you made sure to drive slowly to avoid him feeling nauseous. "You still live over there, right?" You asked, pointing foward with your finger, hands not leaving the steering wheel.

Spencer, focusing on not losing his mind with being so close to and alone with you nor throwing up in your car, nodded, now aware of his surroundings. "Yeah, yeah. But... how do you—how do you know it?"

"You mentioned it once."

His heart skipped a bit and he had to turn his head to the window to hide the smile creeping up on his face. You remembered something he had said. About himself. Nothing could ever beat that. He fidgeted slightly in his seat, his long fingers tapping against his knee as he looked out the window as he contemplated getting drunk more often to be on the receiving end of your care. Stop it. Please. He tried to push these plaguing thoughts away, reminding himself that he was still a bit drunk, so, definitely not in the best state of mind. But the way you had felt against him... The heat of your body, your scent...

He would think about that forever.

"We're here." You announced as the car came to a halt.

Spencer fumbled to remove his seatbelt, his trembling hands struggling to have a good grasp on the device. You watched it curiously and you fight the urge to smile or tease him about it. No, you would keep that image to yourself, as selfish as it sounds. Finally, he got it, and awkwardly looked at you, as if he didn't want to leave just yet. "Well, then, this is... this is it." He announced.

"Come on, I'll help you up. Don't want you to fall down the stairs and die."

Before he could react to your deadpan, you dashed out the car to open his door and help him out. He leaned on you, a lot less than he did at the bar, seemingly too aware of your figure against his. As he made his way up the stairs (the elevator was out of service, again, and those stairs were a total nightmare), he tripped over his feet a couple of times. Blushing, he mumbled out an apology. "I'm... not... not usually this uncoordinated."

"I know, Spence. Don't worry."

The young doctor felt a tinge of relief upon your words. You were so, so careful with him, and you weren't judging him for acting like an idiot who could hold in his alcohol. He relished in the feeling of having you close to him, of having your undivided attention, solely on him. He was so, so happy and he mumbled a quiet "Thanks."

"Give me your keys," you asked as you reached his door. Your tone wasn't half as demanding as the words were.

The door swung open once you turned the knob, revealing a small, cozy apartment. Spencer's belongings could be seen everywhere, from books and papers to personal trinkets, and it was so... Spencer. Green walls, leather couch and dark furniture. It suited him. But the darkness was enough told you it wasn't just the absence of light that came with the nighttime. Barely kicking off his shoes, the young doctor flopped down on his couch, facedown. "Nuh-uh. You're going to take a shower. Trust me, you'll feel a lot better in the morning if you do."

"A-a shower?" He asked, sheepishly. The idea made him feel vulnerable.

"Yes, a shower. Or else you'll wake up all clammy and gross. You'll feel awful." You almost threatened. His face scrunched up in disgust as he looked up at you. You fought the urge to squish his cheeks and give him a kiss. No.

As Spencer made his way to the bathroom and you heard the water running, you took it upon yourself to find him something to wear. When you found his bedroom, you entered it. It was neatly organized and you almost giggled at how like him the space was. A bed with freshly washed sheets, a few books scattered on a study desk and a computer among them, a wooden bedside table with a framed picture of a younger version of him and an older blonde woman. You smiled softly. As you made your way to his wardrobe, you opened a drawer and found plain, simple clothes, which you couldn't help but find strange — it was so different from what you were used to see him styling. You looked down at yourself. You wanted him to be different tonight, too. You traced the edges of the flawlessly folded clothes, picking out a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt for him to wear. You left the bedroom, going to the kitchen and filling out a glass of water.

You heard him padding to his bedroom quietly, figuring that he would keep pills in the bathroom. Going over there, you could smell the faint fragrance of his body wash, which brought a giddy smile to your face. You shook your head, searching for painkillers. Upon going to his bedroom to give them the medicine you found him fast asleep, so you placed the water and the pills on his bedside table. Your hands itched, and you couldn't fight it anymore, so you let yourself tuck away a strand of hair that was falling on his forehead. Smiling softly, you left a small note with his hangover kit.

Locked your door for you. - Hotchner

Spencer froze on the spot as he felt your fingers grazing his skin in the slightest. He heard your footsteps and when his front door locked, he sat on his bed at breakneck speed. Holding the slip of paper with the utmost care in the world, he giggled like a schoolboy with a crush. He laid back down, a soft grin on his lips as he held the note close to his face, sighing drunkenly, happily.

