#professional pool cleaners

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4663

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I was reading a book series and got this idea. Enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, poking at the sad bowl of cereal before you.

“Why not?” Your wife frowns at you from across the kitchen.

“Because we’re doing fine! We don’t need any extra help,” you emphasize.

“You’re not the one stuck at home all day cleaning the house and cooking all the meals,” she snaps. Your eyes shift to the bowl of cereal you’d had to make yourself because she was too busy at her pilates class to cook you anything more substantial. 

“This house is huge compared to our old one,” your wife continues. “And if you’re not going to help me around here, I’m going to hire someone who will.” Annoyance burns in your chest because you run your own company full-time, and your wife inherited all her wealth from her parents and hadn’t worked a real job in her entire life. “Besides, Steve’s the one who recommended her and he said she’s been really helpful to his family.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time talking to Steve,” you note, although you feel guilty for calling out your neighbor across the street. You’d spoken to him a few times and he seemed like a decent guy, but you weren’t stupid enough to not notice how often your wife would find her way over to his lawn multiple times a week.

“You’re at work all day and don’t answer your phone half the time,” she says. “You don’t expect me to stay in this gigantic house all by myself doing chores, do you? I’m not a house servant, Y/N.”

“No, of course you’re not,” you apologize. You glance at the Omega watch that had been an engagement gift from your wife. “Hey, I have to get going to work now.” Dutifully, you bring your bowl over to the sink and stop to kiss your wife on the way there. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Remember, the pool guy is coming at noon so you need to be back before then,” she says. “I don’t want to be left by myself with him.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” You’re not sure why she’s so nervous around the pool technician; he was about 30 years older than the both of you and had been very sweet and professional when he came to give you a quote for the maintenance.  

“No, don’t try. Do it,” she insists.

You try to hold in your sigh. “Yes, dear.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha curses to herself as she drags her vacuum cleaner and basket of cleaning supplies up the sidewalk to your home. Your wife–Mrs. L/N, as she had asked Natasha to call her, while you had no problem being on a first name basis with her–had told Natasha she didn’t want her parking in front of your house, requiring her to park around the corner. Which wouldn’t have been a significant issue except it meant Natasha had to lug everything to your house every time she stopped by.

“Do you need any help, Nat?” Steve Rogers, the friendly neighbor whom she also worked for, waved at her from across the street.

“No, no, I’m fine!” she squeaks, not wanting to bother him. But Steve, ever the gentleman, runs over anyway and she has no choice but to turn over her supplies to him. 

“You know, you can always just park in front of my house,” he offers, bundling the items in his muscular arms.

“That’s okay,” Natasha says. “Mrs. L/N made it very clear that as much as she needs my help, she doesn’t want people to know I’m here.”

Steve doesn’t argue with her and walks her to your front door. “Well, if you ever need anything–”

“Natasha! You’re late!” The front door swings open and Natasha finds herself face-to-face with your wife. “Oh, hello, Steven.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I was just helping Natasha with her things,” Steve explains.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself. Right, Natasha?” She turns a judgmental eye on Natasha.

“I appreciate the help, Steve,” is all Natasha says.

“You’re welcome. See you both later!” He quickly jogs back to his home. 

Mrs. L/N ushers Natasha into the house. “I left a grocery list on the kitchen counter for you. If you can’t find something, please call me before you pick any substitutions,” she instructs briskly. “I have to go out to the HOA meeting, but Y/N should be home by noon before the pool man comes. Do not let him into the yard if Y/N or me are not home yet, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha nods her head, fighting the urge not to roll her eyes at this lady.

“Good.” She leaves towards the garage and Natasha can hear the purr of her Mercedes starting up.

It was Natasha’s second week working for your family, and she hated nearly every second of it–mostly because of your spoiled, bratty wife. But the few times Natasha had met you, she thought you were as kind and charming as could be (and very nice to look at). She wondered how the two of you had gotten together in the first place and what you saw in your wife. She was one of the bossiest clients Natasha had ever had, and Natasha had seen her be not much nicer to you. Plus, she was definitely hitting on Steve, but Natasha knows he wouldn’t cheat on his wife with yours.

She dumps her supplies in the foyer, then goes into the kitchen to find the grocery list. It only takes a single glance to know that your wife is totally fucking with her–what the hell is a rambutan? Natasha sighs loudly, wishing there were someone around to hear her distress. As much as she wants to quit working for your family, she needs the money. And she was still so new to the business, she couldn’t afford to make any bad impressions. 

With another sigh, she balls the grocery list into her fist and heads back out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha returns from her grocery trip just in time to see you pull into the garage in your bright green luxury sports car she doesn’t even recognize the manufacturer’s logo of. You get out and wave to her and she smiles back, almost forgetting the awful phone call she had to make to your wife when she searched the entire store and still couldn’t locate the rambutans (she ended up having to make a separate trip to Whole Foods for them). 

“Hi, Natasha!” you say, running down the driveway to help her with the grocery bags.

“Oh, don’t worry about these,” Natasha says, trying to swat your hands away. “It’s my job to take them into the house–”

“No, let me help,” you insist, scooping up four bags in one hand in one go. “Oh! Rambutans. These are my favorite. Thank you for finding them.” 

Instantly, Natasha wants to take back all the curses she had put on the spiky red fruit. “It was nothing,” she lies, making a mental note to buy out the store’s entire stock for you the next time she goes.

With your help, it takes half the amount of time to get all the groceries in the house. You also insist on helping her put everything away, showing her the proper drawers in the fridge for the fruit and vegetables versus the meat, and where the cereals went in the pantry. Natasha is beyond grateful for you; she knows your wife would have happily stood there and watched her struggle, then loudly criticized her for not knowing better.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her hand inadvertently brushing yours when you pass her the last bag of apples. She withdraws from you almost too quickly, her skin hot where you touched her, but you don’t seem to notice, distracted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

“That must be Stan.” You dash off to meet the pool man. 

Natasha fills the dishwasher as much as she can and starts in, then goes to finish washing the oddly-shaped pots and pans that didn’t fit in the sink. The kitchen window looks out to your yard that is probably bigger than the footprint of her entire apartment complex. The pool has two different levels, but both are filled with a suspicious green water. You’re standing poolside talking to Stan, an older gentleman whom Natasha personally knew to be very kind from her few interactions with him when he conducted work on the neighborhood pool’s. 

She’s so busy looking at you, fantasizing about a life where this big house could be hers, with a doting partner who would take care of her and raise a family with her, she doesn’t hear the front door opening until she hears the unholy screech from your wife.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” she yells, hurrying over and snatching the soapy sponge right out of Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Um–the dishes? They didn’t all fit in the dishwasher–”

“You turned on the dishwasher?” Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops like Natasha’s just confessed to a murder. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t run the dishwasher before seven p.m.?” Natasha is certain she’s never heard this instruction before in her life and watches as she rushes over to turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle and throw it open. “Also, you didn’t pack this correctly, you definitely could’ve fit those pots in here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll rearrange it now,” Natasha says, trying not to get flustered. Surely your wife wouldn’t fire her over such a minor transgression, would she?

“Is Stan here yet?” she asks, but before Natasha can answer, she is interrupted by a shout and a splash. Both of them crane their necks to look out the window, where they can see Stan floating facedown in the pool. You’re kicking your shoes off and throwing your phone onto the lawn before you run up to the pool’s edge and dive in with a form that would rival an Olympic swimmer’s. Your wife screams and darts towards the back door, Natasha following right behind her.

“Y/N! What are you doing?”

“He fell in!” you answer, coughing out water as you loop your arms under the elderly man and kick back towards the stairs. “He just zoned out when he was talking to me and suddenly tipped over into the pool. I think he’s having a seizure.”

“I’ll call 911!” Natasha offers, not wanting to be as useless as your wife. She struggles to get her phone out of her pocket and punches in the number with shaky fingers.

Your wife hovers by the pool stairs, making no move to assist you as you struggle to drag the old man out, clearly weighed down by the water drenching both of your clothes. Stan is holding himself in a position so stiff it reminds Natasha of a mannequin. 

“Ugh, don’t get me wet, Y/N!” your wife complains as the brackish water sprays everywhere.

“I’m trying not to!” you snap, gently laying Stan on the grass.  

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a dispatcher picks up.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at 2800 Sherwood Drive. There’s a man here who fell into the pool and we just got him out, but he’s having some kind of medical episode,” Natasha says, putting her phone on speaker. The dispatcher asks if he’s breathing and you confirm. 

“Can roll him to his side and stabilize his head?”

Without hesitation, you peel off your shirt and roll it into a soggy ball, gently tucking it under the man’s head like a makeshift pillow. Natasha tries not to stare at your nicely sculpted torso, highlighted further by the water droplets on your skin, but her face burns in shame when she sees your wife glaring at her ogling.

“Okay, his head is stabilized!” you call out.

“Perfect, emergency services are two minutes away.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a big scene at the house by the time the ambulance pulls up. Your wife eventually covers you up with a towel, but you’re insistent on waiting outside for Stan to be carefully loaded into the ambulance before you finally allow your wife to usher you back into the house, still dripping water everywhere.

“Thank you for the help today, Natasha,” you say, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle pat as you walk by her towards the house. Natasha doesn’t even know how to respond but nods furiously and mumbles that “she didn’t help much.”

“You can go now, Natasha,” your wife says curtly, and Natasha doesn’t question her and practically flees the premise.

***********************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since the pool incident and Natasha is barely able to hold onto her sanity with the never-ending list of ridiculous tasks from your wife. When she holds a fundraiser meeting for a charity Natasha is sure she made up on her own, she calls on Natasha as her personal servant, forcing her to serve a collection of the snobbiest women in the neighborhood. Maybe I should take up meditation, Natasha thinks to herself as she prepares a third pitcher of iced tea because the first two “did not have the right balance of sugar to tea,” according to your wife, despite that Natasha had put in exactly one-third cup of sugar as requested.

Natasha doesn’t see you much around the house anymore, and she wonders if your wife purposely scheduled her around your work hours, or told you to stay away from her. She wants to ask you if there were any updates about Stan’s condition (there was no way she was going to get that information from your wife). She missed hearing your voice and seeing your smile…wait.

She shakes her head–she shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You’re her employer and you’re married (to a bitch). It would be entirely inappropriate and dangerous to pursue you, so she would just have to make do with ogling you from afar. Besides, a lot of her clients did not show her respect, likely due to the nature of her job, so just because you were courteous and respectful towards her, didn’t mean you felt a specific way about her.

“You know, Y/N used to be fat.” Natasha startles when your wife walks up behind her. She almost drops the picture frame she’d been dusting of the two of you on a beach, holding hands as you walked towards the sunset in the background.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks. 

“Fat and poor,” Mrs. L/N adds, much to Natasha’s horror. 

“That’s an awful thing to say about your partner,” Natasha says.

She shrugs. “I don’t want anything to be sugarcoated for you. All of this–” She gestures around to the grandiose-ness of the house, and points to a more recent photo of you, where you’re carrying your wife in your arms, the bulge of your biceps and wideness of your shoulders stretching out your shirt. “–was not a thing when we first started dating. I was there when Y/N had nothing and was no one.”

“Okay.” Natasha wonders why she’s acting like she did you a favor, when you are clearly the catch in the relationship. But then it suddenly dawns on her the reason she’s saying this is because she knows Natasha might have a small crush on you.

“Y/N would never leave me, because I was there from the beginning,” Mrs. L/N says loftily.

“Of course,” Natasha says, fearing she has made a terrible mistake. “Y/N must be very lucky to have you.”

“You have no idea,” your wife smirks. “So let me be a reminder to keep things professional in my house. I’d hate for you to lose your job here. As far as I know, this is the only neighborhood that employs you, and your reputation is everything, isn’t it? One bad review could spoil the whole bunch, and you’d be off having to peddle your services elsewhere.” Icy fear pits at the bottom of Natasha’s stomach. “That is, if the police don’t pick you up first.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha whispers, even though she knows exactly what Mrs. L/N is talking about. She had been foolish to assume her past would never follow her, but how could your wife have found out? Clint had assured her that with a new name and a new location, she’d be untraceable. 

“Because they’d have to arrest you from stealing Y/N away from me,” Mrs. L/N laughs shrilly. Natasha chuckles nervously, although she was certain adultery was not a punishable offense in the state. “But I’m just joking. That would never happen, right?”

“Never,” Natasha promises, hoping her cover will stay hidden for now. 

“Good.”

***********************************************************************

“How was your day at work, honey?”

“Busy,” you grunt, moodily poking at the chicken pot pie Natasha had made before she went home. The food tastes good–it’s better than anything your wife has ever cooked, you think privately, but you don’t have much of an appetite. The end of the financial quarter was rapidly approaching and it had become extremely apparent to you that the profits of your company were not outweighing the expenses for the third quarter in a row. You were digging yourself a bigger and bigger grave, dipping into your personal investments to pay your way out of debt. It was the most stressful period of your life, with no relief in sight, and your wife wouldn’t understand the pressure.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says, although her words don’t come across as very genuine. “My day wasn’t so great either. I got into an argument earlier with Mrs. Harkness at the HOA meeting.” Your wife clicks her tongue. “Some of these women will go to war over their lawn decorations, I swear.”

A jab bubbles on the tip of your tongue; was she really trying to compare an HOA meeting to your very real, very stressful job running a business? But you stay quiet, shoveling another spoonful of pot pie into your mouth.

“Where’s Natasha?” you ask. Usually she stayed around for dinner (not that your wife would let her sit at the same table as you), but you hadn’t seen her in the house for a while.

