Hog the washers? We'll see about that

So I live in an apartment building that has a shared laundry in the basement. There are 10 washers and 10 dryers. I had a single load of laundry to do before a flight tomorrow morning. So I headed downstairs with my basket.

Two machines are running when I get down there. There’s also a single couple taking up EIGHT washers to sort their laundry.

I asked politely if they could divide one of them up into 1/7ths and put it in with their others so I can use a machine. They decline (apparently they have a system…) and tell me to wait however long it takes for the next person to claim their stuff to get the next machine.

At this point I realize it’s time to get petty.

I wait until they leave and then go hit the pause button on all of their machines. I need to stall. Then I wait for the next washer to free up. I transfer this innocent bystanders ratty old towels immediately, pay for their dryer and leave a note to which dryer it’s in. Then I start my washer, and I hit “run” on my machine. I wait a few more minutes, and then resume all of their washers.

They come back down in the 40mins it takes to run and are mildly confused by why their machines are taking longer than usual. They suspect no foul play. By this point my washer is finishing up, so I grab a laundry cart and empty it out. I then proceed to take my laundry and divide it into 8 different dryers (like 2 shirts and a couple socks per dryer lol) and set them all running, one by one, as they watch in bitter disbelief.

And then I settle down in a chair to watch my $12.50 of petty revenge spin.

Tl;dr person took up all the washers in the laundry room, so I made them watch as I took all the dryers.

EDIT: y'all are real hung up on the towels I put in the dryer, so:

No, the towels did not belong to the jerks. Yes, I moved someone else’s stuff. The towels were sitting, damp, in the washer and I needed to use it. Yes, I could have just waited, but I didn’t. I tossed them in the dryer instead, because if someone took my towels out and left them to get musty, I would be pissed. In any case, I feel like it worked out, because no one ever came to claim them in the time that I was down there, so the owner clearly either forgot or didn’t give a fuck. They got free dry towels out of the deal, and I got petty revenge ¯_(ツ)_/¯

[ Meeting Tig at the laundromat ] - I decided to make this one short and sweet! 

You let out a loud sigh as the washing machine buzzer sounded. You hated laundry day more than anything, but it had to be done. You glanced behind you, searching for an empty dryer to throw your clothes into. You let out another annoyed sigh. As if laundry wasn’t enough of a chore, all of the dryers were currently full, meaning you either went home with wet clothes or you were stuck waiting here at least another half hour.

You noticed a tall, curly-haired man standing a few spaces away from you in front of the row of dryers, a bewildered expression on his face. He was dressed head to toe in black, and he wore a leather cut with a patch that read ‘Sgt. at Arms’. 

The man saw you looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “How is it that everybody in this entire fucking town decided to do laundry on the same day?” he asked. His icy blue eyes turned to you. You noticed the way they traced the curves of your body. He cracked a coy smile. “I mean, really? I got other shit to do.” 

You nodded your head and continued haphazardly throwing your wet clothes into a messy pile in the laundry cart. The guy seemed nice and all, and you had to admit, he was very attractive. But you had shit to do yourself, and you weren’t exactly looking for love in the laundromat. 

“I’m Tig,” he continued, walking over to where you were currently head first in the washer, retrieving the last of your clothes. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answered, throwing the clothing into the cart.

Tig nodded his head, then his lips erupted into a smirk as he caught sight of the red lace panties lying at the top of the pile in your cart. He was already interested in you from the moment he laid eyes on you. Now he was really interested. 

“Do those panties look as good on you as they would on my bedroom floor?” he quipped, a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

You glanced down to your laundry cart. You felt your cheeks flush momentarily. A smiled pulled at your lips. Tig’s comment was brazen and maybe even a little weird, but something about him piqued your interest.

You cocked your head to the side and answered, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

costco gothic

- you walk in the store. there are people exiting out from the entrance and vice versa. where is the exit? where is the entrance? nobody knows. its just an Opening.

- you see halloween decorations. it’s the middle of summer.

- you can hear the mechanical witch cackling in the distance. you’re nowhere near the book section.