—

The next day, Spencer woke up feeling hot and clammy. It turns out that the clothes you had picked out for him were much too warm for him to spend the night after drinking that much — but he couldn't blame you for it. In fact, he was touched by your thoughtfulness and care. After drinking the pills (his head was thrumming, after all), he went to the bathroom to wash his face to go on about his day. As he checked his reflection, he found his name stained, faintly, into his cheek.

It felt fitting. It felt right.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

Spencer was yours, after all. Always has been.

original one-shot

[enviedear]

hey Olivia talk about Jason and love letters pls

i can never say no to you, not like i'd say no to rambling about jason lmao!! link here to what inspired this <3

swing by my askbox 🧸ྀ��

basically, i think believe that jason would be not only the best at writing love letters but also the most genuine about it. to him, they come from a place of utter devotion. in my hc, i think he'd just really struggle with getting his words out. he hates the way they sound, that they never fully convey what he means, that he stops himself more than he allows himself to speak, and mostly, he cannot handle the pressure of a time constraint. even if someone were to give him all the time in the world to open up, his chest would still get tight and his throat would feel scratchy and raw. jason todd is a victim of analysis paralysis there i said it.

no—he NEEDS another outlet, another form of communication. so he writes. he always loved reading, annotating in the margins—now he does it to his own words. At first, he doesn't even count what he writes as love letters. he's not waxing poetry, he's just explaining his fucked up perspective because you deserve to know. you deserve to be privy to whatever's going on in his head. he fails (for a while) to understand that is love, the very crux of it. the devotion to spend his free time explaining what his mouth refuses to say is love in its purest form.

his words are sweet too, no matter what he's writing. he knows his audience, you. his letters always start the same, with the salutation of 'sweetheart' and an "i love you." sometimes, all that's written is a long run-on about how he feels, how overwhelmed he is. other times, it's reminders of how much you mean to him, how happy you make him. and of course, quotes.

i am a firm believer that jason todd quotes his favorite books (modern and classic) so you better assume he's throwing in quotes that remind him of you. things like "what does money matter? love is more than money." from dorian grey after you had confessed to feeling bad about him spending money on you, or "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." from emma after an argument rooted in his apprehension for sharing, and "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." makes a common appearance. you're unsure as to why he quotes shakespeare so much, especially that line—but he's not. he knows it's the truest cohesion of words he could possibly find to explain to you just how crucial you are to him. detrimental even.

but it's not always super intense—a lot of the times it's simple letters. letters hung up on the fridge, on the dryer, in your car, even scattered little love notes in your purse/wallet. things like, "washed your clothes. you really need new leggings, i put money on the counter." / "changed your oil. remind me again in six months. i love you." / "missed you this morning. i'm coming home with dinner, your favorite. i love you."

where other men fail to find a form of communication that works for them, jason todd exceeds. besides, he's seen death once and he's not meeting it again without you knowing just how much he absolutely adores you. if he can't be here forever to give you the love he's practically overflowing with, at least the letters can outlive him. he'd like to be remembered that way—just by his saccharine sentiments for you

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[izvmimi]

cw: language. one (1) reference to a rico nasty song.

The sudden clatter of a knife being dropped on a cutting board should have surprised you, but you’re too focused on the screen of the laptop before you to notice that Izuku has stopped chopping vegetables. He looks up over at you carefully, but you continue to type furiously on the other end of the kitchen island, not registering the set of eyes focused on your person.

“Babe?”

Clickity clack, clickity clack, goes the keyboard.

He sighs.

“___.”

His voice is stern and just loud enough that you do somehow hear it, and pulled out of your flurry of vitriolic thoughts, you look at him quizzically.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You grimace, then smile and scoff in just the way that concerns Izuku even further. He could tell from the pressure on the keyboard and the small noises of frustration that slipped out of you indiscriminately that you were clearly upset about something, and he could name a couple things that had popped up recently in the news to make you feel that way, but whenever you got to typing for this long with this level of focus, it could only mean one thing.

“I’m just drafting a response to a few criticisms I’ve seen online recently.”

His lips press into a thin line.