“I ran out of time today, so I sent her out to grab some things for tomorrow,” she answers. When Natasha had first been hired, you had been under the impression that she was exclusively a housekeeper, helping with all the household chores your wife couldn’t complete. But you had heard about her running grocery trips and waiting on your wife and her friends during meetings, turning Natasha into more of a personal assistant than anything. You hoped she was okay with that; you knew how demanding your wife could be sometimes.

“Oh, okay.” You finish your helping of pot pie in silence, then go to place your plate in the dishwasher, before going into the bedroom to retire for the night. As you’re washing your face in the sink, you hear your wife pad up behind her.

“Sorry you’ve been really stressed lately,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, drying your face on a towel, going back into the bedroom to find your pajamas so you can take a shower.

“Y/N.” Your wife stops you as you’re searching through the dresser for your pajamas. When you look at her, she’s eyeing you with her bottom lip between her teeth. She struts towards you, slowly sinking to her knees and looking up at you. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” 

With you being so busy with work and her busy with the new move, the two of you hardly had time for each other. Plus, your wife tended to be on the particular side and never seemed to be in the mood if you initiated. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but you found ways to cope and besides, it did make the times she was ready for you all the more enjoyable.

She pulls down your pants, palming at your boxers and causing you to groan. You unbutton your shirt as you feel your body start to heat up and let it slide off your shoulders. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me,” you grunt when she leans forward and nibbles on the exposed flesh of your thigh. 

“You need to savor the moment,” she says, although you can tell she’s just as impatient when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your boxers and draws them down to the floor. Your heavy cock bobs out, slapping against your abs before your wife grabs onto it and brings it to her mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, tipping your head back when you feel her lips wrap around your cock. You wrap your hand in her hair, pumping your hips forward to sink your length into the heat of her throat. She grips onto your thighs to steady herself, the faintest of choking noise escaping her. You grunt in satisfaction, thrusting a little harder until the tip of your cock bumps the back of her throat. She whines louder, but doesn’t pull away, and your knees are practically shaking at the sight of her deepthroating all of you.  

“You’re doing so well,” you praise and her cheeks flush red. “Are you gonna let me finish in your mouth?” you ask, and she nods in response, the movement causing a burst of pre-cum to leak out of your cock. You stroke a stray hair out of her face so you can look into her eyes when you finish. “That’s my good girl.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha lets herself into your home, juggling three heavy bags that she’s pretty sure are cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She passes by the kitchen, confused to see it empty; when she had left the two of you were just settling down to eat. She puts the bags by the foot of the table, recalling the time Mrs. L/N had screamed at her for putting “dirty outside bags” on the place where you ate. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Checking her phone, Natasha sees that your wife had sent her a text less than five minutes ago.

Natasha sighs. It had already been a long day, but she wasn’t given an ounce of leeway. She knows better than to walk away from an unfinished task (especially around your wife), so she trudges up the stairs and turns into the guest room. Hopefully her presence can go unnoticed, and your wife will magically find the folded clothes long after Natasha is gone. 

There are a total of three shirts and a pair of jeans left to fold. Natasha knows it would be too much to ask your wife to do on her own. She grits her teeth and folds the clothes, taking the better part of a minute, then looks around and realizes she doesn’t remember where she put the laundry basket. 

Maybe she had already brought it to the master bedroom, but she knew she couldn’t just leave it on the guest bed, or your wife would probably fire her. Natasha gathers up the clothes and walks down the hall to the master bedroom, but freezes in her tracks when she hears noises coming out of the bedroom.

Moaning noises, specifically.

Natasha can’t stop herself as she moves closer to the door, positioning herself to peer through the crack in between the door and the wall. She sees your wife on her knees, her head bobbing against your waist as you stand there, half-naked, moaning and thrusting your hips forward.

Natasha feels like she can’t breathe, totally shocked and embarrassed to have caught the two of you in a moment. She has a strange sense that your wife had set her up like this on purpose, but the thought quickly dissipates as she finds herself moving closer to the door.

“That’s my good girl.”

Natasha’s stomach flips when she hears you say this, even though it isn’t directed to her. But maybe one day it could be. 

She’s practically pressed up against the door, the fear of being caught burning away in her eagerness to keep watching you. The way the muscles in your stomach and thighs flex as your hips roll in a sinful rhythm. Natasha is almost ashamed at how fast she feels the arousal building in her own stomach.

You grunt louder and slow down as you seem to near release. Natasha can’t help but wonder what you must taste like and if she could even fit you down her throat. Your wife seems to be struggling with your size, but Natasha would do everything in her power to make you happy and not let any drop go to waste.

Without warning, your wife removes you from her mouth. Both you and Natasha gasp–you probably in frustration, and Natasha because she’s shocked at how big you are. Your cock is shiny with saliva and pre-cum and is so hard it looks like it’s about to burst.

“I didn’t finish,” you whine as your wife stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts her hand on your chest and pushes you back until you stumble onto the bed.

“I know. But I don’t want you to finish in my mouth, I want you to finish inside me.”

“Oh.” Your wife takes off her pants and climbs onto you.

Natasha knows how wrong it is for her to stand there and continue watching. She should’ve left a long time ago. But somehow, she knows your wife set her up to see this, and instead of running away in shame, Natasha is totally absorbed and her obsession with you only skyrockets. 

The headboard creaks against the wall as your wife rides you, both of you moaning in unison. Natasha’s eyes are stuck on you, trying to memorize your body’s reactions and wondering if she’d ever be the cause of them one day. You tilt your head back into the pillows, your back arching off the mattress, your hands wrapped around your wife’s waist as you thrust up into her. 

“I’m ready. I’m gonna cum,” you announce breathlessly.

Natasha hopes you’ll say those words to her one day. But she turns away as you finish, scolding herself for her unprofessional and frankly creepy behavior. She drops the folded clothes to the floor, knowing your wife will eventually find them and know of their origin. Maybe she’ll get fired for this; if anything, it’d be for the better. She doesn’t trust herself to be around you anymore–not that she’d ever be so bold as to make a move and disrespect your marriage, but she’d never be able to look at you the same way again.

She quickly pads down the stairs and leaves the house, the emptiness in her heart and core almost reaching a painful point.

***********************************************************************

You jerk your hips up a final time as you cum, dropping back onto the bed exhausted and spent. 

“Hmm, that was fun,” your wife pants against your neck, and you wrap your arm around her tightly, pulling her closer to your body. 

“We can shower together?” you suggest, digging your fingers teasingly into her naked hips. 

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She lays her head on your chest.

Despite your differences, you were truly happy to have this woman by your side through it all. She had been your longest supporter and that had meant everything to you when no one else believed in you.

You kiss her forehead softly. “I love you, Wanda.”

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

AN: Actually screaming and crying. Nat please come save us 😭

Click here for Part 2!

@holiday-house-of-m I finally kept my promise to you after 84 years.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[cockainalips]

Poolside-inspired Luigi Mangione x reader.

summary — he's cleaning your swimming pool twice a week and you start falling in love w him

this fic is inspired by the poolside short film and lyrics of lana del rey songs!

English is not my first language!

Summer came, you saved money for cute sun dresses and body moisturizers the whole year, and you can't wait to feel that salty scent in your clothes.

Your parents finally uncovered the swimming pool, and you couldn’t be happier. But it was dirtier than the usual, it was actually a mess, spiders and little worms everywhere. You hadn’t enough money to buy a cleaning robot and you didn’t know how to clean a pool properly, so, the only alternative would be hire someone to do that.

Your dad started looking for pool cleaners online and found a guy, who was cleaning pools during the whole summer as a hobby. At first he was kinda reluctant about hiring him, he was fearing he couldn’t be professional enough, so he called him for more information.

Your parents decided to engage him twice a week, he would come to your house tomorrow to assess the pool and start cleaning, you couldn't be more excited to finally go back to swimming!

Next day came. You put your black bikini on under a blue sundress and went to the backyard. You lay down in the grass and played nintendo the whole morning.

Someone rang the doorbell, and your mother's high heels made a huge noise throughout the house.

You heard a male voice in the hallway, talking about schedules, money and stuff like that. "He’s the pool guy" you thought. You stayed playing nintendo in your sun lounger, as you hadn’t heard nothing.

He knocked the backyard glass door, then he came out. You greeted him and smiling, like you weren’t exploding inside. He was really cute to be honest. His smile was more pleasant that any swiming pool, he couldn’t leave, even if he left your pool perfectly clean.

You couldn’t pay attention to your video game anymore, but you couldn’t look at him properly. You was just maladaptive daydreaming, looking at the dirty water.

— So, how is your summer going? - he asked you

— Having fun at home - you answered. I'm gonna start having more fun now when I can use the pool.

— That's cool. I'm cleaning pools for fun, it's a nice way to make new friends, as crazy it seems.

— My neighbor has this robot, its like a little vacuum, it goes into the pool and it does your job.

— He didn’t answered, he was just starred at you for a few seconds and smirked.

After a few minutes, the pool was sparkling. When he was leaving, you heard your mom screaming in the living room. When you came in, he was in the couch, shirtless and sunburned.

— Are you crazy?- she said. Please put on a shirt next time. Im gonna pick up a relief, please take care of him.

She closed the door, and now you two were alone. You wanted to apologize, but it wasn’t your fault, so you stayed silent and started rubbing a cold towel on his back.

—Thanks for being so nice

— No problem

You two stayed in silence. Suddenly, your mother came back and took care of the situation herself.

-See you in three days.

You spent that three days thinking about him, you needed to do something to offset what happened, the fact that he was hot just made the things worse.

You were in the backyard, as always. He looked better than three days ago, he also looked hotter.

— Hey, you don’t need to do this today - you said. Just come in and drink something, I feel really sorry for what happened.

He starred at you for a couple minutes like you were saying the most out of this world thing ever, but it looked like he was liking what he was hearing.

—I am insisting, okay?

You filled your cup with lemonade at least three times while you two were talking, and you didn’t even noticed. Next to him, hours started looking like seconds, he was the smartest and the most beautiful guy you’ve ever met in the entire summer.

— This might be crazy, but, do you wanna go swimming with me?

He started laughing, shaking his head multiple times.

— Im serious, just put sunscreen on before

10 minutes later, you two were in the sparkling water, he wanted to teach you how to float.

He put his hand in the back of your neck while the other hand was grabbing your waist. His brown eyes looked like fire, you wanted to cry.

You two were lying if you said that nothing was happening at this moment, you had a boyfriend, but right now, he looked like a random guy next to the man who was holding you in his big arms.

He placed his hand at your your face and put his fingers inside your mouth. You stopped feeling your body, and just let him do whatever he wanted. You were completely in love.

[twiceinadream]

“A More…Hands On Experience.”

Requested: Nope

Prompt: G!P Fem! S/O is a pool cleaner, Jihyo is a very attractive woman who asks S/O to rub oil on her.

a/u: Hey everyone! I’m back with a new fic that I hope you all enjoy. I can’t believe it’s already been 4 years since I started writing on Tumblr and I don’t have any plans on stopping in the near future! I want to thank you all for continued love and support after all these years. I love you guys!

Category: NSFW and Fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

The sun shone brightly over Guri, leaving the town in a beautiful glow. The air held a cool breeze and the warmth from the sun was just enough to heat the skin, more-or-less the day was pretty perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you hummed the last song you had heard on the radio under your breath. You were in good spirits, the weather was great, and you were on to the first client of the day. The house was very beautiful and you couldn’t help but marvel at all of the intricate botany.

The house itself looked quite modern as you walked up the little step to knock. It gave a hollow sound as you waited patiently, one of your hands in your pocket. It didn’t take long before you heard a faint, “Hold on, I’m coming!” From inside the house, the door was opened by the most beautiful woman you had ever seen and her attire - or lack there of - made your mouth go dry, “Hi, may I help you?”

You felt like your eyes were gonna pop out of your skull before you quickly shook your head and cleared your throat, recovering your professional demeanor, “Hi, yes, Miss Park?” The woman nodded and it finally clicked that your client was the Park Jihyo, “Hi, I’m Y/N from Palace Pool Cleaners. We have you scheduled for a pool cleaning this morning.”

It took all of your willpower to not look down since the woman before you was the subject of a very long standing crush and she was currently dressed in a very revealing bikini that was barely covered by a white dress shirt. “Oh goodness, you’re right. My apologies, it completely slipped my mind. I was actually about to lounge by the pool myself, it won’t interfere with your work will it?”

You shook your head, it wasn’t uncommon for clients to be out while you worked. Guaranteed most of your clients weren’t insanely attractive women who had been the object of your affection, but you needed to keep this professional. You couldn’t risk losing your job over a stupid crush, “Not at all, Miss Park. Depending on how much debris is in the pool and all the other little nuances I need to check up on for maintenance reasons. I should be out of here in two hours.”

The brunette smiled as she looked you up and down, you couldn’t help but stiffen your stance slightly as you flexed. Secretly hoping to attract such a gorgeous woman - you were only human after all. “Take all the time you need.”

With that, you gave a curt nod to not embarrass yourself any further, “Thank you, let me grab my supplies from the truck and I’ll get started. Is there a side gate I could use to access the backyard so I’m not lugging everything through your house?”

“Yeah, it’s to the right of the garage there’s a gate, it unlocks from the back so just reach over and it leads straight to the pool.” You nodded in thanks as you turned to leave. “One more thing,” you turned back around to see that the dress shirt had fallen down one of Jihyo’s shoulders and was now exposing a good amount of her cleavage that you fought not to gawk at, “you’re new aren’t you?” You nodded as you responded with a ‘yes’, making the brunette giggle, “I just wanted to say you are a lot easier on the eyes than my last pool cleaner.” You could barely believe your ears as Jihyo left you with a wink and disappeared back into her house.