- you walk through the milk dungeon and you get a gallon bottle from the fridge. you see empty space behind the shelves. you couldve sworn you saw a hand.

- empty free sample carts are perched at the end of every other aisle. you look around for an employee but there’s no one nearby. you turn around for a second, only to find the cart is gone.

- the line for food is endless. where does it begin? where does it end?

- the comforting glow of the churro warming rack 

- you walk into the bathroom. there are strollers everywhere. no babies are in sight. 

- you take a seat on one of the couches on display. you remain there for an hour.

- attempting parkour to reach things on the higher selves, hitting your hand on the metal pole. 

- the menacing beep of the forklifts inching slowing down the aisle. 

- that One free sample cart marketing laundry detergent

Fluff and Fold

pairing: john laurens x reader

summary: reader and john meet in a laundromat. fluff ensues.

warnings: idk i think there might be a single swear word

word count: 2,175

a/n: hi hello it’s been a hot minute since i posted, so here’s this really obnoxiously fluffy fic i hope you like it. also WOW i wrote a laurens fic isn’t that cool. inbox is open for requests/comments/concerns, happy reading!!

You struggle to swing the door to the laundromat open, juggling your laundry basket and your laptop bag. If you were going to be stuck in the fluorescent lit hell at nearly midnight, you were going to at least get some work done while you’re at it.

The door finally flies open and you march through it triumphantly, moving toward one of the tables along the center of the room. A soft grunt escapes you as you try to heave the heavy basket up onto the table. As you’re swinging the basket, it collides with something and topples to the floor, your socks and pajamas tumbling out all over the tile.

“Shit,” you mutter, bending down to scoop your clothing back into the basket. You reach forward to grab a sock and your hand bumps into another hand. Your eyes shoot up and meet a pair of soft hazel ones, framed in long black lashes. Delicate curls of chocolate brown hair wind their way down his neck and reach his shoulders, a subtle ring of frizz illumined into a warm golden halo in the harsh lighting.

“I’m so sorry,” the freckled man gasps. His subtle southern accent tugs at your heartstrings. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.

“It’s alright,” you feel your cheeks heat up under his stare. “I should’ve been paying closer attention to what I was doing.”

The two of you are nearly finished cleaning up the jumbled mess of laundry when he chuckles, holding out a pajama top that somehow ended up in his basket.

“As much as I love pink satin, I find it hard to believe that this belongs to me.” His eyes glint with amusement as you giggle, taking the shirt from his hand.

“But it’s your color,” you tease.

His eyes crinkle and he lets out a laugh, the sound like music to your eyes. It’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing more of, you decide.

“I’m John Laurens,” he says, offering his hand for you to shake.

Keep reading

imagine your otp getting kicked out of a hotel for disguising as cleaning staff in an attempt to prank presidential candidate dongo trumpus by filling his shoes, pockets, shampoo and toothbrush with glue

ot3 bonus: person c is still hiding in the hallway with a camera waiting to catch dringo trampoline stumbling out of his room in glue-filled shoes and ends up falling asleep in a laundry cart

i don’t know what we’re calling this but i know a lot of you are super upset with me but that’s okay because that means i’m doing my job

Part 1

Obi-Wan does not realize he is crying until he collapses in the Great Hall and finds himself gasping for breath and trembling violently. He pulls his knees up to his chest and covers his cheek with his hand, trying to calm down.


He looks up to find himself staring into the warm brown eyes of his crèche master. The man who had cared for him since he was an infant. His soothing Force signature wraps around him and Obi-Wan struggles to remain silent. He quickly turns into a blubbering mess but Ali-Alann simply clucks over him. The tall man gathers Obi-Wan into his arms and picks him up like he weighs nothing.

Obi-Wan allows himself to be carried back to the crèche. He thinks miserably that he would much rather spend the rest of his life there than as a Padawan. He does not have to be a Knight to be a Jedi. There is nothing wrong with being a crèche master.

Ali-Alann sets him down gently on an empty bed and sits beside him. A hand touches his own where he is still clutching his cheek.

“Let me see.”

