sheerpoetry7  asked:

67: “My clothes look really good on you.” Neil/Andrew? Pretty please? 🙏🏻

It’s sickly hot on the day they’re supposed to play their first match of the season, a late summer heat that peels the cold morning away and sweats people out of their layers.

Neil’s mostly used to discomfort, so he puts his head down and gets on the bus. The rest of the foxes complain dramatically and threaten to strip until Wymack blasts the air conditioning and cuffs a few heads.

Everyone zips their sweaters off and ties their hair up, starting the laborious process of nest-making for the duration of the 9 hour drive to Cleveland. Every time Neil looks Andrew is aloof and pristine, like the sun isn’t any better at getting under his armour than anyone else. 

If you’re looking properly, you can see sweat turning the ends of his hair up and darkening his temples. It’s a strange indignity that Andrew wears like a calculated choice.

Nicky presses his icy water bottle into the base of Neil’s neck, and he gasps, clutching for the source.

“He lives!” Nicky says. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

“We’ve been on the bus for thirty seconds,” Neil snaps.

“Thirty seconds too long,” Nicky laughs, leaning over the back of his seat so his arms dangle over Neil’s lap. “You wanna come talk strategy with Kev?”

Neil meets Nicky’s bright eyes, overly conscious of Andrew at his back, mussed by the temperature. He feels buttery nostalgia for the three hours they spent talking on the way to Baltimore, teeth pulling his lip in the empty bus, opening doors and considering it a win when Andrew didn’t close them.

“We’ve been pouring over stats for two weeks,” Neil tells Nicky, purposefully looking out the window to avoid his gaze. “We’re walking in ready.”

“Ahh, you’d think that. But apparently we have ‘blind spots’ that need seeing to. So says her majesty.” Nicky smirks, nodding at Kevin over his shoulder.

“Is he vice captain?”

“No,” Nicky says, mouth already curling in satisfaction.

“Then tell him to fuck off.”

“With pleasure, Neil Josten,” Nicky says, overly dramatic, winking back at him as he wanders to Kevin’s seat.

“Are you finally sick of it?” Andrew asks, and Neil lets himself enjoy the thrum of satisfaction he gets whenever Andrew initiates things. He turns all the way around in his seat.

“Of exy? No. Of kevin, yes.”

Andrew’s cool eyes trip over the foxes and windows and coughing AC units, landing on Neil and settling. Neil feels a yank in his gut like someone caught him by the waist while he was running full speed.

“Give me your bag.”

The feeling ebbs in a distracted sort of way, and Neil frowns. “Why?”

Andrew looks away, eyelashes light and fine on his cheekbones when he blinks. Neil knows from experience that another five minutes of heat would have curled Andrew’s hair and flushed his cheeks and neck.

He wants to see that. Like if he could take Andrew off the bus and kiss him in the thick heat, it would fix the feeling in his stomach.

“I want something,” Andrew says simply.

Neil rolls his eyes, but stands anyway. “That’s new.” He sways with the bus as he wrestles his duffel bag from the overhead compartment, dropping it on the seat next to Andrew.

Andrew unzips the top halfway and peels back Neil’s meticulously packed layers. The bus nearly topples him, so he settles back in and watches Andrew work, charmed.

He seems to find what he’s looking for, and Neil sees a flash of black fabric and the blur of Andrew rising out of his seat and into the aisle.

“Where are you going?”

Andrew slides him an unimpressed look and walks to the bathroom installed in the back of the bus. Neil watches him go, wondering wildly if he’s supposed to follow him.

He glances back along the groove of the aisle and finds Kevin ignoring Aaron and Nicky to glare at him. Beyond him, Matt’s grinning at Dan as she talks one of the newcomers through a play, and Allison’s curled up with a sleep mask and Renee’s shoulder.

He sits back against the sun-hot window and lets the jerky motion of the road keep him alert. He looks back towards the closed bathroom door and forward again, curiosity shivering over him.

Andrew emerges a second later, and Neil’s mouth goes cottony dry.

He’s put on Neil’s shirt. It’s the one that goes high enough to cover the scars framing Neil’s collarbones when he’s wearing it, but it leaves his arms open. It was part of this layered ensemble that Andrew bought him over the summer, but he almost only wears it to sleep because it shows the thatched burns on his ribcage. It’s breezy and comfortable and it’s not the first time Andrew’s stolen it.