How strange.

You finally let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding as Jihyo closed the door, the front of your shorts felt uncomfortably tight as you turned to go back to your truck and grab the supplies you needed. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, ‘Fucking shit. I feel like I’m living in a bad porno.’

-

Once you had gathered everything you needed to get started with the cleaning you made your way to the backyard, through the gate that Jihyo had mentioned before and you almost stopped in your tracks at the sight. The brunette was propped up on a sun bed, sunglasses on her face and the white button down discarded. Revealing her large breasts that were barely contained by the straining fabric of her brown bikini top and the tiny bottom part that left nothing to the imagination that barely covered the woman’s slit.

You could faintly see the marks of an old tan line that she was probably working on getting rid of. Jihyo didn’t seem to pay any attention to you as you went to work as usual. you set your supplies down a little ways from the edge of the pool as you began assembling the pool skimmer. Screwing together the poll and attaching the net to the end as you dipped it onto the surface of the water and began collecting the stray leaves and occasional bug.

You hummed to yourself as you got lost in the monotony of your work - it wasn’t that you hated your job, you actually loved it, it was just simple and didn’t require much thinking after enough repetitions. The pool was a fairly decent size but wasn’t large enough that it took too much effort to get through. After you had skimmed the entirety of the pool you emptied the net into a trash bag you set off to the side and picked up the pool vacuum you had brought with you.

Thankfully, this pool didn’t have an algae problem as the low hum of the motor whirred to life as you plunged it beneath the surface and once again started your methodical walk around the pool’s edge. Making sure to cover every square inch so you wouldn’t have to do it over. The sun began to beat down, the temperature had risen to 86°F (30°C) and without the coverage of clouds or a breeze, you were beginning to sweat.

Once you finally made it all the way around you pulled out the vacuum and switched off the motor, sighing as you reached for the bottom hem of your shirt and pulled it off. You were wearing a black sports bra that covered everything but a low whistle suddenly reeled your mind back into the present as you remembered that you had an audience. You turned to face the woman still lounging in the pool chair, she had shed the white button down and was left in the skimpy bikini, your eyes wandered the the swell of her massive breasts as you bit your lip.

You were trying in vain to reign in your raging hormones as you felt your dick grow half-hard. But it was confined by your boxers and the lining of your swim trunks…for now.

The brunette had noticed your gaze as she chuckled slightly, “You can keep staring, jagi. I don’t mind.” Jihyo smirked as she pushed her chest out further, “I’m very proud of my body.”

You swallowed hard as you cleared your throat, suddenly feeling brave enough to flirt back, “My apologies, I was staring at your heart, but your boobs seem to be getting in the way.”

The singer was a little surprised by the fact that you had willingly matched her energy, “Funny and good looking, a very dangerous combo.”

You smiled as you headed back to your truck briefly to retrieve the bag of pool salt you needed to restore the correct ph levels in the pool. As you came back in, you noticed Jihyo staring as your muscles bunched slightly under the weight of the bag as you carried it over your right shoulder. Once you got back to the edge of the pool you set down the bag with the side of it facing the pool as you retrieved the box cutter from your pocket and created a small triangle at the bottom of the bag as the salt began spilling out.

After all the salt had been emptied out, you crumpled up the bag and stuffed it into the trash. Tying the elastic strings to keep it closed and everything you had taken out of the pool or used stayed in it. you were finally done and you went through without any more embarrassing incidents other than flirting back a little with the beautiful woman.

You made the short walk to where Jihyo was still lounging and stopped a safe distance away as you cleared your throat to grab her attention. The brunette turned her head as she lifted her sunglasses to properly look at you, “Miss Park, everything is finished. I cleaned and skimmed your pool as well as added more salt into it to restabilize the ph levels. If there’s nothing else you need, I can see myself out. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!”

You wanted to heave a sigh of relief as you were able to get out your entire speech and not get distracted by the tempting pillows of softness that called to you. But before you could continue patting yourself on the back for not being a perv, Jihyo pursed her lips in thought before an idea came to mind.

She reached to the table beside her as she retrieved a bottle of sun tan oil, “Actually, there may be something you can help me with.” You nodded, “I need help applying this oil and you seem like such a nice person. I’m just trying to even out my tan lines and I can’t seem to do it properly. Would you mind doing it for me?”

You felt like your head was spinning with lust, “Yeah, I guess, I can.” The brunette’s smile was practically predatory once she heard your consent. She was finally able to set the plan she had been thinking of for the last hour and a half into motion.

“Since you’re new and all, I was hoping I could give you a better perspective on Guri. A chance to get a more…hands on experience.” As the words left Jihyo’s mouth, she released the hold she had at the front of her bikini top as she let it drop and slide off her arms.

Your eyes felt like you were going to bug out of your skull as you stared at the woman’s bare breasts. They were enormous and when she sat back on the lounge chair, they bounced slightly as they settled back into place after being jostled. You swallowed hard as all you could do was stare, “Shit, you’re beautiful.”

Jihyo giggled at the compliment as she reached down for the oil, holding up the bottle in front of you, “Care to help me, jagiya? I can’t do it properly myself.” There was a hint of a pout in her voice as you took it from her, you were very much in shock about everything that was happening as you uncapped the bottle and began drizzling the liquid onto the brunette’s chest. “That’s it, don’t be shy.”

You preened at the words that fell from the older woman’s lips as you watched the oil drip down the pillowy mountains of titty flesh. You reached a tentative hand up to rub the oil into her skin but stopped, unsure if this was what she really wanted you to do. Jihyo smirked as she grabbed your hand and placed it firmly on her breast, “Rub it in please.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the pliant flesh beneath your hand. Rubbing the oil over the singer’s warm skin as you kneaded her breasts. Your movements became more bold as you chanced a pinch to her left nipple, eliciting a soft moan from your client as she pressed her chest closer to you. The tent at the front of your swim shorts was extremely obvious as the outline of your dick stood out proudly. You were painfully hard as you continued to spread the oil all over Jihyo’s chest while fondling her tits, ‘This can’t be fucking real. Whatever I did to deserve this, thank you Universe!’ You mused to yourself as you realized the brunette had been staring at you.

“Why don’t I get you now, yeah?” You quirked an eyebrow in confusion as you paused from rubbing the oil onto the older woman’s taught stomach.

“What do you mean?” Jihyo had a predatory gleam in her eyes as she urged you to stand, she followed suit as her breasts swayed with the movement.

“I think you could use some oil too. It would look just delectable on you.” Before you could speak, Jihyo poured a healthy amount into her hands and began rubbing it onto your abdomen and down your arms. The brunette bit her lip as she felt you up, her eyes drifting down to see a very obvious bulge. You followed her gaze as you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t warn you. I have a…” But before you could continue Jihyo sank to her knees as she kissed the tip of your dick beneath the swim trunks.

“Don’t apologize for who you are. Ever.” The comment was incredibly endearing as your felt your heart grow light.

‘This woman really is amazing.’

It didn’t take long for Jihyo to bring you back to the present as she hooked her fingers into the shorts, “May I?”

It was now your turn to bite your lip as you nodded, “Please.”

In a slow and practiced motion, Jihyo began pulling down your swim trunks. She hit a snag around your erect cock before she was able to get the tight material around it and was shocked to see the sheer size of it in the open. The brunette made quick work of the shorts as you stepped out of them and kicked it away, leaving the singer to stare at your impressive length. You were both long and thick making you the perfect combination as your dick flexed up to your stomach.

“Wow, you’re the biggest I’ve ever seen.” Jihyo smiled as she reached a hand up to begin stroking your cock, “You just keep getting better and better.”

You wanted to respond but your mind was a bit more preoccupied with the sight of Park Jihyo on her knees as she stroked your dick. Opting for a nod and pleased hum.

The brunette leaned forward as she placed a kiss to your balls, moving up so she could lick a long line up the underside of your shaft to the dribbling head. The slightly salty taste of your precum coated her tongue as your hand found its way into her hair, tangling her locks in between your fingers. Jihyo took the tip of your cock into her mouth and she felt a spurt of cum as you groaned at the sudden heat around you, but before she could work down more of your impressive length she felt her head jerk forward as you pulled her closer to your groin.

More cock than she could handle was suddenly filling her mouth as the head of your length hit the back of throat and she gagged. And just as quickly as you had pushed her down on your cock, you pulled her off just as fast as apologies fell from your lips. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be that rough with you, your mouth just feels really g….”

Before you could apologize further, Jihyo took you back into her mouth, but this time at her own pace. You moaned aloud as you felt her throat muscle contract as she took you all the way to the root, pulling back as she ran her tongue along the underside of your shaft. In an attempt to not choke the brunette a second time, you refrained from pulling at her hair as you carded your fingers through it instead. Thrusting forward every so often to chase the warmth that was being pulled off of you.

The head of your dick began leaking in a steady stream as you felt the coil in your abdomen tighten at how close you were to cumming. you let out a guttural moan, “Of fuck, Jihyo-ssi, I’m gonna cum.”

But just as the words left your mouth, the brunette completely pulled off of your length as a few ropes of cum shot out onto the singer’s face. You groaned as your balls clenched but you were left completely unsatisfied without any further stimulation, causing the tightening in your stomach to worsen. “Wh..what the h…hell?”

The ruined orgasm was borderline painful as your abdominal muscles grew taught but there was nothing else to combat the intense feeling. You groaned as you looked down to see your shaft even harder than before as it still rested stiffly against your stomach. But your heart seemed to stop at the view before you, Park Jihyo with lines of your cum on her face. She wore a very proud smirk as you panted, “I’m sorry, Y/N-ah, did that hurt?”

The brunette’s voice was full of false sympathy as she mocked you, which in turn pissed you off further. You growled lowly as you gripped her hair in your fist and pulled Jihyo to stand, still using her hair to guide the forceful movements as you brought her close to your face. “You must think you’re so clever. You’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.”

Jihyo stared up to meet your eyes, accepting the challenge. “Oh, I’d love to see you try.” You pulled her into a rough kiss, void of the sweetness she had expected from you as teeth clashed and tongues wrestled for dominance. And Jihyo had to admit, she had never been more turned on in her life.

No matter what she threw at you, you gave it back to her ten fold, which was how she found herself hovering over your mouth. Her bikini bottoms completely soaked through, but you didn’t even bother to remove them as you pulled them to the side and licked a strip up the center of her pussy. Jihyo moaned at the feeling as she pressed lower trying to get more friction against her weeping folds.

You were arguably too horny to tease and you were quickly getting over your anger due to the ruined orgasm since the taste of the brunette on your tongue was just too enticing to abstain from. It had a sweet yet tangy flavor that you couldn’t get enough of as you ran the flat of your tongue almost to her clit, but stopped at the second, you weren’t letting her off the hook that easily.

But Jihyo was quick with her wits as she bucked forward trying to feel more of your tongue, “How about I give you a true taste of Guri?”

You laughed slightly, “Are you always this cheesy when you’re having sex or is this just for my benefit?” You didn’t give her a chance to respond as your tongue teased at her entrance, taking in more of her leaking arousal. But before you could dive deeper into the singer’s depths you pulled away to place a kiss to her inner thigh, “But, ever since I’ve gotten here, I feel like I’m living in a poorly written porn script.”

To her benefit, Jihyo had the humility to laugh as a genuine smile broke out onto her lips. “Well I’m disappointed that my seduction came off as poorly written porn. Was it really that bad?”

“To be fair, when you wanted me to touch your boobs you phrased it as a ‘hands on experience’.” You chuckled as you craned your neck to suck on her clit briefly, “I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt that it came off as cheesy rather than poorly written porn.”

Jihyo hummed as she lost focus on the conversation as she relished in the feeling of her clit getting the attention it so desperately craved, “I can accept that. But can we save the pillow talk for after, I think there are more pressing matters at the moment.”

You chuckled as you kissed her clit, “I agree. Why don’t you ride me, jagi, I want to see those beautiful tits bounce for me. Least you could do since you spilled oil all over me.”

The brunette smirked as she wiggled her way out of her bikini bottoms so that the two were completely naked, “I can definitely get on top of that idea and get on top of you as well.”

You both laughed out loud but your laughing ceased as Jihyo sank down on your cock. The feeling of being stretched open made the singer moan loudly as the rippling heat around your dick made you groan as one of your hands shot to hold onto Jihyo’s hip, guiding her down till you bottomed out inside of her. She breathed through her nose as she felt her inner walls adjust to the stretch, it had been awhile since she had been with anyone and her fingers were never this thick or this deep inside of her.

The brunette let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as she slowly began to rise up from atop of your cock till only the tip remained inside of her then dropped down. Eliciting a moan from both of you as pleasure crawled up your spines. Jihyo bounced on your lap as your dick had enough curve to it to rub against the spot inside of her that made her see stars when she pulled out at just the right angle. Your eyes were transfixed on her wobbling tits as an unashamed look of lust adorned your face.

You even reached the hand that hadn’t found purchase on the brunette’s hip to continue squeezing and teasing her breasts. “Shit, just like that, good girl. You’re taking me so well.”

Jihyo’s breathing came out in clipped pants as she moved faster, the sound of her skin slapping against your’s made her blush as loud moans fell from her mouth. “God, only for you. You're filling me up so much.”

The singer sounded breathless as she began adding in the occasional rock of her hips to elicit more pleasure against her clit. You groaned beneath her as the hot and tight walls of Jihyo’s pussy gripped your shaft firmly, massaging it in a way that sent your head spinning. Everything felt amazing and the fact that you were even more pent up from the very unsatisfying release from before didn’t help. You felt dangerously close to the edge as you began thrusting up to meet Jihyo’s hips.