Obi-Wan allows him to take his hand away but his sobs turn choked and hard. He nearly doubles over with the force of them. Ali-Alann holds him close and rubs his back lightly. Obi-Wan grabs desperately for something to hold, something to ground himself, and the crèche master’s tunics bear the brunt.

He eventually calms, but that is a subjective term. He gasps and hiccups on halfhearted sobs and tears continue to trickle down his cheeks.

Ali-Alann’s hands are careful when they touche his cheek. The pain flares brightly and Obi-Wan flinches.

“I apologize. Will you give me permission to clean the cut?”

Obi-Wan nods dazedly. When Ali-Alann moves away to a cupboard, his tears come anew. He cries into his hands like a child and feels shame curl sickeningly in his belly.

“I will have none of that in my crèche,” Ali-Alann says softly, pushing Obi-Wan’s hair back. “There is no shame in crying. And I will never allow someone to think that there is.”

Obi-Wan realizes how badly he misses being taken care of. His crèche master gently cleans the cut on his cheek and then hands him a soft cloth to wipe his face with. He brings Obi-Wan a glass of cool water and makes him lie down on the bed. He might have used a Force suggestion to put him to sleep, but Obi-Wan couldn’t be sure

When he wakes, he finds that nearly two hours have passed. Ali-Alann is there with a fresh glass of water and a warm hand cupped under Obi-Wan’s chin.

“Who did this to you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan knows his reaction is visible and palpable. He cannot hide it.

Ali-Alann tuts at him. “You have to tell me, little one. I will not let you leave until you tell me who hurt you.”

His eyes fill with tears again and he squeezes them closed to avoid seeing the gentle face of the man who raised him.


It is said with quiet, concerned exasperation.

“You will not be in trouble. I am not going to rush off and reprimand someone. I just want to know who hurt you.”

Obi-Wan’s lips tremble even as he presses them together tightly. He sucks in a gasping breath and keeps his eyes closed.

“Master Jinn.”

He hears the shocked breath Ali-Alann does not mean to take. He does not open his eyes. A minute passes before the crèche master speaks.

“We will handle this. We will handle this carefully and thoroughly. You are safe here with me and you are welcome to stay as long as you like. I don’t have a clan right now so I can be with you as often as you want. But I will not force you to stay if you wish to leave.”

Obi-Wan finally opens his eyes but casts them down. “I’d like to stay. I think.”

“All right.” Ali-Alann smoothes Obi-Wan’s hair, rubbing the back of his neck lightly. “You are allowed to leave whenever you want. And only crèche masters or council members are able to open the door to come inside. You are completely safe; I promise.”

He nods, but he still worries.

“If you’d like, you can help me sort through the clean laundry. Or you can stay here and rest,” the crèche master offers.

Obi-Wan looks up at him. “I’ll help you with the laundry.”

Ali-Alann smiles sadly at him, setting his hand on his knee.

“Let’s get started then.”

They fold and put away six massive laundry carts of youngling-sized tunics and leggings. Obi-Wan wishes he could live in the crèche again, alongside his crèche master and children who look up to him. All the kids his age have been chosen as Padawans or shipped off to the various corps so his peers would be younger than him. He would not care as long as he was happy.

Their task takes the rest of the day and Obi-Wan is shocked to feel his upper back muscles seized up and tight. He tries to roll his shoulders and loosen the muscles as he shuffles off to the bed Ali-Alann set him up to use. He is asleep before he hits the pillow.

He wakes momentarily when he feels gentle hands situating him under the blankets and smoothing his hair. Cool fingers brush over his cheek before they leave again. He drifts off knowing he is safe in the place he began his journey to become a Jedi.

A/N: YOOOOOOOOO ITS AN AU!!!! I was having some Niall/Football feels so here’s the product! :)

You’re Welcome, Always

“Just because you’re pissed, does not mean you can take it out on me.” I said as I watched Niall’s very clearly angry figure brush past me. His football team had gotten their asses kicked in a match today and no one was happy. We were the last two left in the locker room. “It was a rotten loss! Ye can’t expect me not t'be fuckin’ pissed!” He hissed, throwing his dirty jersey to the big laundry cart that held everyone else’s uniforms. I shook my head. “Wasn’t all on you Ni. There were some bullshit calls, that’s for sure. A blind, deaf dog could’ve called better.” I sighed as he sat on the bench to take off his cleats and shin guards. He looked up at me, his face red and his eyes a vibrant shade of blue. He chuckled softly. “I’ll agree wit’ ye dere.”