“Love, you promised-“

You frown at him and raise an index finger. “First of all, I did not make any promises-" He raises an eyebrow and you look at him sheepishly, then look away. “Fine.”

“Let me see it,” he insists. Before you can even consider closing your laptop, he’s behind you, one hand resting softly on your shoulder. His eyes scan the top half of the reply in the comments and you watch his response attentively, taking in how his frown deepens the longer he reads.

“Baby.” He rubs your shoulder gently, but you can tell he’s between irritated and disappointed with you immediately. Defensively, you shrug him off softly then cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m just communicating my discontentment.”

“Really?” He highlights a sentence at the end, and clears his throat before reading it aloud. “If I see you in the street, bitch your ass is done? That’s discontentment?”

You can feel your cheeks burn.

“It’s a quote!!! From a song!”

Izuku places a hand atop your head and squeezes gently. “It’s also a threat?”

“But-“

“___, you’re a professional Hero. This person could be Quirkless.”

You pause, consider, and then let out a sound of frustration, raising your hands in the air before placing your forehead to the desk.

“Look, I’m just tired of unkind things being said in the media. I don’t mind if they say mean things to me but we’re gonna have a conversation if you’re gonna attack my friends so viciously.” Your voice is muffled and whiny, which means you’re in your inconsolable mood, but by now Izuku is practiced and can get through to you. Izuku’s hands shift from your shoulder to your back and he pulls the stool beside you to sit down.

“I get it, but people say stupid things all the time. Think about what people say about me daily.”

Your head turns to face him.

“The media literally adores you, what are you talking about?” Izuku gives your a cheeky half-smile.

“True, but they didn’t always.”

You give him a soft punch on the shoulder. “Show-off.”

He laughs, and pulls you to him. “You know what it was like when I was a kid though.”

You frown again, thinking about the punches she still thinks she owes Bakugou despite the fact that he’s redeemed himself, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Can I delete it?” he asks.

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Good girl.”

You feel your cheeks warm but don’t say anything as the angry text disappears. He kisses your cheek and gets up again to finish preparing the meal he’d started. You get up as well and wash your hands before joining him.

You work side by side for a few moments before Izuku bumps you gently on the hip. 

“Are you gonna save a bit of the feistiness for bed?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

You bump him back on the hip.

“Pervert.”

He beams. “For you? Absolutely.”

[maisonaime]

The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]

My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them

Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!

“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance

There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.

First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.

Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.

Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.

Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?

Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?

How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.

So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.

Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.

But to you they do.

You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.

You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.

And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.

And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.

The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.

He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.

He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.

He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.

And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.

And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.

And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.

You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”

Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

A Padawan's Confession

Pairings: Obi-Wan x padawan!reader Warnings/Tags: drama, hurt/comfort, age difference, no (further) romantic interaction Summary: G/N reader! You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, rest by a campfire overnight during a mission. As your thoughts get heavier each second he senses your trouble and you take the opportunity to announce your decision to leave the order. Because feelings far beyond the boundaries of the Jedi slowly turn you insane as your heart craves for the man who's both the furthest and closest to you.... Words: 1.7k A/n: This short story is inspired by a one shot I've written many years ago. I hope you like it! Also English isn't my first language so there might be spelling and grammar mistakes in this story!

~~~~~~

The quiet camp fire marked tonight's resting place from your stressful mission. You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat on broken trunks, your cloaks pulled around you tightly to keep the warmth of the fire around your bodies. But as quiet as the night seemed to be, your mind was the exact opposite. Hundreds of thoughts raced around and kept your pulse high and your tension at a maximum. It was at the time you eventually should be honest with your master and talk to him about your decision to leave the order. Your thoughts have been resolving around this topic for months now and with each day passing you felt more certain to pervade your decision, as the pressure and pain got worse and became almost unbearable.

While you tried to think about the best way to tell him, your master sensed your inner tension. "You seem troubled, Y/N," he observed. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

You hesitated for a brief moment before you nodded. "Yes. Kinda..."

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, his neutral facial expression slowly turning into concern. He didn't want you to feel bad. He in fact despised it when you were sad or troubled and that is why he always wanted to be there for you, support you and help you through bad times. Of course it was also his responsibility to care for you but through all the year's you've been his Padawan you grew to be so much more for him, something similar to the daughter he never had. And that is a fact he never actually said out loud but it was a silent truth between the both of you.

You let out a deep sigh but it didn't release any of the heavy pressure pushing down on you. To leave the order was a life-changing decision that couldn't be undone. It could be a big mistake—or the best decision you'll ever make. But after all it hurt a lot to even think about saying goodbye.

"I-" you started but a heavy lump in your throat interrupted you. "I can no longer do this." You automatically lowered your voice and turned your face towards the darkness behind the trees to avoid his glance. You felt tears form in your eyes, so you closed your lids and held your breath. There was almost nothing else as awkward as crying in front of your master, a Jedi in accordance with the code. 'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force,' you quoted in your mind realizing you've broken at least half of the five key principles. What a shame it would be if you'd shown your master how much you were guided by your emotions. "I'm sorry master," you said.

Obi-Wan frowned in both confusion and concern. "You're sorry? For what? What is it you can no longer do?" he asked with a calm voice. He was trying hard to hide how much he worried about you right now.

"All of this," you replied. "I made the decision to leave the Jedi order." Out of a sudden, relief flooded your veins as the heavy weight of those words left your soul with every syllable spoken.

Obi-Wan paused. He didn't even realize he forgot to beathe while the shock of your announcement washed over him. "Y/N," he finally managed to press through his lips. "Leaving the Jedi order is a significant decision."

"I know," you replied.

"May I ask why you've come to this conclusion?"

You hesitated. It made you uncomfortable to talk about the reasons. Then again, informing him was the least you could do. You still didn't manage to make eye contact. "I've broken the Jedi principles. Or, to put it better, it gets harder for me to follow them everyday. I can't no longer distract myself from my emotions and act as if I don't feel any affection. My mind starts to think in ways the doctrines of the Jedi dismiss and I'm afraid I'll and up in demise." The tears lingering in your eyes got more but you still managed to hold them back. It was obvious that your master could feel the bunch of emotions cracking through all of these walls you've built up since the beginning of your training. But there was one you could still hide. One particular emotion you hid so well from the outside and the force sensing abilities of the Jedi that you were sure, no matter how many your master could sense, that one particular emotion wasn't one of them.

"Affection, you say?" Your master responded and you nodded. "May I ask what kind of affection troubles you?"

You wish you could say that it was only a deep friendship that guided you to paths different from the force. But it was more. Something way deeper. "It's love," you said.

"Love," Obi-Wan repeated. As he turned his gaze towards the camp fire, you dared to look at him. He was obviously lost in thought. Maybe he was searching for the best response or he was thinking about you, wondering who the person might be that made you struggle this hard you considered to leave the order. "The Force guides us all on unique journeys," he then said. "And there are many that aren't consistent with the Jedi ways. You're correct, affection—especially love—is a bond that leads you on a path in-between dark and light. What could be a strength might at the same time become a weakness. Where love blooms, passion lingers. And where passion lingers, darkness awaits."