“Fucking shit, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum!” Your voice was strained as the idol’s inner walls tightened even more around you. There was only so much more of this that you could take before you were at the end of your wits.

“Cum inside, I’m on the pill. I’m almost there!” Jihyo’s voice raised an octave as her thrusts became a blur of short up and down movements. Not wanting to part from you for long as she reached a hand down to rub at her clit.

The sight of the woman atop you: riding you, touching herself, and her gigantic tits bouncing was enough to send you careening over the edge as you choked on a moan before feeling your abdomen contract and your balls tighten. Ropes of your cum shot deep inside of Jihyo as the feeling triggered the singer’s orgasm in turn and caused her walls to clench rhythmically around your cock.

Jihyo finally let out the scream she had been suppressing as she tilted her head back up to the sky as she came. Her release squirted out onto you ever so slightly as she felt your hot load in her womb. She sighed as her walls gave one final squeeze to your shaft after she had milked you for all you were worth. Jihyo looked down to see that your eyes had closed and a blissful smile graced your lips. She could tell you were awake, but barely.

That’s when her exhaustion seemed to hit her as well, she didn’t bother moving too much as she leaned forward to rest her body atop of yours. She could feel your dick softening a little inside of her as she placed lazy kisses on your neck, “That was amazing.”

You had started tracing random patterns on her naked back that she found oddly soothing, “I think amazing might be an understatement.”

-

Finally, you two broke the scene that the two of you had built as you wrapped your arms around your girlfriend. Placing a kiss to the crown of her head, “Thank you for doing this with me. I know a scene like this was a little weird.”

Jihyo grinned as she cuddled closer to you, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, jagiya. I haven’t cum that hard in a long time”

You laughed slightly before a yawn cut you off, “Tell me about it. You even squirted!” The idol could practically feel the smug smile on your face as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, Y/N-ah.” Jihyo yawned as she felt her eyes start to droop, “I’m gonna nap for a little, the whole thing really tired me out. I love you, jagi.”

You smiled as you pulled your girlfriend as close to you as humanly possible, “I love you too, Jihyo-ah.”

[lovebvni]

literally making a dr based off a fucking dream i had… again

so this may literallt replace my royale high dr bc this is very VERY similar to that one.

LONG BLOG AHEAD!! IM TRYING TO INCLUDE VISUALS!!!

im not going to explain the dream, per say, but i will explain the dr.

there is a school where fairies, witches, and mermaids of all kinds go — royalty or not — royalty academy. (sometimes informally called royale high by the students) **the name will probs change bc i don’t like it much** royalty academy teaches students from grades 8-12 in their high school campus, to grades 13-16 in their university campus. students attending royalty academy will be expected to excel in all subjects, from mathematics to literature. all students also have the opportunity for 3 electives — ranging from creative and performative arts to participating in “real world” human activities. all future career paths are welcome here at royalty academy! we hope that this is the place for you! go valkaries!

lmfao so that’s like their website shit or smth.

in order to attend, all mythical beings must have been

born a mythical being

been a mythical being for over two years

or have been practicing some sort of witchcraft for four years prior (as witches count as mystical beings here)

fairies, witches, and mermaids from all occults (light, dark, nature, etc) are welcome at royale high! but an evaluation of their magic must be taken in order to ensure there will be no harmful beings at royalty academy.

all students are sworn in at a ceremonial meeting before the school year.

all students will be assigned a dorm with at least one (1) other magical creature. the maximum is four (4) to a dorm.

(i, a dark, music fairy) share a dorm with a light fairy (who is royalty, named lisa) and an animal fairy (i forgot her name 🫶🫶)

all dormitories are equipped with a bathroom (more depending on how many students are in there), a kitchenette, and a mini laundry room. the main laundry room is located downstairs, where there are professional cleaners that will hand clean your items

animals are allowed at royalty academy! only 2 per student is asked, unless a service animal or other accommodations apply.

i personally have a black german shepard and a blue phython <3

mermaid dorms will be equipped with a pool way down to the outdoor pool and indoor pool depending on where they prefer to sleep!

anyways!! that’s it for like the outside looking in, i’m going to ACTUALTLY make a motion script when i get on my laptop bc i rlly need to bc this is SUCH a fun idea!! i am thinking abt making this a group dr, so feel free to comment ideas n such!

there is also lore to this school, and that will be in my next post !!!

i also think i should do a sort of explainaation of the powers and “races” of each mythical being, as i think that would be fun!!!

alright yall, that’s it fr now,

byeeee!! :)

ALSO LISA IS DATING A MERMAID MMFOAOSKDKDN 💀💀 they r both irl friends who dont know abt shifting so !!!

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Slave Of Duty: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You're pulled away for a case in the middle of Haley's funeral. Spencer is still mad at you that you didn't let him see you while in prison, but how can you explain to him that whenever you look into a mirror, you hate the person you see? You're far from being okay and Spencer is the kind of comfort you're desperately looking for.

Season Five Masterlist

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

You two walk back into the office and join JJ's side who is talking to Penelope over video chat. You assume Spencer brought everyone up to speed on what you found.

"Find anything?" you ask.

"Several people had access to each home. Housekeeper, gardener, pool cleaner, and dog walker. Each of them had their own key and an alibi to match." 

"Any cross-over?"

"None. We even vetted delivery people and utility workers."

"Garcia, do you have anything?" Rossi asks.

"There are no hits on the prints at all, but I did what Sir Derek asked and I created a paper trail. There's no cross-over between the two victims themselves in the wee hours leading up to their murder, but they did run in similar circles."

"Like what?"

"They both have country club memberships but to different clubs, they went to upscale restaurants, private concert venues, and posh hotels. They enjoyed a high-class, highfalutin lifestyle which isn't cheap."

"A lifestyle he's fit right into," Emily says. You look behind you to see her and Derek in the room. "This guy is educated, intelligent, and proper. He's a downright gentleman."

"The rose petals sent a pretty specific message. He's romancing them whether they want it or not. He's got the social skills to back it up. Hey, Garcia, take a look at dating services and social networking sites. Look for working professionals and the privileged elite," Derek says.

"Check, check, and checkers. Back in a smidge," she says and hangs up.

"Have we figured out how he's getting into these homes?"

"There are no signs of forced entry anywhere. Yet he's still gaining access to their homes before the victims ever get home from work. I mean, this guy needs time to cook and set up his scene. He's either got a key or he can move through walls."

"We need fresh eyes," Rossi sighs.

"Alright, I want everybody to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest. We're gonna have to pick this up again in the morning."

"We're giving up?" Emily gasps.

"No, we're taking a break. We have to give the profile at morning roll, and none of us has slept since the funeral. Once Garcia can get us a paper trail, then we can expand our canvas. Till then, there's really not a lot we can do."

You don't tell anyone that you're scared to go to sleep. As soon as you open your big mouth, people are going to look at you differently. You don't want that. You never wanted them to treat you differently. Instead, you keep your mouth shut and head back to the hotel with the rest of the team.

You and Spencer are in one room like always but tension is high. You can cut the air with a knife. You're in the bathroom getting ready for bed while Spencer is getting into it. You're not sure when he is going to be okay with what you did to him but you have to give him time like Rossi said. Spencer keeps one of the lamps on for you while his lamp is off.

He doesn't know that your entire world is crumbling. You're sitting on the floor with your back against the door and tears streaming down your face. Your hand is over your mouth to muffle any kind of noise you might give out. Spencer has no clue how much pain you're in but the last thing you want to do is tell him. When he hurts, you hurt and you don't think you can hurt more.

You're terrified to go to sleep. If you close your eyes, you might wake up back in that cell surrounded by women who burden you with their feelings. How can you ever tell the man you love that you don't feel safe at home anymore? For the next thirty minutes, you try to calm down enough to get into bed without alerting Spencer.

You do but you don't fall asleep until the clock strikes two.

Due to only getting four hours of sleep, you're exhausted by the time you walk into the police station. Spencer left before you did which is a good thing because you cried the entire time you were in the shower. You must have dark circles under your eyes and pale skin because Spencer does a double-take when he looks at you. Despite how he feels right now, he still loves and cares for you.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

"Fine."

Spencer leaves it a that but JJ notices something between you two. She bites the end of her straw in thought but you don't pay attention to her. Derek and Emily are the last ones in and Derek notices you by the coffee machine. You're staring at it as if it's holding the secrets of the universe. You're checked out so he puts his hand on your shoulder which brings you out of your trance.

"Hey. Coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"I don't think so. You just got out of prison. That couldn't have been fun."

You turn to Derek and take his hand while trying to hide your desperation. "Derek, I am fine. I am going to be fine. I will continue to be fine." You're not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself. "Please believe me."

"Okay. You know I worry about you."

"You have nothing to worry about."

"Then let's start the profile."

He and the team gather Landon and his offices so that they can deliver the profile. You're still by the coffee machine repeating those three sentences in your head over and over again. I am fine. I am going to be fine. I will continue to be fine. With coffee in hand, you walk over to the team. You're not sure you can do your best so you decide to stay silent and let them handle this one.

You catch your reflection in one of the windows near you and pause. Who the hell is that staring back at you? You used to be so full of life and hope. Now, it's just an empty shell. Your spirit was stolen from you in prison and you're not sure if you can find it again.

"We believe our unsub is already with his next victim," Rossi begins. "If he matches the pattern, she'll be a successful woman, probably brunette and in her early thirties to mid-forties. She'll be at home in Nashville's upper echelon."

"This means that he fits in. He drives the right car, he wears the right clothes, he's highly intelligent, and he probably comes from a place of status. This guy's sociable and endearing. You would never suspect that this man is capable of murder, but he will do whatever it takes to protect the fantasy that he's trying to relive."

"It's this fantasy that fuels his drive. He's recreating a romantic evening and repeating it with each of his victims. He most likely had a relationship taken away from him recently, so look at men who have lost loved ones or have gone through a messy divorce."

"Much like Bundy, these women are representations of that first loss. Bundy picked victims who had similar features to the woman who abandoned him. We believe that our unsub is doing the same thing," Spencer explains. "These women were confident, successful, and strong. They fought back which means he has the ability to overpower them fairly easily. He believes or fantasizes he's in a relationship with these women. No matter how fleeting the initial interaction is, it's everything to him like an invitation."

"Our technical analyst has compiled a list of locations that the victims visited prior to their death. These are high-class establishments. We're going to want to visit the same places. Look for men who fit the profile but also women who match victimology. If somebody's been paying a little too much attention to them, talk to them. Get a read, then jot their name down so that we can check them out," Derek finishes.

"Alright, folks, pick up your canvassing assignments and get to work," Landon addresses.

"Thank you."

It's not long until another woman is murdered. You knew it was coming but you didn't know how soon it would be here. This murder is different because the unsub killed two people, and one of them was a man. It's not in the MO of the unsub to do that so you can only assume the male victim caught the unsub by surprise.

"The house belongs to Erika Silverman who is a project director in an international design firm. We're assuming the male victim is her boyfriend, Grant Franklin. They're both pretty beat up. We'll need dental records for a positive ID," Landon says when you get there.

"Who called it in?" Emily asks.

"UPS guy. He needed her signature for a package and saw the door wide open. He's out back right now.'

"JJ, talk to him," Derek says and she leaves.

"Where is Erika's body?"

"Follow me." Landon takes you to Erika's body which is a brutal sight. "He changed his MO. She has multiple stab wounds to the face and neck, and there is evidence that she had sex before she died."

"Classic overkill," Rossi comments.

"Forced or consensual?"

"There is no evidence of sexual assault."

"She played along. She had sex with the unsub because she thought it would keep her alive," Emily sighs.

"Why didn't it? This kill is clearly personal and angry. She didn't give him everything that he wanted."

"What else did he want?"

"Y/N? See anything?

You turn to face the front of the house to get a better look at what happened the night before. Erika is already in here with the unsub but the front door opens and Erika's boyfriend enters. The unsub is angry that his plans are ruined which explains the overkill on both of them. Both Grant and the unsub begin fighting but something is wrong here. Grant begins running from the unsub and turns to see if he is chasing him, but you're staring at yourself being chased by the unsub, not Grant.

What the hell is going on here? You open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out. The fear you have is manifesting in your visions. How can you help this team if you can't help yourself? No one knows what's really going on, and how can you tell them now? How can you come clean that you're not ready to be back at work? You thought you could just put it behind you like you've done every other time.

How can you ever move on from a place like that?

"Excuse me. I'm sorry," you whisper and leave the house.

Emily, Derek, and Rossi look at each other with concern written across their faces. You walk to the end of the driveway where the street is and take a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You close your eyes and count to ten in hopes that when you open them, your panic attack will have subsided.

However, when you open your eyes, you're brought back to your past. One that you've been trying so hard to escape from. The street is empty save for a few cars parked on the side. The house you were just in doesn't look like Erika's house. It looks like a random house on this random street in a city that's all too familiar to you.

There is a car that's parked that you'd recognize even with your eyes closed. It's a van that can be used as a camper since the back seats have been taken out. There are curtains inside the car that are drawn closed to prevent people from looking inside. The car rocks to show that there is a struggle inside and a little girl's scream can be heard.

A desperate scream for help. Anyone. Your scream.

You've only thought about this moment every day since it happened. You haven't forgotten one detail of it.

Your breathing picks up as you look for anyone who can come help you. You're being assaulted and there is nothing you can do about it. The man was too strong... too powerful. Something moves out of the corner of your eyes and you turn to see a person walking down the sidewalk. You grab her shoulders when she nears you and shake her desperately.

"Help her. She needs your help. Aren't you going to help?"

"Y/N?"

You're brought back to reality by your friend's name and gone is the van you think about every day. Emily stands in front of you with a worried look on her face, and you let go of her shoulders.