I sat beside him on the bench. “They roughed you up a bit out there. You’ve got bruises and scrapes everywhere.” I rubbed his bare back gently as he put his head in his hands. “Thank ye.” He mumbled quietly. “What for?” I asked as he sat back up. “For not walkin’ away when I’m upset. For findin’ a way t'get me t'forget what I’m mad about. For listenin’.” He replied, kissing my temple as he got up to go take his shower. I sighed. “You’re welcome. Always.” I replied, squeezing his hand. I could tell he was still upset. “Do you want me to join you?” I asked. He froze. “I thought so.” I smiled, getting up and stripping out of my clothes. He carried me into the shower that was already warm. “Use me. I know you’re not happy, so use me to make you happy.” I said, kissing up his neck. “Use ye how?” He asked, his hands on my hips. “However.” A kiss was placed on his lips. “You.” The center of his chest. “Want.” The underside of his jaw.

He smirked to himself. “However I want?” He asked. I nodded. “I’ve sure got a perfect idea of how you’ll thank me later, but now you’re in charge.” I said, kissing him with and open mouth. Suddenly, my back was against the cool tile wall of the shower. I tried to even out my breathing as he lifted me up so that my legs were around his waist. Without a warning, he pushed into me and I gasped, my neck arching. “Ni, fuck.” I breathed, knotting my fingers in his hair. “Move, please.” I begged him. He grabbed my hips and he began thrusting. He was faster than usual and quite a bit more precise with his thrusts, hitting my g-spot every time. “So tight.” He mumbled, kissing along my collarbone. I let out a soft gasp as he placed his thumb on my clit and resumed his thrusting.

“Oh, baby.” I moaned out, feeling him in every part of my body. I tingled with desire. “Niall, yes right there!” I encouraged as he sped up just slightly. He smiled. “Tell me how good ye feel.” He kissed up my neck. “So good baby. So fucking good.” I replied, almost immediately after the words left his mouth. He chuckled. “Yeah?” He asked. “Yes, oh God yes!” I cried. He smirked. My wetness was dripping down my thighs as he pounded into me, his thumb still circling my most sensitive spot. “Are ye close darlin’?” He asked, watching my mouth drop open as my head fell back. “Yes.” I answered on an exhale. “Cum fer me.” He commanded, pressing harder down on my clit.

I was almost there. “K-Keep going. I’m g-gonna cum.” I got my words out through strangled breaths. He sped up more and I cried out for him. “NIALL! YES!” I screamed, loudly enough that if anyone was left in the stadium or training facility, they would have heard me. He smiled. “I’m cumming.” I warned him as I I tugged at his hair and smashed his lips back to mine. “Good girl. Cum on my cock.” He praised, exploiting the sensitivity of my clit for all it was worth. I came, hard. My vision was spotted as my orgasm washed over me. My nails scratched down his back and my back arched off the wall. Watching me orgasm got him to his own and I felt him shoot his release into me in three long spurts.

I brought my lips back to his and I kissed him gently as he helped me off of him. “I needed that. Thank ye, (Y/N).” He said, breathing heavily still. He pulled me into the water with him and let his hands travel all over my body, cleaning me. He got on his knees and kissed my thighs,spreading my legs apart slowly. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.” I smiled as he looked up at me with his piercing blue eyes. “I know ye too well.” He chuckled, enveloping my core with his mouth. I sighed in content. The feeling of his mouth on me was nothing short of euphoric. He hummed against me, sending a vibration through me that made me gasp. “Ni,” I breathed as my voice hitched in the back of my throat. “Yes, darling.” I finished my thought. His tongue pushed into me and I tensed, my muscles clenching. “D-Don’t stop.” I whispered, my head falling back into the stream of slowly cooling water.