But he doesn’t usually wear it where people can see, with his sweaty hair pushed halfway back and his arms pink from the sun he caught on the roof yesterday.

He sweeps back into his seat and pulls one knee up to his chest, and Neil watches the orchestration of his muscles matching up and tensing.

Andrew’s finger enters his field of view, too close to focus on. “Get that look off your face.”

“Get my shirt off, then,” Neil says before he can clap a filter on it. Andrew splays his arm all over his lounging knee, and Neil can see a pale triangle of skin under his arm, which shouldn’t mean anything to him. It shouldn’t.

“I didn’t pack for 100 degrees,” Andrew says, voice mild.

“Good,” Neil blurts.“My clothes look really good on you.” He swallows, and Andrew blinks at him, a bored predator.

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, Neil!” Nicky hollers from four seats up. Neil’s mouth pinches with annoyance. “I’ve fucked guys, and that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No one wants to hear that,” Aaron says, putting in earbuds and shoving over to the far end of his seat.

“I thought it was relevant context,” Nicky argues, and Kevin smacks him in the back of the head.

The front of the bus devolves into chaotic conversation, and Neil looks back at Andrew.

“I was serious.”

“I know you were.” This would be where he took a drag from his cigarette, if this was their rooftop. This would be where he kisses him. Neil watches him with that secret in his mouth, and when Andrew looks back, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“It will not be a regular occurrence,” Andrew says. “Your wardrobe is barely fit for one person.”

“Right.” Neil smiles right behind his teeth, where it doesn’t show on his face. “I’m willing to take the hit.”

Andrew regards him over the seat back. “Aren’t you always?”

Neil leans in and drags his eyes deliberately over the column of Andrew’s neck on the way to his face. “I want to kiss you.”

Andrew tilts his head. “I can’t help you.”

Neil takes this without complaint, but he stays folded over the back of the seat. “This is enough,” he says, a foot between them, Andrew’s broad shoulders holding his shirt taut across them.

“Shouldn’t you be obsessing over the court by now?” Andrew asks, cleanly sidestepping Neil’s attention.

“It is a court,” Neil says, smiling. “It’ll still be there in nine hours.”

“And yet you drag us along three times a day to get your fix.”

“No one asks you to come.”

Andrew gives him a look and Neil huffs, looking at the ceiling like it’ll stop the thrill from showing on his face.

“But I’m glad you do.”

“You’re in a sharing mood today,” Andrew says, like he’s commenting on an unfortunate traffic jam.

Neil reaches out to finger the collar of his shirt, and he feels a hollow jerk go through Andrew when his knuckles brush his neck. “It must be the heat.”

ashleywinter  asked:

To add to the bathroom debate, urinals are installed into men's bathrooms and are generally unnecessary because a man with a penis can pee in a stall, but they are added for a man's convenience if that's not cis male privilege I don't know what is. Urinals are more expensive than tampons.

So true.

Meeting Ryan
Bill McDonagh

I met Ryan the day me and the lads were installing the bathroom plumbing up in his posh Park Avenue digs. “Oi!” says he, “What’s with all the brass fittings? General contractor had me down for the tin.” “Well,” I says, “I supposed it’s the contractor then who’ll be bailing out your loo once a fortnight, is it? If it’s price you’re worried about, I’ll be picking up the brass, so not to worry, squire.” “And why would you be doing that?” says he. “Well, Mr. Ryan, profit or not, no man bails water out of privies built by Bill McDonagh.” The next day I finds out, I’m Ryan’s new general contractor.

If I ever had real authority & influence on policy and construction within a library I would have a bathroom with a shower installed and would also have a room with an oven/fridge that you could reserve and I’d have little portable washing machines that could be checked out. And a room with soft furniture & blankets where people could sleep if they wanted.

Every Breath You Take (Victor Zsasz x Reader) - Part 3 (Final Part) ANGST

Summary: Being with Victor isn`t as easy as you might have thought.

Part: 1  

Tags: @oswald-cobblepot-is-my-addiction @amandajuly81 @taintedmarker @aya-fay @penguinsweetest @proud-sarcastic-scorpio @red-panda-on-the-loose @cnygma @ascoolasathestral

Warnings: ANGST, Obsessive and Possessive Behaviour, Heartbreak, Imprisonment. This isn’t a happy fairytale ending. Sorry guys.