"Sorry," you whisper and wipe the tears from your face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You're crying."

"I said I'm fine, Emily. Excuse me."

You leave your friend behind and join everyone else who is still inside the house. Derek and Spencer are in the kitchen so you decide to see what's up with him instead of looking at Erika's body and reliving her torment.

"The dinner dishes are washed, but the breakfast plates aren't. He didn't clean up this time. The boyfriend must have surprised him and disrupted his routine."

"I don't know, I'd say he came pretty close to finishing it. It looks like they watched a movie and had an early breakfast. She was with him all night," Spencer theorizes.

Your phone rings and you almost jump out of your skin from the noise. You look to see Penelope's name so you force your feelings down and answer her call.

"Hey, Pen."

"Bad news, buttercup. There is no payoff on the social networking sites, and Erika does not leave a breadcrumb-like trail. Aside from a couple of online purchases and some automatic debits, she hasn't used her credit card all week."

"Thanks." You hang up and look at Derek. "Garcia didn't find anything about Erika's whereabouts over the past week. No stores, no restaurants, nothing."

"There might be another way to figure out where she's been. Do we know where any of the victims' cars are?" Spencer asks.

"Impound, probably."

"We need access to all four of them."

"Four?"

"We should also get Grant's car. He may have driven Erika somewhere where she met the unsub."

x

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[steddieasitgoes]

written for “pool” | wc: 442 | rated T | cw: N/A | @steddiemicrofic​

The first sweltering hot day of summer break sneaks up on Steve. So much for June gloom, Steve thinks, as he treads to his car after a half-day shift at Scoops.

Pulling out of Starcourt’s parking lot, he can’t help but curse his stupid father. Steve wouldn’t be dripping in sweat and sticky from ice cream if his dad had let him stick with his usual summer job, lifeguarding at the community pool. But no. Lifeguarding wasn’t an appropriate job for Daniel Harrington’s son now that he was an adult.

Steve fails to see how scooping ice cream for a living is more adult than saving people's lives at the pool, but he knows better than to argue with his father.

God, he could use a dip in the pool right now.

Unfortunately for him, his pool is nowhere near swimming-ready. Steve can handle the leaves and dead mouse sunken at the bottom, but the swampy color requires a trip to the hardware store to get the proper cleaning chemicals. A trip he makes after swapping his stupid sailor uniform for a more weather-appropriate outfit.

The pool supply aisle is more overwhelming than Steve thought. Who knew there were so many chemicals with weird-ass names? He’s weighing his options between two bottles when a low whistle startles him.

“Christ, I knew King Steve had fallen, but I didn’t think I’d find him buying supplies for a homemade bomb,” Eddie Munson quips, saddling up to Steve’s side. “You could take out half of a Hawkins if you mixed those, you know.”

“I’m not trying to make a bomb, Munson,” Steve scoffs. “Just trying to clean my pool.”

“Ah, then allow me to help my fallen liege.” Eddie snatches the bottles and puts them back on the shelf before skipping down the aisle. He drums his fingers against the various labels until he finds what he wants. “Pour half of this in tonight and the rest tomorrow night.”

“And why should I trust you? You tried to blow up the chem wing last spring.”

“That’s exactly why you should trust me, Harrington. I know what I’m talking about. Plus, I’ve been helping my uncle clean the pool in Hawkins for years now.”

Eddie’s uncle is the professional pool cleaner his father hires yearly. That can’t be right. He’s sure Eddie’s uncle knows his stuff, but he’s never heard of him owning a pool cleaning company. And his father only hires people from reputable companies. He’s about to say as much when Eddie cuts him off.

“On second thought, why don’t I come over and help you, big boy? I am an expert, after all.”

[sebastianstansqueen]

Lost In The Shadows: Part Twelve

A/N: This one is short, sorry, also have began writing my next series, my stuff about that will be up once i'm finished posting this story, hoe you like it, If you want to be Tagged, either send an ask or comment on this or click on Taglist open.

Wordcount: 1,159

Warnings: angst, Guns, Bucky being unaware, Wayne, and Brock if I forgot anything let me know please!

Masterlist // Series Masterlist // Taglist open// 

Tags: @cherryblossomsky- - @babylooneytoonz - @wonderlandfandomkingdom - @miraclesoflove - @amelia-song-pond- @leyannrae- @avengerlex - @pineprincess - @nik2write - @dorothea-hwldr - @rosie-posie08 - @scxrletrecsmarvel - @sebsgirl71479- @missvelvetsstuff - @hadesownhell - @casa-boiardi- @winterslove1917- @hallecarey1 - @ash-craze - @barnesxstan - @unaxv - @bethexo07 - @itsmytimetoodream - @sebastians-love - @stoneyggirl2  - @ordelixx - @arunabrak

After the stress of being at the hospital worried sick everyday, Y/n had to admit being at her villa in Italy was a nice change from the compound back home. It was also nice that she was able to get Bucky an arm with the thought of mind that money was no object, so she got the best of the best. The best part was it was just her and Bucky, since everyone  back home wanted to keep it hush hush that they were leaving, there wasn’t a security staff always lurking nor did she have any professionals roaming the house like cleaners, and kitchen staff, it felt normal, and she almost didn’t dare say she liked it. 

Currently she sat by the pool, while Bucky was swimming laps, she softly smiled to herself as she thought about it. Tonight they were going to roam the city, starting with an art gallery and then dinner. A lot of this felt so domestic to her and she couldn’t fully hate it. “You okay?” Bucky asked, her eyes opened as she looked at him. “I know you’ve been stressed.” And there was also that, if Bucky remembered he would probably understand the why, because technically you were both in hiding. 

“Bucky, if anything I’m for once not stressed.” She lied through her teeth, she was more stressed than ever before, because they were stuck in a foreign country Bucky had no memory of the Mafia, and for the first time since taking her family business back she wasn’t the one in control of everything, and she hated that. “If anything, I’m excited about tonight, it’s gonna be romantic.” 

As the two of them walked around looking at different paintings, sculpture and other pieces of work. It was nice until a bullet hit one of the paintings, Y/n’s eyes widened. “Get down!” She yelled, she pulled out her own gun that had been tucked away in a secret pouch in her overly big purse, as more bullets came through breaking the glass.

“What the hell is going on?” Bucky asked with wide eyes. 

Y/n looked at him. “Believe me Bucky in another life you’d understand, but for now follow what I do.” She aimed her own gun at the glass ceiling of the building, where she couldn’t see even an outline of a person, she took a deep breath in irritation. “Okay, we’ve gotta get on that roof.” 

“That’s where the bullets came from.” Bucky hissed out. 

Y/n nodded. “I know.” She got up moving, Bucky moved her as she had told him. As people who weren’t dead ran around in panic and fear, and red lights went off with an annoying alarm and people who had gotten shot in the spray of bullets moments earlier laid on the ground crying or dead.  She moved around until she found a roof entrance, she began running up the stairs, when both of them made it up to the roof Y/n found who she was looking for meaning whoever it was wanting to kill her had an open air shot to get her. As Y/n saw it was two people, Sharon and Wayne, Y/n scoffed, wind caused her hair to blow everywhere. “You two have got to be shitting me! You're working together?” 

They both looked at her with wide eyes. “She betrayed Brock, so I'm here for both of you!” Wayne was the first to speak. 

Y/n began to actually laugh. “That’s a good one Wayne, you're working for Rumlow, you're not even stupid enough to do that.” 

“You're the one who’s gonna lose out, Y/n, you are the one who lost doing business with him, and you're gonna die for it.” Wayne smiled wickedly, Y/n noticed he looked different; he'd been bulked up or something. 

“Are you on that fucking staroids he wants to sell on the streets?” She scoffed able to tell, by the obvious side effects. 

“It’s called ‘the serum’.” He said aggressively. 

“Oh, please, all those blue crystals are gonna do for you is kill you eventually.” Y/n was taunting him. 

“Okay that's enough.” Sharron stopped her from continuing. “I’m killing you, and then taking everything you’ve built.” The blond held up a gun at Y/n, making her do the same. 

Y/n, wasn’t aiming for her sister but Wayne, as her finger pressed the trigger Sharons did the same and she ducked down, with Bucky as she watched Wayne fall off the building with blood spreading on his shirt. 

Sharon watched and hurried to follow where he fell, jumping off knowing Y/n was giving her one more chance to get her. Y/n liked a game especially with her sister, so she was willing to play it, if Sharon killed her next time she’d win, only getting one more chance to try again, before Y/n would kill her. Y/n looked at Bucky making sure he was alright, he looked shaken up but no wounds, she helped him up. “Are you okay?” She asked, and he nodded. “Okay come on.” 

When they got back to the villa she began packing everything they had brought, moving as fast as she could.  “Y/n what the hell was that!” Bucky yelled, making her freeze up, stopping what she was doing.

Y/n whipped around. “You're not gonna talk to me like that!” She yelled back. “You're the one who doesn't remember anything, and doesn't know what is going on so you're not gonna yell at me, I’m doing this for your safety, because I care about you.” 

“Explain what’s going on then.” He said with irritation. 

“My sister, who is a skilled assassin, and a guy I refused to do business with are trying to kill me and possibly you, and that’s how we ended up in the hospital I’m assuming, and your don’t remember this because of what you got in the accident, Bucky I’m a mafia boss and so is your brother, but we’ve gotta go if you want to live.” She spoke with pure urgency, she moved up to him, placing her hand in his, she slowly moved in closer to him, kissing him softly. “Bucky, I love you, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, if you come with me I’ll make sure you don’t die.” 

Bucky pulled her closer to him. “I’ll go with you, but be honest with me from now on.” 

Y/n looked at him and nodded. “Okay, for now pack, I’ll figure out where to next.”

_____

Brock shook his head, as Wayne's feed and tracker turned red, he slammed his hand on the desk, a mix of anger and joy. Wayne had been helpful but soon became a pest on his shoulder, he huffed knowing he needed to know Y/n’s next move. He had to be the one to finish her off. 

[pricelessemotion]

Lectori Salutem | E.M.

Summary: [5.1k] you and eddie shoot pool and spill secrets.

Pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!music journalist! reader

Warnings: drinking, language

Notes: things are finally picking up! next chapter will include some 18+ content so you must have your age in your bio for the taglist!

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Eddie clambers into the passenger seat of your car. Upon leaving the diner, you managed to convince him to let you drive to your next destination, citing a general need to live. 

The drive back to Eddie’s was considerably less nerve-wracking. This go around, he decided to obey the speed limit and not split lanes like a maniac. Not only did he give you peace of mind but he also spared the delicious french toast that you ate from making a reappearance. 

Turning the key, the car starts with a light rumble. The sound of electric guitars and heavy drums shatters the silence between the two of you. 

Fuck.

You still had the Corroded Coffin tape in your stereo. 

Eddie is turned away from you, grabbing the seatbelt. At the sound of his own voice being played back to him, he slowly turns around to look at you. The grin on his face would put the Cheshire cat to shame. 

“I didn’t know you were a fan, sweetheart.” The nickname is saccharine coming out of his mouth. 

“I–” You sputter, trying to come up with a good defense. “I’m thorough in my research.”

Eddie is obviously amused at the fact that he’s caught you red-handed. His seatbelt is already buckled, but it’s stretched thin as he leans across the center console. He smells like syrup and cigarettes. For a second, you consider turning the stereo off completely. 

“Should I be scared? Do you have a shrine to me in your room? Do you have my face tattooed on your ass?” With each question his voice gets louder and louder, filling the tiny space with his velvety timbre. 

Though your face is hot with embarrassment, you’re secretly relieved. Any semblance of tension from bringing up Evelyn at the diner has dissipated. It’s been shredded with every strum of a guitar. You find it’s easier to be around Eddie this way. It’s easier to give in to his playfulness, rather than try to maintain the facade of professionalism. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You say, casting him a sideways glance. 

Eddie, for the most part, remains stoic. But you catch the twitch of his mouth and see the tell-tale shade of pink flood his cheeks. If anything should be indicative of the fact that you’ve stunned him, it’s that he’s stopped talking for the first time since you met him. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: He never shuts up. 

You release the parking brake and peel off into the streets. If Eddie is at all bothered by listening to his own music, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he takes the opportunity to quietly sing along, only stopping to pepper in commentary about the track or to give you directions. The richness of his voice is so distracting that you haven’t even noticed that you have no idea where he’s taking you.

Trying to find street parking in East Hollywood is a fruitless endeavor. You almost wish you had taken up Eddie’s offer to ride his bike. Eddie directs you around the backside of a building where a sign indicates that it’s a private parking lot, not meant for public use. He assures you that you won’t get towed.

The Blue Line is a bar tucked in between a Thai restaurant and a dry cleaners. Walking up to the doors, you’re hit with the clashing scents of peanut sauce and fresh linen.  

There are very few people inside, given that it’s a bar and it’s barely even five o’clock yet. The soles of your shoes stick to the floor, making a quiet but awful velcro-like sound with every step you take.

“Buckley!” Eddie’s voice booms as you enter the establishment, echoing off the concrete floors and exposed brick walls.

A tall, freckled girl springs up behind the counter. At the sound of her name, she grins, her dark lipstick contrasting pearly white teeth. 

“Munson!” She yells back. The few patrons that linger around various areas of the bar are evidently disturbed by the sudden change in volume, turning their heads and scowling. She doesn’t seem to care. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Just looking to shoot some pool in the best bar in L.A.” Buckley audibly snorts at the last part of his statement. “My tab still open?”

“Always.” She shakes her head and raises her brows at him as if to say, of course. She turns to look at you. “Who’s your friend?”