“Fuckin’ love yer cunt.” He mumbled, pulling away only to thrust two fingers into me. The ball in my stomach that was my release began to unravel. “Felt that.” He smirked as my center shuddered. He stood, his fingers still pumping in and out of me. “Niall, I’m close.” I warned, every muscle in me tensing. “My eyes squeezed shut and I slowly tipped over the edge again, releasing on his hand. He pumped me through my orgasm, then pulled his hand out. "Holy Christ.” I sighed, watching him lick his fingers clean before he kissed me. I turned the water off and got out of the shower with him close behind. I wrapped a towel around me and he smiled. He wrapped one around his waist and sat back on the bench. “Don’t know what I’d do without ye.” He sighed. I blushed. “Not that, that’s for sure.” I laughed. He wrapped me up in his arms and kissed the top of my head. “Thank you.” I mumbled.. “Yer welcome, always.” He replied.

Fic: Put Asunder

Satan: what if Shooting Star happened but in season 6?

Me: …fuck, I’ve gotta write that.

Angstier than my usual fare, obviously, but not really angsty in a more objective sense, imo. And there’s a happy ending, of course, I’m not a complete monster. ~2100 words, PG-13.

“Hey, Kurt, hold up!”

“I’ll be right back,” Kurt told Blaine softly, squeezing his husband’s hand once before turning to face Kitty, who was lingering near center stage. “What’s up?”

“Mason and Roderick wanted another demonstration of breathing technique again,” she said, tilting her head to acknowledge the boys flanking her. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to make sure I got it all right, too.”

“Not a problem,” Kurt said, wandering back over to his students as the rest of the auditorium cleared out. “Everyone standing with their feet planted?”

They nodded, and Kurt started the familiar lecture, pleased that they were taking the upcoming competition seriously even if none of them were planning on going pro, as far as he knew.

I should probably ask everyone what they’re thinking about for college, shouldn’t I? he mused as he instructed. If anyone wants to go to New York, Blaine and I could let them borrow our couch for a day or two.

Kurt was making Mason practice inhaling from his belly when they heard the first disturbance.

Keep reading

The Curious Case of the Author Who Didn't Get Better On Time

So last month I wrote this post about how I’d had an operation and then got a post-surgical infection. I write now, over a month later–in sort of a similar state.

I am still sick. I’m not as sick as I was, but I am still sick. This sickness has gone through many phases now–the first month saw me popping in and out of hospitals a lot. Over the holidays, I was being treated by a specialist who gave me some strong meds and called me on Christmas Eve to tell me I might have Lupus. (I don’t have Lupus. But he called and told me that on Christmas Eve and we had to twiddle our thumbs until the new year to find that out.) We still don’t know what I have, but the likely culprit is a small pocket of infection hiding out in my body, or the infection/medication infecting/affecting a heart valve. 

Whatever the case, I am not on death’s door–I’m just still sick. I can walk short distances. Some days I can go a block or two, and some days I get winded just walking around the apartment. I’ve had a low fever since November, so I’m starting to consider it as a pet. I get some pretty bad muscle pain at points.  I have been able to get back to work a bit. I’m extremely behind, and I’m working at a lower capacity, but I do get things done!

I did go to Florida the other week as part of a long-scheduled vacation, which was supposed to be to somewhere else entirely. I wasn’t able to do that trip, but the doctors said it would be good if I went somewhere warm and got out of my house. (I basically haven’t been out of the house much since November 17th. I haven’t been to a movie, or a show, or a party. I have gone FULL HOMEBODY.) It was very exciting to be somewhere else! And not be freezing! I could walk a bit there. Mostly I sat outside and stared lovingly at the ocean.

Okay, but there are reasons I am telling you all of this, because why would you care?

The first reason is: I am not in physical shape to go on the book tour I was supposed to go on upon the release of The Shadow Cabinet. So that tour will be POSTPONED until I am physically able. I cannot WAIT to do this.

BUT! Just because I can’t travel doesn’t mean I won’t be doing things. I will be ONLINE. You may be hearing MUCH from me in the lead-up to the release on February 10th (US)/February 5th (UK).