You listened to his words. It was the same doctrine you had internalized for years but the way your master chose his words made it sound different this time. You suspected that he hasn't finished his monologue yet so you stood quite, examining his side profile while his attention seemed to be caught be the dancing flames. He in fact hasn't finished yet. "As you should know I won't judge you. It's not your decision if you fall for someone. It's your decision how you deal with it. And if your feelings affect you in a way they could harm you and the Jedi order this might no longer be your journey. So don't be ashamed."

You took a deep breath and turned your gaze to the fire as well. "Thank you," you said and a tear finally released itself from your strong hold and rolled down your cheek.

"For what?"

"For your understanding."

Your master chuckled. "Let me tell you a secret. When I was your age I've been in love as well. Twice. So I know your struggle. But it was my decision to lock those feelings up and stay in the order."

You blinked in shock. Your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, has once been in love? Well, that was something you would've never expected. But at least he's managed to keep his mind straight. And with that thought you replied: "I don't think I'll ever be able to do the same. It's so hard and the person I'm into is almost always around me." You hesitated, afraid you've said too much. But in the end, it wouldn't matter what you've said the day you announced your decision.

Obi-Wan turned his head to look at you. His blue eyes shimmered in the light of the dancing fire that made his gaze seem even warmer than it already was. "Is it your friend Anakin?" he asked in curiosity and you took a deep breath before you shook your head.

"No. It's not Anakin." And with the words spoken out loud you've finally let the last of all the walls you've built to hide your emotions break into pieces. A warm wave of the force rushed over both of you and the campfire, making it dance uncontrollably fast for a brief moment. You noticed Obi-Wan shift but couldn't certainly say what exactly changed as you allowed him to find out about your feelings for him. Your cheeks immediately turned red and you felt shame rush over you. The emotion behind that wall was the exact reason you wanted to leave. Love for your master, the one who would—and should—never return your feelings. The one who was supposed to care for you, to train you, and who played great value on the Jedi principles. He wasn't even just your master, he was a Jedi master and a member of the high council as well.

Obi-Wan didn't turn his gaze away, his blue eyes now filled with a harsh realization.

Another tear ran down your cheek but you tried your hardest to not look away and keep the eye contact. In the perfect world of your fantasy Obi-Wan would've leaned towards you and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. But this wasn't your fantasy, it was reality. And in reality all he did was sit right in front of you, obviously shocked and speechless—but at the same time comprehending many details of your (probably strange) behaviour in the past. Your stares, the way you laughed particularly often in his presence, you distancing yourself from him after you made a mistake... The ways you've tried to impress him when fighting in battles....

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Obi-Wan finally said with a low voice. He was obviously still speechless.

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... You tried m to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'd never see it again....

You shook your head. "No. Please don't say that as if it was your fault. It's mine. And I'm gonna leave as soon as our mission's over."

"It is your decision how you want to spend your life. But I can't offer you what you want."

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... Everything inside of you screamed for his affection, his love, his heart. You wanted him to touch you, pull you to his chest and kiss you gently. Obi-Wan was everything you've ever wanted and the one thing you'll never get. So you tried to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'll never see it again....

[sysmedsaresexist]

⚡️News Flash⚡️

ToSD and the ICD - 2023

Autopilot functionality and self-destructive behavior in patients with complex dissociative disorders-A qualitative study

"One important theory of [DDs] is the [ToSD]. It distinguishes between [EPs] that are linked to traumatic memories and [ANPs] functioning in daily life. The 11th revision of the [ICD] newly introduced the diagnosis of [P-DID], acknowledging this theory by including components of it into a clinical diagnostic system."

It's a really interesting article that looks at those with OSDD/DDNOS/P-DID. It also has this amazing quote about functionality and distress, which everyone should read.

Please give it a go, despite the length.

---

In relating to themselves, most participants reported a functional, conformist behavior that we named “autopilot functionality,” one key feature being an explicit outward orientation of the patients, meaning that they tended to focus on other people’s needs rather than their own.

I did not exist. My environment existed. (P9)

From the participants’ point of view, parents played an essential role in the development of this outward-oriented behavior. The participants described that from an early age, they had the impression that their wishes and needs were unimportant. Rather, they felt that they had to conform to the wishes of their caregivers. This led to feelings of guilt and a constant suppression of their own needs and feelings.