Keep reading

Just some headcanons for what I think life might be like for a human living on the Lost Light (during S1 at least)

Life on the Lost Light

  • All the rooms on the ship are huge by human standards. Like a small hab suite is probably like the size of a house to you? You probably could fit all your possessions on a circuit slab.
  • There are ladders and tiny entrances installed all over the place so you can actually go places more easily without having to ask other people to carry you all the time. Also hidden bathrooms were installed everywhere after a week of you complaining about needing to pee but nowhere for you to actually do your business.
  • You have sessions with Rung where he helps you adjust to living in space and dealing with homesickness. He also teaches you Neo-Cybex so you don’t have to rely on a translator all the time.
  • Your fashion sense might change a lot over time if you decide to buy new clothes on alien planets when you go on shore leave.
  • Ultra Magnus spends a lot of time looking out for you at first, he doesn’t trust at least 80% of the crew to either handle you gently or treat you like a person instead of a pet.
  • Swerve will sometimes hold avatar parties in his bar where everyone has to be at more human heights, so you don’t have to feel like the shortest person on the ship all the time (he knows that feel).
  • Brainstorm and/or Perceptor make exosuits for you, and you have a say in the overall appearance and colour scheme (Brainstorm will try and hide as many weapons as he possibly can in the suit but won’t tell you where they are or how they activate. Perceptor has to disarm 90% of it before you can even try it on).
  • Ratchet makes you take routine medical exams to make sure you aren’t being made ill/experiencing side effects from constant exposure to quantum radiation.

My sister’s wedding is on the 29th and my entire family (I’m only counting my mum’s family which at the current moment is 20+ people) is coming over. My mum is trying to rush fixing up the house. We have to repaint/replace the panels on the outside of the house, clean all the rooms, rip out/replace the dry wall in the bathroom, install insulating in said dry wall, regrout all the tile in the house, actually tile the walls around the bath tub (which has been out of commission for 15+ years), and a bunch of other shit. Sooo I’m going to be quieter than usual the next couple of days due to other responsibilities. But you’ll still have the 5+ daily scheduled posts.

The Lantern Girl

Give me my clothes back with Conner.
**I do not own the picture

“Conner? Baby? Can you give me a clean towel?”
    You shouted from the shower to your boyfriend,Conner, who happily obliged.
     He entered the small bathroom that was installed to his room; one of the perks of finally having new headquarters.
    “Thank you baby!” You said and blew a kiss to him as you turned the faucet off. "Did you wanna get in?“ You said and grabbed him by his wrist.
  “No baby. I had one before you woke up.”
  You stuck your tongue out to him and wrapped yourself with the enormous towel.
   The bedroom floor was cold as you walked, but you figured it was because it was well, November and the mount Justice was well… a mountain.
   Conner approached you from behind,rubbing the tip of his nose to your wet shoulder.
  “Eww… Conner!” You laughed and stepped away from him.
“What?” He winked at you and laughed too. He approached you again and this time he pulled you in his muscular arms.
   “You should blow-dry your hair, baby. It’s really cold and Nightwing said he won’t be turning up the heater until he’s sure we aren’t gonna blow up.”
  You chuckled as you though of a response but stayed silent instead. Moments like these with Conner were beautiful and so heart warming. Especially when you being the most reckless superhero existing, almost got yourself killed.
   “I think I should make cookies for everyone.” You blurt out.
  “Why is that?” Conner smiled and pulled away from so you could sit on the bed.
   Once positioned next to each other you spoke again.
“Uhmm I… look the new trainer girl… Manhuntress… I think she seems nice. She had a rough time pulling us out of shit on this mission and plus M'gann is not the only one who should cook here. Poor girl, it’s like we have her only for cooking.”
   You noticed Conner shallow hard, while he held you.
   “Are you okay, baby?”
  How could you know? You were new in the team. The Green Lanterns had assigned you to the team for you to find courage, or love, or anything that could make you greater than them, because you had that potential. As Hal Jordan said.
     Conner never ceased to be impressed by you. Your strong will, your skills, your recklessness. He had asked you on a date as soon as he could. He never told you about his past with M'gann and begged her not to tell you too. He was afraid, a wrong move, a wrong manipulation of a serious situation would damage your will. The pureness the Lanterns had seen in you.
“Yeah. I’m fine… M'gann loves to cook (y/n). We’re not forcing her to do anything.”
“Uh huh” you nodded and got up. Slipping away from your towel, leaving yourself completely bare and Conner blushed, you wandered around the room, searching for your clothes.
    “ Con, where are my clothes?”
    “You mean these?” He grinned and looked up, making you look too.
   “Wha-” you only managed to say as he flew to the ceiling and put your clothes to the thick, extra line of iron that was used for hosting the lambs. He landed again and he laughed as he saw your face screwed up in disappointment.
   “Conner give me my clothes back!
“You’ll have to get them all by your self.”
   “Nooo! I can’t.. I can’t fly… Conner… it’s cold” your voice, raised as you spoke jumping, while your whole body jiggled up and down and it made him laugh even more.
   Soon you joined his trail of laughter too.
“Why are you doing this Con?”
    You giggled as he threw you onto the bed and hovered on you, continually pecking every feature of your face.
   “Because.. you almost died on me”
He chuckled and kissed you again, this time deeper and then again and again, not being able to absorb all of your sweetness at once.