But I have a few other things to mention. Because I have learned a few lessons in this experience.


1. Not all of the things need to get done, probably.

I am a big proponent of doing ALL THE THINGS!!!! I’m not super good at learning that I can’t do things, or maybe I should rest a bit and not overdo it. This is how you end up trying to do five loads of laundry and then you start crying in the laundry room because you have run out of energy and then you sit in a wheely laundry cart because you’re too tired to walk to the drier and then you just give up and decide you don’t need towels, anyway, and you sit on the floor of the elevator riding back upstairs. Sometimes? The laundry does not need doing, especially if you do not leave the house. You can wear anything in the house, including your Jedi bathrobe or the t-shirt you found half-under the bed, or you can fashion a cape out of the dog blanket from the sofa and sweep dramatically around the hallway. I showered every day. GOOD ENOUGH. And frankly, you don’t need to set the bar that high. It’ll be fine.

2. There is such a thing as too much television.

Sometimes you don’t have much choice in this matter. Like, when you can’t get off the sofa and you’re wearing your dog blanket cape and you’re generally wobbling like a lost Jello on a windy plain. This is when I discovered BBC Radio online and it has changed my life. You can listen to radio plays! Dramatized books! Comedy! Discussions! Music! 

3. Make a bundle of the PRECIOUS THINGS so you don’t have to keep getting up.

You’re going to want your phone and a charger and a book and a pen and a the TV remote and your water bottle and your headphones. Just carry everything in a bucket. If you don’t have a bucket, fill a towel or the corner of your Jedi robe or a t-shirt. 

4. Despite appearances, you will be able to return to the world.

After a week or two or three inside in the winter, you will begin to think you are the last remaining member of a lost civilization. You’re not.

5. *** email

Except the ones from your friends or your mom or anything that is really critical. But mostly you can **** email until such a time as you are ready to handle it. At which point, I advise you to just erase 75% of it at random.

6. Other people are awesome.

I have a new appreciation for people who live with long-term illness and pain. What I’ve gone through is a drop in the bucket. I have a job I can do from home, and insurance, and many people who have helped me when I couldn’t quite do the things I normally am able to do. My mom has talked to me every day. Oscar has been a champion–taking on all the tasks I couldn’t.

7. Hoard your miracle substance.

There is probably one, maybe two, substances that are keeping you going. Mine is ginger ale, which helps with some of the GI effects of the drugs. I buy ginger ale like I’m expecting a ginger ale shortage. All of it is mine. I tower it high. I will drink it. Ginger ale.

8. Meditation

I’ve been a regular mediator for five years, and it has a huge impact on my life. You can definitely do this while sick, and it can only help.

9. Spy on your neighbors

Might as well. I have notebooks full of their movements.

10. Say thank you.

Thanks everyone who has helped me. I love you.

If YOU have tips on how to stay at home and be sick, please TWEET them to me. I long to COMPILE this knowledge!

The woman who lives across from me
has hands with quivers and liver spots
and always forgets to water the plant
by her door. Every month I watch it cave
into the yellow of its rotten self like
giving up.

I watch her buy a new one
and wheel it down the street in her laundry cart
and place it there with her shower cap on,
and every month I water it each day afterwards
hoping this time it will keep.

My skin smells like wet rice
and licked lips. My sheets still crease
into the shape of your sleeping ankles
and my gums ache in the evenings
while I listen to your old voice mails,
like I have chewed too much ice
and forgotten that it is cold.

The automated voice asks me
if I would like to save these messages
and I say yes every time, I say save them
every time, something here needs
constant saving.

Her plant will shrivel into the soil again
because sometimes it is comfortable
that way and I will watch this from my home
of ash with no trays and rings of coffee
with no coasters and arms with no hold.

And I will water it for her every day
knowing it is not helping and I will replay
your “hey, baby, this isn’t gonna work”
knowing it is not helping.

I will press 3 when the voice
tells me my options because
sometimes saving is just that easy
and I will drunkenly draw your ankles
into the sheets at night knowing it is not
helping and wake in the morning
thinking you visited.

—  “Here’s What I Know” by Ramna S.