Your mouth opens, but the words die on your tongue. You and Eddie are not friends. At least, you’re not supposed to be. But you don’t know if you want to tell this woman, who Eddie is clearly close with, that you’re here on assignment to try to cherry-pick the best parts of him and turn them into something palatable. 

At your hesitation, Eddie swoops in and makes the introduction for you. He doesn’t mention the fact that you’re a journalist. Whether the omission is for your benefit or his, you’re not sure.

“Nice to meet you,” She throws the rag she was using to wipe down the counter over her shoulder and extends her hand. “I’m Robin.” 

Her handshake is firm, but her eyes are soft. The fine bottles of liquor behind her are backlit by an unseen light source, giving the illusion of stained glass. She quickly turns around and rummages through the minifridge and grabs two beers. 

“You know the rules, Munson, don’t get too rowdy and clean up when you’re done.” She says, popping the caps off of the beverages and setting them down on the counter.

“Me?” Eddie grasps his chest in faux incredulity, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Too rowdy? Never.” 

Robin sticks her tongue out at him in response right as she’s being flagged down by a customer at the far end of the bar. She salutes the both of you, flouncing away to refill the man’s old-fashioned. 

To your right, there’s something akin to a hall of fame. A collage of pictures of different celebrities that have visited the very room you’re standing in. You wonder if Eddie is up there, but you don’t dare to go see for yourself.

“Can you play?” He asks, walking towards the pool table. 

You make a noncommittal noise. You had played your fair share of games of pool, sure, but never in a setting quite like this. Never with someone like Eddie. Setting your bag down on one of the empty tables that lined the perimeter of the room, you pull out your tape recorder.

“You mind?” You ask, holding up the device in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie grimaces and shrugs off his leather jacket, draping it over a bar stool at the opposite end of the table. The motion draws attention to the plethora of ink that litters both of his arms.

“Do we have to?” His face scrunches up as he asks the question, a slight whine in his tone. 

You almost feel inclined to say no, if only just to see the wrinkle that has formed between his brows disappear. Another thing you’ve learned about Eddie Munson: he is very hard to say no to. That’s how you ended up in this bar in the first place. 

It would be easy to forgo the tape recorder and pretend that the two of you are just friends hanging out. But if there’s one thing that you know, it’s that the human memory is fallible. You can't risk the quality of your article for the sake of his comfort. 

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Eddie bristles at your response but says nothing. He takes a square of blue chalk and thoughtfully rubs it on the end of his pool cue. The sunglasses he took off are tugging down at his v-neck, exposing sharp collarbones and even more ink. 

“I have a proposition for you.” Eddie declares. 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“For every ball you sink, you get to ask me a question about my life. For every ball I sink, I get to ask you about yours.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, thinking that he can’t possibly be serious. But he just stands there, staring at you as he sets the blue piece of chalk down at the edge of the table. 

“Final offer. Take it or leave it.” He throws both palms up in the air, pool cue tucked into his side. 

For the second time today, you take Eddie’s words as a challenge.

“You’re on.” 

Eddie takes his time setting up the game. While he’s leaning over the side of the table gathering the scattered spheres, you can’t help yourself from admiring his silhouette. The back of his shirt rides up, revealing a strip of skin that you cannot tear your eyes away from. 

Oh my god.

Eddie Munson has a tramp stamp. 

A chaotic collection of branches and thorns surrounds a Latin phrase: lectori salutem. You rack your brain, trying to remember the one semester of elective Latin that you took back in freshman year of college when Eddie suddenly turns around. You quickly look up to meet his eyes, but the smirk on his face reveals everything. 

For the second time today, Eddie has caught you staring. 

“Ladies first.” He says, grandly gesturing toward the table. 

You break the rack. A blur of colors bursts forth in every direction. Despite your best efforts, none of the balls make it into a pocket. Looking back at Eddie, you see he’s still got that smirk on his face. He leans over and effortlessly knocks a ball into a pocket. Stripes. 

“Where did you go to school?”

“NYU.” You reply, having been asked this question so many times that the response is practically automatic at this point.

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Out-of-state tuition must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

“I had a scholarship.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart. You’re kind of the whole package, aren’t you?” The teasing lilt in his voice doesn’t take away from the sincerity in his words. 

The compliment flusters you, which you’re sure is the whole point of Eddie’s making it. 

“Only one question, remember? It’s still your turn.” 

Eddie sees right through your attempt to deflect. Graciously, he doesn’t point it out. He just leans down once again and lines up a shot. Stripes Twelve. Right lower pocket. 

“Why do you hate New York?”

The sureness with which he asks the question throws you for a loop. Whatever you had expected to come out of Eddie’s mouth, it definitely wasn’t that. 

“What makes you think I hate New York?”

“Tsk tsk. I’m asking the questions here.” Eddie scolds, but his voice is devoid of any real ire. He plants his hands on the table, leaning towards you. You can just barely see the faint outline of a gravestone on his right forearm. “You don’t hate it, but you don’t love it either.”

In the five minutes that have passed since he started questioning you, Eddie has managed to see right through you. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually that transparent or if he is just that good at reading people.

“I don’t know. My dad is from there. Whenever he talked about New York, it always seemed like some mythical place. He always said ‘Don’t live in New York so long it makes you hard. Don’t live in California so long it makes you soft.’ I guess I went to New York to prove to myself that I could, y’know. Prove that I could leave the nest and not fall flat on my face.”

Heat blooms in your chest during your ramblings. The pressure you feel is so much that you’re surprised steam hasn’t started coming out of your ears. Despite knowing exactly why you went to New York, you’ve never said the real reason out loud. It didn’t seem like it mattered to anyone but you. 

Eddie has a thoughtful look on his face. “3,000 miles is a long way to go to prove a point.”

You shrug. Eddie pauses for a moment, waiting for something. At the realization that you’re not going to say anything more, he leans over the table and shoots.

Stripes. Thirteen. Top right pocket.

“Did you?” Eddie posits, elaborating on the quirk of your brow. “Prove your point?”

You want to laugh. That’s the same question you’ve been asking yourself since you made the move back west. The prodigal daughter returned with nothing to show for it. 

“I proved that living in California my whole life made me soft.” You admit, gazing down at the table, the floor, your shoes, anywhere but his face. 

Eddie frowns in your periphery. He has a clear shot at the far end of the table. You wish he would take it already. 

“It’s not a bad thing, y’know.” Eddie’s fiddling with his pool cue, generously rubbing more blue chalk on the end. You don’t know much about pool, but you doubt that it’s necessary. It seems like he’s doing it more to prolong the inevitable. “Being soft.”

“Isn’t it?”

You’re almost sure that he’s joking. Actually–you’re sure that he’s making fun of you. He must be. The notion makes you angry. Oh, of course, the heavy metal rockstar is extolling the virtues of being soft! You look up, a snide remark already on the tip of your tongue. But when you finally meet his eyes, his gaze is intense. Contemplative, even. You take another sip of your beer and hope it washes away the lingering bitterness. 

Eddie Munson and his damn sincerity.

He looks as if he’s about to say something, but then decides against it. He leans over, lining up that clear shot that you had spotted earlier. His necklace hangs from his neck, the red guitar pick grazing green cloth. 

Stripes. Nine. Middle left pocket. 

“So,” Eddie starts, smiling satisfactorily to himself. “Do you actually have my face tattooed on your ass?”

If his earlier question about hating New York shocked you, then this one was like being struck by lightning. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. You should’ve known that this would come back to bite you.

“It’s just a question.” He defends. “I’m genuinely curious.”

“No, Eddie, I do not have your face tattooed on my ass.” 

“But you do have a shrine of me in your room.”

“I am this close to using this pool cue to poke both your eyes out.” You threaten, absolutely buzzing with mortification. 

“Fine! Fine, I’ll let it go.” He concedes, before saying the next few words under his breath. “For now.” 

Eddie is the opposite of a bad sport when he misses his next shot. He only clicks his tongue and gives a slight shake of his head. You’re relieved that you finally have the chance to get out from under his microscope. 

Solids. Four. Bottom left pocket.  

“What do you like most about living in LA?” You ask. You know that it’s cliché, that everyone who moves here is asked the same question. But you can’t help but want to hear everyone’s answers. Each person you meet paints a picture of your hometown with vibrant colors. It’s always refreshing to hear a new perspective. 

“The food, oh my god, the food!” He practically moans. “I swear whatever bullshit they were passing off as Mexican food back in Indiana should be investigated.” 

Eddie goes on a whole tangent about tortillas that could easily be used in a commercial advertising the food scene of southern California. All of the talk about tortillas reminds him of his favorite food truck, located in East Los Angeles. It’s parked right across the street from a record store. He discovered it while trying to visit every record store in the city. 

“And speaking of record stores… I mean, fuck, you can’t find half the obscure shit that you have here back in Indiana. There’s no point in shipping your shit out to the midwest if no one’s gonna buy it I’m guessing.”

“I never even thought of that.” You admit. Every time you walked into a music store, there was always a new shipment waiting for a band you had never heard of. “Growing up, my favorite thing was always to go to the record store. Even if I didn’t buy anything, I would just sit in one of the booths and listen to vinyl.”

You smile at the memory of the sun streaming through windows and chunky headphones too big for your adolescent head. The nostalgia clouds your mind so much that you fumble the next shot, accidentally knocking a striped ball into a pocket and giving Eddie the chance to ask you yet another question. 

“Do you regret going to NYU?”

“No.” You say, and you mean it. “I think it’s good to get out of your comfort zone. I think… I think it’s important to figure out what’s wrong for you. Maybe even more important than figuring out what’s right.”

Eddie hums in agreement and excuses himself to go to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to eject the tape from the recorder and put in a fresh one. Tucking the tape into your bag, you remember that you still have the mixtape Eddie made for you. You make a mental note to listen to it on the way home.

“Having fun?” Robin appears next to you, gathering a few bottles that hapless patrons have left behind. She lifts Eddie’s off the table and adds it to her collection. You hadn’t even noticed that he had finished it. 

“Eddie is absolutely kicking my ass at pool right now.”

She barks out a laugh. 

“I know the feeling. We used to play with each other all the time back in Hawkins. I think I only won once, and that was because he was high off his ass.” 

Your ears perk up at the mention of the small town in Indiana. You could tell from their interactions that they were close, but this was a whole other level. Does she know about 1986? 

“Maybe he’ll have mercy on me.” You muse, slightly wincing at the doubtful look Robin gives you.

“I have faith in you. Don’t let Edward get into your head.” She squeezes your shoulder as she leaves, the glass bottles clinking in her wake. 

So, you think to yourself, Eddie stands for Edward. It’s a regal-sounding name. A little too refined for the rockstar who’s rough around the edges.

When Eddie returns from the bathroom, he holds two more beers in his hand. You’re about to say that you still haven’t even finished your first one. That you think one is enough. You still have to drive back, after all. But he sets both of them down next to his leather jacket, making it clear that they’re both for him. He sniffles as he approaches, giving a small cough to clear his throat. His knuckles brush the tip of his nose until it glows an angry red, even in the dim lighting. He pulls up his pool cue right to the edge of the green-striped ball. He’s got a clear shot. 

He shoots.

He misses. 

You quietly breathe out a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that your job is to get into the nitty-gritty of people’s lives, you’ve never been on the receiving end. It’s unnerving. There’s a reason why you’re a writer. You like the control of rough drafts and rewrites and edits. It leaves less room for misinterpretation.  

Circling the table, you hope to find an easy shot. 

“You have to actually hit the balls with the stick for them to go anywhere,” Eddie says, taking a long sip from his second beer. “Just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

You roll your eyes at his obvious attempt to psych you out. Leaning over the far end of the table, you balance the pool cue delicately between your fingers. When you finally make the shot you smile to yourself as not just one, but two of the balls go careening into pockets at opposite ends of the table.

“You know, I’ve half a mind to think you were hustling me, sweetheart.” Eddie takes a long sip from his second beer, the condensation dripping down his hand. 

“It’s not hustling if you just assumed I would be bad at it.” You’re so proud of yourself that you can’t help the smugness in your voice. “What’s your middle name?”

“Now you’re crossing the line.” He deadpans. “That’s just too far.” 

“Oh come on, Edward.” At the sound of his legal name, Eddie’s facade drops. The reaction encourages you to continue your teasing. “It can’t be that bad.”

“How do you know that’s what Eddie stands for?”

“I have my sources.”

“Your sources could be wrong. It could stand for Edison. Or Edmund. Or Edgar.”

“Something tells me my sources are correct.” Your eyes flick over to the freckled girl behind the counter. Eddie catches your glance and kisses his teeth, shaking his head in exasperation. 

“What if you’re secretly a fairy who’s trying to get me to say my full name so that I’m indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me your middle name.” You concede, trying to come up with a better question.  “How did you know that I was a writer? Back in your room–when I picked up the book–you called me a writer.” 

“Isn’t that like, your whole thing?” Eddie waves his hand flippantly. 

“Yeah. But there’s a difference between journalistic writing and fiction writing. How did you know that I do both?”

Eddie takes another drink from the beer in his hand, thumb grazing the label. 

“Maybe I’m ‘thorough in my research’ too.” He says, quoting your words back to you.

It’s a non-answer and both of you know it. You decide not to press the issue. Maybe Eddie isn’t such a good sport after all. You started winning and he stopped playing fair, dodging your questions left and right. For someone who is supposed to be getting interviewed, he isn’t doing a very good job. You settle on a topic you hope he’s willing to actually talk about. 

“Patsy Cline.”

“What about Patsy Cline?”

“She didn’t exactly fit in with all of the metal.”