The way I grew up… it was rather that I have to take care of my parents and what I want doesn’t actually matter… the main thing is that my parents are well and everyone else is well because otherwise… so I just always had feelings of guilt. […] So the relationship with myself, it was always rather oriented towards the others. (P3(2))

In this context, the participants also reported that they had learned to have little compassion for themselves, so that it felt normal for them to continue to function even though they were feeling bad.

There I am not very sympathetic with myself. That comes from the time when I was a child and for example, I can remember it well, my grandma had died and the teacher then said that I don’t have to do my homework and then I somehow didn’t understand what the one thing had to do with the other. And I think somehow that my mother is also a bit like that, that you still have to do everything somehow, even if it makes you feel bad. (P6)

The outward orientation learned from the caregivers later spread into various areas of life and affected relationships with children, friends, and colleagues. For many participants, work was a field in which they were very functional but often ignored physical needs like hunger, thirst, sleep, or pain in order to (over)fulfill the requirements of their workplace.

You start [work] at 12:30 p.m. and then you have to eat before or after, because there’s no break for six hours of work and then I just comply with the shift. […] And then I was with colleagues who said: “How that, you don’t take breaks, come take a break with us now.” And I said: “I’m not entitled to a break.” (P6(2))

The participants felt enormous pressure to maintain a façade to the outside. This could mean performing well in school or at work, or taking special care of their appearance so that nobody would realize something was not okay.

I always knew that I am not allowed to neglect my body, I have to take care, I need to wash myself, I need to brush my teeth because it’s really dangerous if someone sees that you are not feeling well. That has always been clear to me. (P4)

This mechanism of maintaining a façade had disadvantages for the participants. Because they looked so “normal” and continued to function, it was difficult for those around them to understand that they were not well, which made the participants feel isolated and not understood.

The worse I felt, the more I worked, and almost no one outside understands that. (P1)

The constant focus on functioning for others was exhausting for the participants and made it hard to develop a sense of self. For one participant, it even felt like she had to find a new identity after therapy, because she realized that she had only functioned for others.

Interesting actually that one doesn’t notice that at all. That one is actually only functioning and functioning, but functions really well, because one lives and works for other people. That was a very, very sad insight for me that I said, now I have half of my life behind me and had to realize that now I am born again, and I will look for my new identity with my new personality […]. Because before that, I didn’t feel any pain, I didn’t have any boundaries, I was perfect in everything I did, of course. And now? (P9)

Participants described that one factor that helped them to function was their lack in perceiving feelings and bodily signals. For example, they had difficulties adequately perceiving hunger, thirst, and pain. Consequently, participants compared themselves to robots or machines that worked well but were unable to be in connection with themselves.

In the end, I didn’t feel at all whether the life I’m leading right now is actually what I want or whether I’m just doing it, just to do it, let alone that I felt anything. It was really only getting up, going to work, doing therapy, going home again, working, and somehow it was just like that. I think a robot captures it quite well, well programmed, but that’s just it. (P8(2))

As already described above, these difficulties with the perception of stimuli from within the body also made it difficult for the participants not to overburden themselves. They often only noticed that they had overstepped their boundaries through extreme physical signals (e.g., migraine and sleep disturbances). They also described overburdening as a strategy to distract themselves from complicated feelings and to avoid conflicts.

I was just astonished. Shit why do I have such a migraine now? Or why am I so exhausted and empty…? So, I always had the feeling that I had to do something, maybe to distract myself and I didn’t want anyone to feel offended or somehow get into a fight with me, so I preferred to do it and think to myself, okay, I have a fever of 40 °C, but I’ll do it anyway. (P7)

[petermorwood]

This popped up on my YouTube the other day and not to brag, but...

Oh, why the hell not? It's a small brag, but satisfying. :->

I posted about refilling the Pilot Vpen (IRL-UK) / Varsity (US) - and adding how-to links - about 4 years and then again a year ago.

Here are the how-to links; I'm glad to see they're still active.

This one, like the video, calls for pliers and suggests removing the nib:

This one doesn't use pliers or separate the nib from the feed.

*****

Bragging aside, I'm pleased to see Brian Goulet of Goulet Pens giving this hack a higher profile (and Kudos for it, too - as a retailer it's more in his interest to sell them than refill them!)

His reason is very sound: those cheap little pens (usually about 3-to-4 local currency units whether €, $ or £) are ideal for FP-curious newbies or as no-loss-worries when travelling or no-damage-worries loaners.

They also have much better nibs than the price would suggest. Indeed that seems common to all the inexpensive Pilot pens I've tried, which includes every nib size of MR / Metropolitan.

