Laundry-Cart

Close Quarters

(For @manateeparty. Thank you for donating to @trashbrigade‘s gisholarship fundraiser!)

ao3

Sam shakes his head, laughing at his brother. “Always with the scissors, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t even dignify him with a response. Rock-Paper-Scissors is a sacred, binding contract for laundromat duty and he’s lost fair and square. He picks up the duffles full of dirty clothes and hoists them over his shoulder.

Cas, who has been watching this exchange with interest from the far bed, gets to his feet. “I’d be happy to assist you.”

“Oh, how sweet,” Sam practically chirps. “A laundry date.”

“Shut up, Sammy.” He looks at Cas. “C’mon if you’re coming.”

They try to time things to be back at the bunker before they’re out of clean clothes, but an unexpected addition to their last case had them heading four hundred miles in the wrong direction.

Dean slings the bags into the back seat while Cas searches for to the nearest laundromat. It’s not far from the motel and, from the pictures on the website, it looks fairly bright and cheery
as far as coin laundries go.

Dean parks out front and they each grab a bag. Inside, the washers stand in rows while dryers line the walls. Dean drops his bag on a high counter meant for folding clothes and goes to find the change machine. By the time he returns, his jacket pocket heavy with quarters, he finds Cas standing between two open washer doors carefully studying one of Sam’s t-shirts.

He looks to Dean with the same face he uses when he’s making sure a sigil is correct. “Is this considered a dark or a light?”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorting.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Dean,” Cas says with the utmost concern, “the label says to wash separately.”

“They all say that, Cas. Time to live on the edge.” He reaches into the second washer and grabs the couple of things that are in there and throws them in with the other clothes.

Cas frowns, but pulls some more clothes out of the bag.

Dean sighs. “The trick is to not touch any of this nasty stuff. Have you met Sam Winchester?” He shudders; there’d been Mexican food recently.

“Of course I have, Dean,” Cas grouses. “And he said I should sort the laundry.”

Dean takes the bag from Cas’s hand and dumps it into the washer, then slams the door shut with a flourish. “Ok, maybe at home that’s fine, but on the road it’s all about cheap and efficient. And as long as there isn’t anything—“ he glances around at the other patrons before continuing, “unnatural on the clothes, you can wash them all together in cold water.” He’s still pissed about the ectoplasm that ruined one of his favorite band t-shirts. Sam knows that shit needs to be treated with vinegar first.

“I don’t understand why clothing comes with rules if you’re just going to ignore them.”

“You,” Dean says. “Mr. I Rebelled From Heaven. You’re judging my laundry law-breaking.”

Cas’s scowl lightens into something close to a smile.

Grinning, Dean hands Cas some quarters. “Go get some soap.”

When the soap is added, Dean slots the quarters one by one into the washer. “This used to be Sam’s favorite part. I had to lift him up so he could reach.”

“You spent a lot of time in laundromats as kids.”

“Yeah, and let me tell you most of them weren’t nearly as nice as this one.” He ushers Cas to a couple of empty seats where they can keep an eye on their washer. He nods toward the sign announcing free wi-fi that hangs over the row of vending machines. “Plenty of times Dad left us in one and went off to a bar.”

Cas gives him that same pinched-brow look he always gets when Dean talks about John, but Dean waves it off. “It was actually kind of fun. Sam and I played a lot of hide and seek in these things.” He nudges the wheeled laundry cart with his foot. “Raced around in these when the place was empty.”

It hadn’t been all bad. Even without a door to lock between them and the rest of the world, laundromats felt safer than motels a lot of the time. They were mostly populated by moms and old ladies and sometimes they shared snacks or gave quarters when John left them lacking in one or the other. The swishing sounds of the washer, the hum of the fluorescent lights, even the startling buzzers from the timers. These were all soothing, familiar sounds that led to the simple joy of clean, warm-from-the dryer clothing. Even after the years of having the bunker to call home, Dean still finds himself hoarding quarters just in case.