“My Uncle Wayne loves Patsy Cline. He would always play her records whenever he was cooking or cleaning. I guess listening to it reminds me of home.”

“So do you actually like it? Or do you just find it comforting?”

“Is there a difference?” Eddie muses at you from behind the lip of his beer bottle, before taking a long swig. “Wayne actually gave me that vinyl as a parting gift. He said it’s for ‘when you want to listen to real music’. He was only joking. Kinda.”

Eddie visibly softens while recalling the man who raised him. His tense shoulders have drooped and his jaw unclenches. He speaks of the older man with an unmatched fondness. 

“Wayne sounds like a funny guy.” You smile, sidling up to Eddie. “What’s he like?”

“He’s the best. He took me in when I was just about this big.” He juts his palm out at his waist.  “I had big ears, a buzzcut, and a gigantic chip on my shoulder. I was so– I was so angry at the world. He was the first person who told me it was okay to feel that way. 

He was a trucker before I came along, but then he quit and started working at the plant so that he could be there for me. Everything I do, it’s all for him.”

The words make your heart clench. Sparing yourself the embarrassment of revealing just how much his words got to you, you take your next shot. With misty eyes, you see the flash of blue make its way across the table and into a pocket. You already know what you’re gonna ask him. 

“Say you get everything you want. You win Grammys. You sell out Madison Square Garden. What next?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Eddie polishes off the third beer. “I’d probably start by buying Wayne a house, but that’s if he’ll even let me. He’s always saying that I’m the kid and he’s the adult. That he’s supposed to be taking care of me, not the other way around.”

He lets out a quiet burp, which he muffles with his fist. His pool cue has been long forgotten next to him. The configuration on the table before you tells you that you can win in just two more rounds. You’re not sure if you want to. You try anyway. 

Solids. Three. Middle right pocket. 

“Does your reputation actually matter to you?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Eddie leans backward. He’s a little unsteady on his feet, the effects of the alcohol seeming to finally kick in. “Off the record?”

“Off the record.” 

You make a show of grabbing the tape recorder and clicking the stop button. You slide it over the wooded lip of the table, proving to him that the device really isn’t recording anymore. 

“Of course, my reputation matters to me. Anyone who says they don’t care about their reputation is lying. Sure, you learn to brush it off. You learn to expect that everyone you meet is gonna have preconceived notions about you. Whatever. People have always had some shit to say about me, I say let ‘em talk.

But it never gets any easier realizing that everyone you meet thinks they know you just because of some shit they read in a magazine. It never gets easier knowing that nothing you do belongs to you anymore.”

Eddie’s words weigh on you. Whether or not he realizes it, you fall into both those categories. You had turned your nose up at the lousy headlines. You had thought he was just another reckless rockstar. Now, you’re tasked with writing him a new one, one that’ll make people like you see him in a better light. It's still the same. He still doesn’t get to control how this story ends. 

“Is that why you agreed to this interview?”

You know you’re essentially wasting a question. Whatever his answer will be won’t matter in the long run, because you won’t be able to use it. You want to know the answer anyway. 

Eddie looks down at the table and then back to you. You know that he could tell you that you used up your question. That if he was a little less drunk he would probably diffuse the tension by quipping back to you, only one question, remember? He doesn’t. He sees that you have the winning shot perfectly laid out for you. This time, he doesn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Yeah, it is.”

You make the shot. Just like that, the game is over. Your victory feels hollow. 

A blue-striped ball sits lonely on the table. A question left unasked. An answer left unheard. 

Eddie puts his leather jacket back on and brings the empty beer bottles back to Robin. You pick up the tape recorder. It feels like dead weight in your hands.

You meet Eddie at the counter, where he’s happily chatting with an amused Robin, all previous tension regarding your last question seemingly forgotten. You bid your goodbyes. The two of you shuffle awkwardly together towards the entrance before Eddie gets distracted by something.

“Oh my god, I love these!” Eddie regards the gumball machine full of small, shitty prizes with a childlike wonder. 

He grabs his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, dutifully pulling out two quarters. He shoves them both into the coin slots and cranks the handle. The machine spits out a plastic capsule with a bright green lid. He takes the prize and thrusts it into your hands. 

“For you.”

You’re confused by the sentimental gesture but decide not to question it. Shaking the contents out into your hand, the prize reveals itself to be an 8 ball keychain. 

“Hey! We match!” Eddie pulls out the motorcycle keys from his pocket, and sure enough there’s an 8 ball hanging from the key ring that’s identical to the one you’re holding in your hand. 

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself, twirling the small sphere between your fingers. “We do.”

The drive back to the house in West Hollywood is quiet this time. You elected to switch from the cassette to the radio as soon as you got in. The sounds of classic rock drift between the two of you. Eddie spends the entire drive looking out the window, proving himself to be a quiet and contemplative drunk rather than an obnoxious and outspoken drunk. 

Pulling up to the curb, you feel slightly awkward. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. 

“You doing anything tomorrow?” Eddie’s head flops in your direction, his body language giving away the depth of his inebriation. 

“Um.” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he might be planning. “It depends. What time?”

“Around noon? We have a recording session tomorrow and I just thought maybe you’d like to hear some of the stuff we’ve been working on. Plus you’d get to meet the other guys. It would be good, right? For your article.”

He says the last sentence as if it’s an afterthought. 

“For the article.” 

“It’s at the recording studio near Sunset? Big red sign, can’t miss it.” He’s using his hands again as he talks. The silver rings glint under the yellow of the street lamps. “Can I have your number, though? Just in case it gets canceled or something. I don’t want you to show up and think I’m sending you on a wild goose chase.”

“Sure.” You rattle off the number for him. Eddie continues looking at you, glassy-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Are you sure you don’t want me to write it down for you?”

“I have a good memory.” He grins toothily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow.���  

With that, he tumbles out of the car and stumbles to the front door. You watch his retreating figure with the realization that you’ve barely scratched the surface of who Eddie Munson is.

You remember to swap cassettes before pulling away. As you begin mentally writing the beginnings of his article in your head, the mixtape plays softly in the background. 

Living in a world of make believe 

I can hide behind what's real

But wearing your emotions on your sleeve

And they all know what you feel

taglist: @twisted-wonderland-of-wren@cloudroomblog@amira0303@forrestfae6@aysheashea@vintagehellfire@poisonedluv @kimmi-kat@mmunson86

if your username is crossed out it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you 💔

[tma-reader-inserts]

Not a insert but something worse

Some food for thought

Other avatar backgrounds

(tw: self-harm in the desolation)

The eye

- journalist/ columnist

- Junk man

- Highschooler in charge of the gossip circle

The vast

- professional pool cleaner

- Landscaper

- Architect

The lonely

- librarian

- Artic circle researcher

- At home worker

Desolation

- self harming person with fire

- Incinerator worker

- Crematory worker

The corruption

- A couple obsessively in love with each other

- Bee keeper

- Forensic entomologist

The flesh

- Model

- Masseuse

- Surgeon

The stranger

- Model

- Sculptor specialising in realism

- Musician

The dark

- electrician

- Spelunker

- Sleep analyst volunteer

The buried

- grave digger

- Tube worker

- Gardener

The spiral

- drug dealer/drug addict

- Thrill seeker

- Artist

The web

- old lady crochet

- Video surveillance security guard

- Toxicologist

The slaughter

- war reenactor

- Axe thrower

- Enthusiastic carnivore

The end

- er nurse/doctor

- Hospice volunteer

- A cat who can tell when someone’s about to die

The hunt

- truancy officer

- Father searching for their lost child

- Blood hound

[carmenjeweller]

How to Care for Your Pink Diamond Jewellery: Tips from Experts

Introduction

Investing in pink diamond jewellery is more than just acquiring a breathtaking piece of art; it’s about safeguarding its brilliance and value for generations to come. At Carmen Jewellers, one of Perth’s most trusted names in fine jewellery, we understand the deep emotional and financial significance of these rare gems. Here, we share expert care tips straight from our team at Carmen Jewellers.

1. Regular Cleaning

Pink diamonds are renowned for their durability, but even the toughest gemstones are not immune to dirt, oil, and grime buildup over time. Keeping your jewellery clean is essential to maintaining its sparkle. For at-home cleaning, Carmen Jewellers recommends the following method:

Mix warm water with a few drops of mild dish soap in a small bowl.

Use a soft-bristled toothbrush to gently scrub the jewellery, paying close attention to intricate details and settings.

Rinse thoroughly under lukewarm water and pat dry with a lint-free cloth.

Avoid using harsh chemicals, abrasive cleaners, or ultrasonic cleaners, as these can damage the metal setting or compromise the integrity of the gemstone. For a deeper clean, visit Carmen Jewellers in Perth, where our professional cleaning services are designed to restore your pink diamonds to their original brilliance. Let us handle the delicate work, so your jewellery remains flawless.

2. Professional Maintenance

While regular at-home cleaning is important, it’s equally vital to schedule annual professional maintenance for your pink diamond jewellery. At Carmen Jewellers, we provide cleaning and inspection services for our Perth customers, ensuring your pieces stay in impeccable condition.

During these maintenance appointments, our expert jewellers:

Thoroughly clean your jewellery using specialized tools and techniques.

Inspect for loose prongs, worn settings, or other potential issues that could compromise the security of your pink diamond.

Perform necessary repairs to protect the longevity of your piece.

These annual check-ups are essential for preserving the integrity of your jewellery and catching any potential issues early. Trust Carmen Jewellers’ skilled professionals to treat your precious pieces with the care and attention they deserve.

3. Proper Storage

The way you store your pink diamond jewellery can significantly impact its condition over time. Improper storage can lead to scratches, tarnishing, or even damage. At Carmen Jewellers, we recommend the following storage tips:

Place your jewellery in a soft-lined jewellery box or a pouch to protect it from scratches.

Store individual pieces separately to prevent them from rubbing against each other.

Use a dedicated jewellery box with compartments or dividers to keep your collection organized and secure.

4. Avoid Wearing During Activities

While diamonds are incredibly durable, they’re not invincible. Everyday activities can expose your pink diamond jewellery to unnecessary wear and tear. To preserve its beauty and longevity, avoid wearing your pieces during:

Gardening or household chores, where they might come into contact with dirt, harsh chemicals, or abrasive surfaces.

Swimming, as chlorine in pools can weaken the metal setting.

High-impact activities like exercising, which may risk accidental knocks or scratches.

Taking off your jewellery during these activities is a simple yet effective way to protect your investment.

5. Insurance Matters

Pink diamond jewellery is not only a financial investment but often carries deep sentimental value. Protecting it with insurance ensures peace of mind in the event of loss, theft, or damage. Carmen Jewellers can assist Perth customers in:

Providing professional appraisals to establish the value of your jewellery.

Offering guidance on selecting the right insurance policy to suit your needs.

With our expertise, you can confidently safeguard your treasured pieces, knowing they’re protected against life’s uncertainties.

Conclusion

Caring for your pink diamond jewellery doesn’t have to be a daunting task. With a little regular maintenance and thoughtful handling, your investment can retain its brilliance and value for years to come. At Carmen Jewellers, we’re committed to helping our Perth customers enjoy their jewellery at its finest. Whether it’s professional cleaning, expert maintenance, or personalized advice, our team is here to ensure your pink diamonds remain radiant.

Visit Carmen Jewellers, your go-to destination for premium jewellery care in Perth, and discover how our expertise can help you preserve the beauty of your cherished pieces. Because at Carmen Jewellers, we believe your jewellery deserves nothing less than the best.

[unproblematickingcharlieswan]

Bella Swan Was A Rich Bitch

I’m slowly making my way through the Twilight series for the first time since 2009 and I have a lot of thoughts. Here are some: 

Bella claims she grew up poor. I disagree. I think she grew up at the very least middle class for the USA, despite being raised by a single mother.

(We all know Charlie paid that child support on time.) 

Firstly, she grew up in a house, which her mother seems to own, as there is no mention of a landlord or paying rent. 

Renée even leaves this property unattended for months on end while she lives in another state with her husband, Phil. When Bella returns to the house at the end of Twilight, it’s empty, so Renée didn’t need to rent it out during her absence and, presumably, simply owns two different properties simultaneously. 

She’s even still paying the electric and phone bills, as Bella can turn on the lights and use the phone although the house has been empty for months. (p. 476)

This house, I imagine, had more than one bathroom, as sharing a bathroom with a parent is embarrassing to Bella. 

When describing Charlie’s house, Bella says, “There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.” (p. 9)

She finds it foreign and off-putting to share a bathroom with someone, to the point that she keeps all her toiletries in a bag that she stores in her bedroom, and brings the bag with her to the bathroom whenever she goes. She is described doing this multiple times over the course of the book. 

The book takes place c. 2005, and Bella has a computer with internet access. She accepts these as given, rather than privileges.  “The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily.” (p. 9)

The author repeatedly uses the marker “secondhand” to insinuate Bella’s relative poverty, but the mere fact she has a computer of her own, as well as home internet access, sets her apart from truly socioeconomically disadvantaged kids. 

Bella participated in at least one extra-curricular activity as a child. 

And a very expensive one at that: ballet. (p. 454)

Come on.

Bella and her mother have a piano.

“I suddenly remembered my childhood fantasy that, should I ever win a lottery, I would buy a grand piano for my mother. She wasn’t really good—she only played for herself on our secondhand upright—but I loved to watch her play.” (p. 351)

The author makes a point of mentioning it’s an upright piano (cheaper than a grand) and that it’s secondhand. However, unless the piano came with their house, they would have had to pay for the piano itself (often several thousand dollars for a used upright) as well as to transport it to their home (professional transportation of pianos can also cost several thousand dollars). Pianos require maintenance/tuning (usually a couple hundred dollars per tuning session), which are additional costs. Unlike a ukulele or a fife, a piano is not a cheap instrument to own or play and there are more than upfront costs. 