In addition, IMO the notion of "disposable" fountain pens goes completely against the principal FP virtue, where once you've bought the pen, all you USE is the ink.

*****

I should mention, for completeness, that some "starter" fountain pens have prices not much more than these disposables and, refilled by "proper" ink cartridges / bottle-refill converters, don't involve anything like this trouble.

Just saying...

*****

It just so happens that one of my two Vpens was about due for a refill, so here are some pics of the process.

I scrubbed the markings off the barrels a long time ago so I could see what was inside, since refills mean the ink in the pen often has nothing to do with its colour-indicator cap.

First, disassembled and washed in changes of warm water until the water stays clear.

Here's the nib and feed: they've always come out of both Vpens as a single unit, with no need for pliers. Since the nibs show no desire to come off I've no desire to force the issue and maybe break something; those little ink-guide fins are delicate.

The filler is a small syringe begged from our local vet. I also use it to refill cartridges with custom ink colours (yup, I sometimes roll my own...)

Its "needle" is plastic tubing (an empty Pilot gel-pen cartridge, appropriately enough) which fits the syringe perfectly, and a pointy end made by stretching the tube over a candle-flame then snipping to length. If it gets too stained - this is nearly there - just chuck it in the recycle bin and make a new one.

The ink could have been any of the 30-odd I have at the minute, or something mixed specially, but I chose this one - a nice dark green - for the same reason @dduane had me buy it.

It's a very cute bottle... :->

*****

And here's the "disposable" pen refilled, reassembled and re-writing.

It really does have a better nib than you'd expect from a supposedly single-use pen...

*****

It sometimes takes a while for the ink to work its way by capillary action down from barrel to nib, especially if everything has been left to dry after washing. Put the cap on the pen and be patient.

Or speed things up by taking the cap off and running a thin stream of hot water over the barrel for 30 seconds or so. This increases internal pressure, forcing the ink along the section fins.

NB, this step is only for a refilled Vpen / Varsity. Don't try it with anything else, and in case it's not obvious, do this at a washbasin or sink, because You Never Know.

Now use a bit of kitchen paper or loo roll to blot the water which has got on the nib. This has a mild "suction" effect, and when you see ink on the paper (you might need to wet the nib again) your refilled pen is ready for use.

This wet-and-blot nib step can be used to encourage any stubborn fountain pen to get back in action, but the hot water trick, once again, is Vpen only.

Anyway, done.

[atrizdelua]

"Okay, but I need you to at least go to the flower shop for me… seriously, Piper? Ugh, okay, I'll go get those damn flowers."

The loud sound of the car's passenger door being closed startled the two humans inside the vehicle. She gave an apologetic smile, but quickly wiped it off her face when she seemed to remember who was next to her.

"I could make you pay a fine for property damage."

She rolled her eyes after speaking, putting on her seat belt as she put her cell phone in her backpack.

"You know it doesn't work like that. Besides, if you're going to blame someone, blame your sister." She made it clear. "And I could make you pay a fine for harassment."

"You're the one who's slamming my car door like it was a battery." He accused, slightly offended.

"And you're the one who won't shut up and is simply taking up my precious time."

He stuck his tongue out at her, a childish attitude that made her sigh in pity for him. Turning on the left turn signal, he carefully pulled out of the parking space and onto the busy street. The two fell into a somewhat thick silence; they had never gone so long without exchanging a word, whether through teasing or sarcastic comments.

The young woman watched the outside movement through the dirty window, wrinkling her nose when she noticed the dust stains that prevented her from having a better view of the cars passing by her. He drummed his fingertips on the steering wheel, glancing at her sideways and, seeing her frowning face, prepared himself for her next move.

"How long has it been since you had this car washed?"

He almost smiled when her predictability was proven. Well, at least in relation to him, she was becoming predictable.

"For your information, it was washed last week."

"Then you should sue the company responsible," she said, running her finger along the glass and shuddering when she saw it slightly dusty. "This was the worst cleansing in human history. ."

"Why do you always want to sue someone?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice, and he also didn't let the slight exaggeration coming from her go by.

She shrugged, ignoring the hint of a smile in his voice.

"Why do you keep paying for mediocre work? Do you have some compulsion to lose money or something?"

"First of all, I don't throw my money away. People need jobs and I need services, it's the law of life." - he defended himself, holding back a laugh when he heard her snort.

"The wheels that move the world and all, I know, but that doesn't mean you have to put up with poorly done work just because someone is offering it."

"You talk as if I don't know how to judge."

"And you don't know it." She quickly declared, poking his cheek so he would turn his attention back to the road. "Your garage door is still stuck today just because you hired someone because she was "nice."

"But she was." He defended himself, laughing at the exaggerated air quotes she made.