It’s funny to think that he learned all this as a child, but now he’s teaching an older-than-dirt angel how to do it. But it’s kind of nice to have him here, tagging along not because he has to but for the sheer sake of keeping Dean company. That’s been a happy realization, since the two of them became…well, whatever the hell they are these days. The way that having someone by your side can make even the most mundane tasks fun. Things like grocery shopping, where Cas studies coupons like they’re instructions for defusing a bomb, or washing dishes, which was inevitably followed by instructing Cas on how to snap a dishtowel. (Cas had gotten surprisingly good in a short amount of time with Dean’s ass as his target.) Not to mention the unexpected bonus of decreased nightmares that came with having this particular warm body next to his each night.

They sit in comfortable silence as the washers whir and the dryers tumble. Cas keeps his knee pressing against Dean’s, and sometimes Dean still can’t believe he spent all the time lecturing him on personal space. Especially now when he’d like nothing more than to pull him onto his lap and kiss him until they are both gasping for breath.  But that’ll have to wait. They’ve still got a few more days on the road before they can head home again. He tries not to think about how they’d be spending their time alone at the motel if Sam had been the one banished here.

Dean’s eye is caught by their washer accelerating into the final spin. Checking that the row is empty of people, he tugs Cas by the hand, leading him over to it. There, mostly hidden from view, he backs Cas up against the washer and kisses him, pressing against him so that the vibrations tingle through them both.

“Soon,” Cas whispers.

“Soon,” Dean agrees.

There’s time for one more kiss before the buzzer sounds.

Gorda, Shepherd mix (17 y/o), Rosie’s Dog Beach, Long Beach, CA • “She was my mom’s dog, who passed away. She would go with her to do laundry in a shopping cart.”

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?” 

anonymous asked:

Hi! So I'm moving in with my dad and stepmom in Arkansas from South Carolina for two year college, then transferring to a better college in NYC, do you have any tips on how to deal with such a big change and how to save money?

Moving Out of State/Across the Country

Whether you’re moving for school, work, or just for a change of pace, make sure you:

  • have at least 2 months rent saved up (might not apply if you’re living the dorms)
  • know about transportation— is there a bus or train? Will you be bringing your car? How’s the parking situation?
  • once you’ve found an apartment, set up electric service and internet service with the local companies
  • know where the safer and more dangerous areas of the new city are
  • have an idea of where the closest grocery store will be
  • have all your important documents— social security card, passport (just in case), banking info, checks, insurance info
  • tell your credit card companies that you’re going to be moving to a new state so they don’t question any new out-of-state charges
  • decide if you’re going to register to vote in your new state
  • decide if you’re going to update your driver’s license to your new state
  • be ready to file taxes in your new state

General Moving Far Away Tips

  • Take advantage of all modern technology! WhatsApp, Skype, other messaging apps. These will help you feel closer to home!
  • How will you be transporting your stuff? When I moved from California to NYC, I shipped my stuff in boxes from UPS. You can also hire a moving company (very expensive), drive it all yourself, or buy all new.
  • Take some time to explore your new home before diving into work and school!
  • Do things that remind you of home. Put up pictures, call your friends and parents, keep a favorite stuffed animal, make comfort foods
  • Arrange holiday visits and trips home early, before the prices rise!
  • If you’re going to go, go! Don’t leave yourself with too much baggage or emotional ties back home; you’re just going to make yourself homesick. Embrace being in a new place. Usually it takes about a year to adjust, but you’ll be just fine!