Her mother has nice clothes, and pays to maintain them. 

Bella’s mother e-mails her asking whether she knows where her pink blouse is. Bella responds, “Your blouse is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday.” (p. 34)

Dry cleaning a blouse implies that not only it is made from an expensive material (silk, chiffon, linen, suede, leather, etc.), but also that the owner has the monetary resources, time, and transportation to bring it to a dry cleaner and pay someone to clean it for them. 

Bella doesn’t bother to bring most of her clothes with her when she moves to Forks. 

“I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.” (p. 5)

It seems odd to me that Bella never thought about layering her lighter clothing in Washington, particularly because this was written in the early 2000s. I think the “my mom and I had pooled our resources” line is an attempt by the author to demonstrate they don’t have money to buy her new clothes, however, when she gets to Forks, Bella has enough pocket money to consider doing some shopping on a trip to Seattle later in the book. (p. 160)

Bella, who notoriously feels guilty about everything, goes to the hospital twice in Twilight, including for several days at the end of the book, but never worries about how much it will all cost her family. 

She suffered life-threatening bleeding and broken bones (leg, ribs, and skull), and was admitted for several nights. I’ve never lived in the USA but the internet tells me this is extremely expensive. She isn’t remotely worried about it.

Bella doesn’t have a job, but she has money.   

She’s 17 and unemployed, so I’m not sure where it comes from. An allowance? But an allowance is only possible if parents have wealth to spare. 

In all her reminiscing about Arizona, Bella doesn’t so much as recall a babysitting gig. So where do her funds come from? The only time she uses Charlie's money is to pay for groceries.

“I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn’t had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn’t cost me quite a bit in the gas department.” (p. 84)

She doesn’t get a job until New Moon, but she planned on using her own money to buy a car and fuel it without even considering applying for a job in Twilight (and we know every thought that goes through her head). Further, unlike any truly poor kid, she doesn't seem to consider walking or cycling options despite living in a small town (I assume a community the size of Forks would not have a robust public transportation system).

She eats at restaurants, considers clothing and book shopping, etc., without any care about paying for anything. She is supposed to be a conscientious girl who made sure her mother’s bills were paid, so if money were an issue, we should expect her to think about it.

TL;DR

Bella wasn’t poor. Renée wasn’t poor. Charlie wasn’t poor. 

The author was certainly never poor. 

[danieljreboot]

Friday Night Movies ... double feature ... 'Bad News Bears' and 'Bad News Bears in Breaking Training'

Perpetually semi-inebriated, the beer-drinking, cigar-smoking, one-time minor-league pitcher turned professional pool-cleaner, Morris Buttermaker, agrees to coach San Fernando Valley's hopeless little league baseball team, the Bears. To scrape up some cash, Coach Buttermaker has to show this band of maladroit oddballs the ropes--to have, at least, a fighting chance in the upcoming championship--going as far as to recruit the streetwise twelve-year-old daughter of one of his ex-girlfriends and first-rate pitcher, Amanda, and the tough juvenile delinquent, Kelly Leak. Will the group of misfits start winning games? Do they stand a chance against the nearly perfect team, the Yankees?—Nick Riganas

Less than a year after nearly winning the championship in The Bad News Bears (1976), the maladroit team of misfits and California's new little-league champions, The Bears, find themselves without Coach Buttermaker, and their star pitcher, Amanda. In high hopes of participating at the esteemed Japanese baseball championship, the unsupervised Bears travel to Houston's Astrodome stadium on a "borrowed" van, to challenge the local champions, the Houston Toros. However, without a coach, this is easier said than done. Did the rebellious Bears bite off more than they could chew?—Nick Riganas

[tobiasdrake]

We're back in the lab. But this time, we have breathing room to look around.

Not sure how much there is to notice that we didn't before, but let's begin with Huesca's corpse.

Fink wanted to be thorough. He took Huesca from behind and stabbed him, then yanked the knife out and stabbed him again, then again for good measure.

This feels more emotional than professional. Fink's a legendary hitman. I'd expect a cleaner kill than this from a pro. He had total control, right? Huesca was trapped in a room with him, seemed to have no means by which to fight back, and was begging us on the monitor to come save him.

So. Like. Fink had complete autonomy to conduct this kill however he liked. Full control of the situation. He could, I don't know, slit Huesca's throat and walk away. He went for gratuitous repeated stabbings, drawing it out and making it hurt.

That tells me that either the client specified that they wanted Huesca to suffer or this was personal for Fink.

Wish we could turn him over and see what the front of the body looks like.

It also has an F engraved on it. Fink carries his own custom signature knives and I guess he leaves them at the scene every time he takes a life. He left one with Yakou too.

Oh, by all means. Please turn him over. I want to see if there are even more stab wounds on his front. That's a ton of blood pooling under his chest, after all, so it's possible Fink stabbed him even more times than what we can see here.

CHOKE ON YOUR TONGUE. I hope Yomi has you crushed into a cube. Fuckers obstructing my investigation.

"Hey, why don't we pilfer the crime scene and sell stuff on eBay?"

"HOW DARE YOU. I refuse to go along with that! Unless I get a cut of the profits. 50/50 bay-bee!"

Ladies, gentlemen, and everything inbetween: I present to you Kanai Ward's finest boys in blue.

Not much new evidence to be found at the doc's corpse. Which is unsurprising. Until we can see the front, the facts on display were plain at a glance.

Oh, look at that. Fink left a bootprint on Ama-Pal's head when he knocked it over. Gonna go out on a limb and say he probably jumped on its head.

Ama-Pal's built pretty sturdy. The ads over-hype it and say that it can withstand being stepped on by an elephant (!!!) but that's a marketing lie. Its load capacity is 100 kg of force. That's 220 lbs if you're using dirty American conversion units, or 338.5 Furbies.

Knocking Ama-Pal over implies that Fink managed to hit Ama-Pal with 338.5 Furbies of force. It's also interesting for another reason.

An elephant weighs upwards of 9,000 to 20,000 Furbies. If I'd just seen the ads saying "Ama-Pal can handle being stepped on by an elephant, NO PROBLEM!" I would not be confident in my ability to punt the thing. The only people who knew Ama-Pal could be knocked over like this are Amaterasu insiders.

Then again, given the placement of that bootprint, we don't know that Fink knew that. It's possible that he was trying to Mario Hop across Ama-Pal and into the Panel Room to conduct his disappearance. That he wound up knocking Ama-Pal over may have been a mistake.

Yet another vent, this time along the ceiling. But these vents, like the ones in the panel room, are inaccessible. Fink did not enter (loudly, boomingly) through the ducts.

That's what everyone else has been telling us too. Lot of people would want to stab him many, many times to draw it out and make it hurt.

Wait, the big project he was so mad about, which may or may not be related to homunculus research, was three years ago? That coincides with Makoto's arrival to Amaterasu and Kanai Ward, when Makoto wowed everyone with his big project and got fast-tracked to CEO in spite of Yomi being groomed for the position.

Also coincides with the arrival of the Forever Rain, which I suspect was Makoto's project. Makoto said there's rumors that Huesca was conspiring against him. Can't imagine why the old bastard might have held a grudge.

Oh shit, that's why he threw a fuss at Makoto about, "I'M NOT GONNA TALK TO SOME SHITSTAIN IN A MASK!" He can't interpret what you're saying if your mouth is concealed.

That seems super obvious in hindsight. I can't believer I missed that. I wrote it off as him just being an asshole, 'cause of how much of an asshole he is. That was terribly ableist of me.

This also has implications about when he suddenly reacted to his killer's presence. Fink could have been making all kinds of noise in this room and Huesca wouldn't have noticed. His attention was on us. He wouldn't realize there was someone in the room with him until Fink entered his peripheral vision.

Makes me wonder how the intercom buzzer works, though. Huesca can't stand the buzzer. Makoto demonstrated that after he hung up. By jamming the intercom buzzer over and over and over again, he was able to force Huesca to come back to the call.

I wonder what that looks like from this end. Does it have a flashing light or something attached to it?

That's not what Makoto thought he was planning. So Peacekeeper rumors say he wanted to run while Makoto thinks he was conspiring against him. Sounds like he was up to something but nobody's too sure of what.

After Bestie tried to honey-trap him with hilarious results, he said he wanted to step out for a supply run. He trusted us to keep him safe, but not Yomi's Peacekeepers. If he was conspiring to flee Kanai Ward, it makes sense why he wouldn't feel comfortable around those thugs.

Not sure how that's going to be relevant to our case, but we'll keep it in mind. The most unassuming of clues are often the most important.

Including a sketch of what appears to be sulfuric acid being chucked all over some poor schmuck. Well, we know the doc was bloodthirsty from how eager he was to see his trap chambers kill someone.

That was his big plan for escape. He was going to stroll out the door while carrying a big jug of sulfuric acid. Anyone who tried to stop him would get an acid to the face surprise!

When you're too much of a bastard for pocket sand, there is always pocket acid.

So, in theory, he did have a means of self-defense in here. It's unconventional but it would be possible. Of course, trying to uncork a bottle of sulfuric acid, presently in a fridge, while an assassin's stabbing you to death would be supremely difficult.

Man, it would suck if the Forever Rain turned into sulfuric acid. Don't know what made me think of that just now, but wow. Can you imagine how awful that would be?

For real, though, who did he want to acid-ball? Makoto? Slap him in the face with some pocket acid on the way out the door? Hm. This feels super important but I don't know what to do with it.

Curses! A screensaver! MY ONLY WEAKNESS!

For real, though. As someone who works in the financial industry? This is why banks make a huge fucking deal about manually locking your workstation whenever you leave it. One of my unofficial responsibilities when I used to work for a major financial lender was to use a handy-dandy desktop keyboard-shortcut I knew to flip people's screens upside-down if they didn't lock their workstation. Then they'd have to come to me and my boss to get it flipped back, and get grilled on why they didn't lock their workstation.

It's because of this. Exactly this. To keep confidential data secure from passing-by optic grazing. You don't even need to suspiciously sit down at someone's workstation if they left their screen up with confidential data on it.

There are hiding spots, but they're places that would only conceal you from certain angles. That said, Doc was deaf so there's some leeway on offer there.

But honestly, there isn't much reason to hide. It's an enclosed chamber. Just you, your victim, and the knife in your hand. No reason Fink wouldn't come right out and start stabbing as soon as he entered the room.

Why put off until twenty minutes from now what you can stab right now? Not like giving it some time will change the circumstances any, right?

...well, I was hoping those two chuckleheads would move the body by the time I finished the investigation but it looks like that's not happening. Really want to know if there are more stab wounds. I suppose it doesn't matter if there are; It would only corroborate what I already suspect. But I want that corroboration!

Next time I see Yomi, I'm filing a formal complaint.

[arisaasblog]

Ultimate Guide to Jewelry Care: Tips for Keeping Your Treasures Sparkling

Jewelry isn't just an accessory; it's an investment and often carries sentimental value. Whether it's a family heirloom, a gift from a loved one, or a piece you treated yourself to, taking care of your jewelry is essential to maintaining its beauty and longevity. Here's a comprehensive guide to help you keep your jewelry in pristine condition. 1. Regular Cleaning

Gold and Platinum: Use a mild soap and warm water solution. Soak the jewelry for a few minutes, then gently scrub with a soft-bristled toothbrush. Rinse thoroughly and pat dry with a soft cloth. Silver: To remove tarnish, use a silver polish or a homemade paste of baking soda and water. Rub gently, rinse, and dry. Gemstones: Each gemstone has unique care requirements. For most, a mild soap solution works, but softer stones like pearls and opals need special attention. Avoid soaking these gems and clean them with a damp cloth instead.

2. Proper Storage Separate Compartments: Store each piece of jewelry in a separate compartment in your jewelry box to avoid scratches and tangling. Soft-lined boxes or pouches are ideal. Avoid Direct Sunlight: Prolonged exposure to sunlight can fade certain gemstones and damage metals. Store your jewelry in a cool, dark place. Use Anti-Tarnish Strips: For silver pieces, use anti-tarnish strips in your jewelry box to minimize tarnishing.

3. Safe Wearing Practices Remove Jewelry During Activities: Take off your jewelry before engaging in activities that could damage it, such as exercising, swimming, or gardening. Apply Lotions and Perfumes First: Apply lotions, perfumes, and hairspray before putting on your jewelry. Chemicals in these products can damage metals and gemstones.

Assess Prongs and Clasps: Make sure prongs and clasps are secure to prevent losing your precious pieces.

5. Professional Maintenance Annual Professional Cleaning: Take your jewelry to a professional jeweler for an annual cleaning and inspection. This helps maintain its shine and ensures any issues are addressed promptly. Re-polishing and Re-plating: For pieces that see a lot of wear, consider periodic re-polishing or re-plating to restore their original luster.

6. Avoid Harsh Chemicals Household Cleaners: Keep your jewelry away from household cleaners like bleach and ammonia, which can damage metals and stones.

Chlorine: Avoid wearing jewelry in swimming pools and hot tubs. Chlorine can weaken metals and cause discoloration.

7. Special Care for Specific Pieces Pearls: Store pearls flat in a soft cloth pouch, away from other jewelry. Wipe them with a soft cloth after each wear to remove oils and perspiration. Watches: Follow the manufacturer's instructions for cleaning and maintenance. Avoid magnetic fields and extreme temperatures. Conclusion By following these jewelry care tips, you can ensure that your treasured pieces remain beautiful and sparkling for years to come. Regular maintenance and mindful storage can significantly extend the life of your jewelry, preserving

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