"A pretty smile doesn't mean the person is trustworthy."

"Being grumpy doesn't mean it either." He muttered softly so she wouldn't hear. - "Ouch!" - Which didn't help, as proven by the pinch in his rib.

"I don't need to smile at everyone I meet. I've had enough of hearing that from idiots on the street, I don't need to hear it from you too."

She said seriously, she hated when people told her to smile, she felt she was being pressured to hide any feelings. "Get rid of that face, you must look beautiful when you smile," said a lady in a random store, "Give me a smile, cutie," said a strange idiot on the street, "People think you don't like them, smile a little more," her aunt said.

"Sorry," he asked quickly, noticing the expression on her face. "But I don't judge people badly, I just try… not to judge."

"And in the end you end up paying twice. The plumbing in your kitchen is proof of that."

"The guy said he'd been replacing pipes his whole life."

"Who knows which pipes he was talking about."

"What other pipes was he talking about?"

"And do I know? Humans are strange."

He laughed at her solemn expression, which brought a small smile to her face.

"So, we're here." He said, parking in front of a flower shop.

"I can't believe we're going to spend the afternoon preparing something that should have already been done."

Her grumble earned him a laugh, and he watched her get out of the car before unbuckled to follow him.

"There's no point in making that face." He opened the door for her. "I know you're happy to be in control of everything."

She wrinkled her nose at him as she got out of the car, ignoring the soft laughter that sounded behind her as she walked to the flower shop. The surprise baby shower, which was now their responsibility, had been dropped like a bomb on their laps after their best friend disappeared to go to a convention for antique watch lovers.

"You could buy me a bouquet, you know."

"For what reason?" She asked, stopping in front of the door to find him with an amused smile on her lips. - "For opening the car door for me?"

"Of course not." - he said laughing. - "Think of it as a reward for putting up with your great mood for years."

"You make me seem like a burden." - she wanted to sound sarcastic, but the discomfort she felt showed in her voice.

He sensed her discomfort, he could always read her in an almost frightening way.

"You will never be a burden to me." - he stated sincerely, bumping her shoulder with his. - "Look, they have roses, how about one to brighten up your day?"

She smiled at his dancing eyebrows.

"Don't be so cliché."

"What would become of us if the world wasn't a cliché?" - he opened the door, making a jingle of bells sound, stepping aside so she could pass in front. - "After you, Miss Page."

She stared at the open door, arching an eyebrow as she turned her attention to him. The teasing glint in Henry's eyes made her feel… anxious, in a good way. She decided to play along, if the subtle-not-so-subtle shift in energy between them was any indication, something new was about to begin.

"As you wish, Mr. Hart."

As she turned her back to him, she knew a smile was growing on his face. Henry watched Charlotte walk into the flower shop as always, confident and glowing with a new look; nodding slightly, he followed her, feeling hopeful for what the future held for them both.

[astrronomemes]

TEXT POST STARTERS IV

a collection of quotes and quips from popular internet posts. change & alter as needed.

“I can shut down each of my organs through the power of will alone.”

“May your next ibuprofen take effect swiftly and noticeably.”

“I hate when the washing machine is on the scary part.”

“The guy who designed scythes definitely knew that shit was badass. He didn’t care about wheat.”

“Going to the morgue. Y’all need anything?”

“Having a legal name implies the existence of a better, sexier illegal name.”

“Maybe this scented hand soap will be the thing that finally turns my life around.”

“I’ve faced more peer pressure in my life to start animes than do drugs.”

“Cantaloupes taste like they don’t believe in themselves.”

“I don’t have sage-green kitchen cabinets, but I’m being so brave about it.”

“Winnie the Pooh didn’t rock crop tops our whole childhood to watch us become unconfident about our bodies.”

“Maybe this to-do list will fix me.”

“Cross my dick and swear to balls.”

“The Pope wears that big hat because Jesus is under there, controlling him. Ratatouille-style.”

“I am a god among men.”

“The fact that people can see me makes me kinda uncomfortable. Not gonna lie.”

“Standing up too quickly gives me temporary access to shrimp colors.”

“I’ve had a god complex ever since I could never find my name on those gift-shop keychains.”

“I wish I was a lettuce on the produce shelf, being gently misted by the store’s automated showers.”

[ginger-snap-talkin-nonsense]

I want you to yap about mouth washing If you want to

It's themes of rape culture and the way capitalist systems and toxic masculinity pressure us to cover up the horrible things people do are incredible

Its use of PS2 graphics is the most creative I've felt a retro style for a game has gotten, period. I'm not usually a fan of games looking old school for the sake of having it, but this game absolutely justified its style in a way that gives me a deeper appreciation for its inspiration.

Its characters are wildly enjoyable, even Jimmy who is such a detestable bastard they say he desperately twists the reality of his situation over and over again to avoid taking responsibility is so engaging as a character.

Its horror imagery is strange and perverse without being graphic and unnecessary-the creature at the end of the game is something I'll remember for a very long time.

It's power quotes go incredibly hard