NYC Specific Tips

  • Which borough are you going to live in? I’m most familiar with Manhattan, but there are way cheaper and larger apartments further out. Just consider commute. How long are you willing you stand on a crowded subway in the sticky heat or summer or freezing cold of winter, with your big jacket and school bags?
  • Most people grocery shop every few days, rather than a few times a month since we don’t have cars or big fridges/freezers.
  • Good things to have: a drying rack for laundry, a portable pushable cart for groceries, a good umbrella, a good rain coat, good rain shoes/boots, fans and an A/C unit for the summer, a few cans of bug spray on hand so you’re ready before you see your first roach
  • Take time to explore the city!! There are so many things to do and so much good food!! There are free things happening every weekend, just get out and go!
  • See if your school offers discounts to events like theater, dance, other performance!

Please check out our Moving tags for more details about packing, finding apartments, living in dorms, and more!!!– Mimi

See also:

Apartments - Finding an Apartment Across State Lines

Living On Your Own For The First Time

Social - Making Friends After Moving

Creepypasta #1239: A Delivery To The Good Shade Hotel

Read the first 2 parts, The Good Shade Hotel and Our Hotel Celebrates The Strangest Holidays

Length: Medium

I’m currently working my second interval at this hotel. Every interval is three months, and during the time off you have two weeks where you can decide to stay or quit. I haven’t really thought about quitting since back when I first started, I honestly really enjoy working here. It has really opened up my life and allowed me to witness and experience a world few ever see. A world where we’re aware of the Shades.

I didn’t take a lot of time to think about quitting during my break. I was too excited about all the things I was learning by working here. I’m nearly to the end of my second three months, and something just happened that I’ll definitely be keeping in mind when I have the chance to quit.

A few nights ago everything was going as normal– or at least as normal as it can get around here. I was sitting at the front desk talking to Alphaea’s most recent persona, Chiara. Beautiful as always, she was petite and 5’3”. She sported olive toned skin, and highlighted deep auburn hair. She smiled sweetly from behind the desk as I came back from helping a guest.

“Hey Tony, Mister Smith needs you to do him a favor,” she told me, her bright blue eyes widened as she waited for my reply.

“Sure thing, is he in the office?” I asked.

She nodded at me, and seemed to be trying to hide her amusement. I guess she knew what I had to do and found it funny, or she knew how confused I would be when I received the task. Either one would be exactly in her character. I tried to prepare myself so that Chiara couldn’t laugh at me, if I just handled the job and got it done well enough then she’d have no reason to chastise me when I returned.

Mister Smith did not seem impressed when I entered his office. He gestured for me to have a seat and began speaking after a sigh.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you, Mister Stephens, but all of our other employees are tied up, and with a guest we have scheduled to arrive this evening Alphaea must remain at the front desk.”

“Alright,” I replied hesitantly, “what do you need me to do?”

“There is a delivery for the hotel that needs to be picked up. You will drive there in one of our hotel vehicles, exchange vehicles at the delivery pick up location, and return the delivery to the hotel.” He stared at me as though this was the most serious matter on the earth.

“I can do that,” I told him.

“There are some requirements. You cannot look in the delivery vehicle to see what you are carrying. You are not to unlock the back of the vehicle, and please do not ask any questions about what you are collecting.”

I nodded, moderately concerned about what it could be that I was delivering. He told me what car to take and gave me the keys. The GPS was already set to show me the way to the pick up location. Chiara wiggled her fingers in a goodbye as I walked by the front desk to leave. She had a knowing smile on her face, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of admitting that I was freaking out on the inside.

The car was plain and silver, the kind of car that you see absolutely everywhere. The drive towards the delivery was quiet and dark. I had nothing but time to think on the hour and a half long drive. I could be picking up guests. I could be picking up raw meat, or large dead animals. I could be picking up corpses. I panicked the entire way there. I had no desire to find out what the consequence would be if I were to peek at what I was delivering.

Arriving at the location of the switch brought me to a small dirt road in a dark wooded area. Suffice to say this did nothing to ease my worried mind. Two suited men exited the Uhaul truck that was parked there. As I stood outside in the cold, one of them instructed me to drive as I would normally so that I would not be pulled over. They got in the hotel car and left.

It took me a few moments to clear my head and remind myself to ignore whatever it was I had to deliver. I steeled myself for the journey ahead as I got in the driver’s seat and noticed that the GPS in the truck already had the destination set for me. This is a simple task. They’ve made it so easy for you. I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding as I started the truck and drove away.

I tried to distract myself from the task at hand by listening to the radio, but no stations were coming in clearly. The voices distorted by static would somehow manage to slip their way into my already hotel ravaged nightmares. The car was quiet, and according to the GPS I was only about 15 minutes away from my destination. Unfortunately that was when I started hearing noises coming from the back of the truck.

Keep reading

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)_/¯

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

counterpunches  asked:

PLEASE TELL THE STORY OF YOUR WORST EXPERIENCE WITH EXPIRED MILK

okay so there are a few things you need to understand about my life before we get to this story.

  • 1: i’m a pretty lazy person but i like to do certain things in routines, which are unfortunately very susceptible to ruin if any unusual events occur
  • 2: weekends are my cleaning time
  • 3: it is hot as BALLS in my apartment

the other very important piece of information is that i spend a lot of time at my parents’ house, since they live fairly close to my place and are actually closer to work. in any given week i’m over there for at least a three-day span.

so on sunday i was getting stuff ready to go over there and originally my dad was going to come get me (since i don’t drive). but then my aunt called and said she had a table she wanted to drop off, and she would have no problem driving me over there. in hindsight, this was mistake #1.

she said she would be over around 2, which was great because i still needed to do dishes. the other other very important piece of information is that my kitchen is slightly bigger than a breadbox, so Doing the Dishes is essentially code for ‘cleaning everything’. and i reuse dishes a lot before i wash them, so basically every sunday i clean my kitchen. usually it’s just the dishes and maybe wiping down the counters, but this sunday i had food to clean out of my fridge. this was mistake #2.

spending each week in two places has kind of turned me into a sherpa because i’m not permanently in one place all the time. i’ve got bags here and bags there and i’m always carting laundry around so anytime i make a trip i end up forgetting something. usually it’s a comb or some hair stuff but this sunday i forgot lots of things because my routine was interrupted in about a million ways.

my aunt came over not at 2 but at 4, when i had finished doing the dishes but, having forgotten about my fridge, had just started emptying it of food. here are a few things you need to know about my aunt:

  • her name is franny
  • she is very loud
  • she talks
  • (a lot)
  • it’s very hard to end a conversation with her bc she’s so good at talking

i stopped what i was doing to let her in and she started talking (mistake #3), and instead of checking that i’d finished with the fridge (mistake #4), i started getting the rest of my stuff ready. and, like, six years later when she had finally stopped talking, we left.

the whole car ride home we’re talking and laughing and i’m running through a mental list of everything i already knew i’d forgotten back at my apartment but would never ask her to turn around and get (mittens, hat, scarf, boots, my one clean bra, etc.)

fast forward to today–wednesday night, four days later–and my dad is driving me back to my place. and i’m so excited! mittens! hat! scarf! boots! clean bra! i will find them all again! this night is the best night!

mistake #5.

i open my door and after i register the suffocating heat, my nose crinkles at an horrific stench. both my dad and i yell some version of “the FUCK is that?!” before i say, “oh it’s probably franny’s table; she had it outside on her porch before she brought it over here.” good logic; tables definitely emit foul odors after four days indoors. that’s definitely absolutely for sure a thing that happens in my world.

except it’s not, because then i went into the kitchen to get to my porch to open the window to save myself from the disgusting heat, and then i saw it.

poor lonely mistake #4, a half gallon plastic container of milk that i had taken out of the fridge with the intention of throwing it away. SO CLOSE! i yell to myself. so close, carolyn! you got it out the fridge, a good first step, but then you forgot about it for four days.

so close.

so i tell my dad it’s the milk, he laughs at me, and i put it in a plastic bag and walk it out to the trash. oh well, i laugh as i walk back to my apartment; i did a dumb thing but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. just another classic carolyn story!

no. mistake #6. that was not the classic carolyn story. the classic carolyn story is gearing up for the second act.

i go back to my apartment, still laughing, and start to make myself dinner. the smell will die down and be replaced by delicious buttery pasta, i tell myself. except it’s not dying down, and it just feels like it’s permeated every part of my breadbox linoleum kitchen.

you know how sometimes heat gets so hot that it almost becomes solid, like you can feel it in your mouth and sitting on top of your head and giving you a huge hug even though you really really don’t want any kind of hug at all? the longer i spent in my kitchen, the more it felt like i was eating rotten-milk-smell. 

this is when i realize i should have paid more attention in physics class (mistake #7) especially when we got around to talking about pressure. because that rotten milk jug still had the cap on when i left it out in my rainforest of an apartment.

i don’t know all the science bits (because i did not pay attention in physics class) but i’m pretty sure the combination of the heat and the seal on the jug created some kind of rancid milk grenade, and over the course of four days it had exploded onto the counter, the floor, the bottom of the curtain i have between the kitchen and the living room, and the very convenient crevice between the garbage can and the doorway that no swiffer built by man can reach.

also sometime in those four days, it stopped exploding and started congealing onto said surfaces but in a very transparent way, which accounted for me not noticing the gobs of expired milk literally everywhere all over my kitchen. my kitchen, that now smells like if someone had run a marathon in smelly shoes and then put them back in the box.

i swiffered and cloroxed the hell out of everything but you know how when you were at school and someone barfed and the janitors threw sawdust on it, the combination of smells permeated the whole building and then everything smelled like sawdust-covered-barf?

like that, only lemon-scented milk curds.

(coincidentally, that is also what shame smells like.)

“On August 2nd, 2008 at 0830 Saturday morning I Correctional Officer {redacted} was advised by Fox control two inmates were inside FA and FB sally port needing to go to medical. I let the two inmates leave for medical. I then asked {inmate A} where he was going. His response was he needed to push the laundry cart into the laundry room. I advised him he could not because he’s not the laundry porter. He then asked if he could push the cart in the laundry room and then leave. I advised him that he could not, they are on pod restriction, but that I would take the cart into the laundry room. I began to wheel the cart out of the FA+FB sally port door. I noticed what appeared to be a man’s elbow showing from beneath some of the top layers of laundry inside the laundry cart. I questioned {inmate A} what was going on, he did not respond. I was under the belief {inmate A} was attempting to stash a dead body. I began to radio, to advise that I had found a body in the laundry cart inside FA+FB sally port doorway. As I was proceeding to do so, {inmate B} stood up out of the laundry cart. I closed the sally port door and advised Fox control to leave {inmate A} and {inmate B} in the sally port and to advise the shift supervisor on the situation. While the shift supervisor was talking to Fox control I conducted a security check in the laundry room and found the room still secure though a surplus of street clothing; example grey shorts, white t-shirts and many blankets were found inside the laundry room.”

The facility charged inmates A&B with attempting to escape, using the “surplus” of street clothing as evidence to bolster their case. The charges were eventually dismissed. The inmates were actually attempting to break into the laundry room so that they could swipe some coffee packets in the storage cage next to it. 😂😂

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.

“Obi-Wan?”

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.

“Obi.”

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.

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

anonymous asked:

Weeeee! *Just as Alphys turned to look, their child came whizzing passed them down the stairs, using a laundry cart as a makeshift sled, and missing her by mere inches*

Send me Anons as my muse’s child(ren) |♥| Accepting!

      “EEEK!” She practically screeched, not so much concerned with almost being hit by the cart. No, she was more concerned about where the child got the cart in the first place. She wasted no time racing after her baby, panicked as could be. “SWEETIE!! NO!!!”

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.

the grandma at this Chinese laundromat wheeled over two laundry carts for me to use and I love grandmas they are too kind and caring

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.
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.

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