My older cat pissed on the freshly-installed bathroom rug. He’s a good cat, but he has a severe character flaw, and it’s this exact situation. The temptation was too much to resist. I guess I’m gonna have to live with a bare bathroom floor forever. Maybe I can get away with draping a rug over the edge of the tub and only putting it down so I don’t slip coming out of the shower.


Because an anon said Yoonjin making flower crowns for each other oiajsdofasfd

Yoongi might not look like it, but he’s good with his hands.

And he doesn’t mean he’s just good at doing woodwork and fixing their bathroom and installing household appliances. He’s also good at making things. Pretty things. He pulls the stems of the wildflowers through the loops of the others, and the flower crown he’s made looks fit for a princess.

Yoongi eyes his boyfriend, humming as he threads a flower tiara of his own for Taehyung, and a small smile quirks at the edge of his lips. Princess, indeed. Seokjin’s made a pretty nice flower crown of his own, pink and white flowers braided together into a thin band. Not too flowery, but pretty enough for Taehyung to be satisfied.

Yoongi slides over to Seokjin and carefully place his own flower crown on the ashy green locks. Seokjin flinches, and then he turns to see Yoongi and he relaxes, smiling a little. “What is it?”

“Bugs,” Yoongi grins, but Seokjin isn’t even fazed. “It’s a crown.” He brushes Seokjin’s bangs out of his eyes, and Seokjin beams at him. “Better than the one you made for Taehyung.”

Taehyung snorts and sticks his tongue out to Yoongi, fiddling with the one on his head until he’s satisfied with the way it sits. Seokjin doesn’t touch the one on his head. Yoongi knows it’s because Seokjin innately trusts Yoongi to have made a nice one that sits well on his head.

Yoongi watches Seokjin as he gets up and flits about the field that they’re taking pictures in, picking flowers he can’t see and carefully making them into a small loop. He comes back with a crown of dandelions. “Dandelion,” Seokjin says, placing it carefully on top of Yoongi’s head, “symbolizes happiness. Exactly what you are to me.”

Yoongi grins and leans forward to catch a kiss. No one but Taehyung sees them, not when they’re covered by flowers everywhere.

The most beautiful time in his life, indeed.

When wiring up a bathroom, install dimmable lights and light switches. They are MUCH easier on the eyes for those middle of the night events, and can double as a night light when you have guests.

I did this to our main bedroom years ago, and have installed them in other bathrooms since then. In many cases, it’s as easy as replacing the light switch. Of course, this doesn’t work with fluorescent bulbs, and I’m not at all sure of the state of the technology with respect to LEDs.

Found this Lpt today:

When wiring up a bathroom, install dimmable lights and light switches. They are MUCH easier on the eyes for those middle of the night events, and can double as a night light when you have guests.

Similarly put a timer switch for the fan like this one:

The fans aren’t for s**t smells. They are for moisture. They need to be on anytime you take a bath/shower and probably stay on for at least 15 minutes afterwards.


Leave the paint job to no one (even yourself) and stack wood on your walls.

I liked Northeast Spyhouse Coffee’s rustic modern interior reclaimed wood walls the moment I saw them. The neat, smooth wooden horizontal layers of wood stretched across the coffee shop and seemed to have created an illusion of extra room space. Wood is a great wall accent and gives off a calm earthy tone that can go with any style.

Here are several pictures of wood walls for inspiration. One bedroom expanded its wall by adding wood to the ceiling. The vertical wood placement extends room height and space. One bathroom looks like it installed a wooden vanity. One living room’s dark wall offsets light wood flooring. The geometric-stacked wood style on walls is unique and adds depth and volume to a room. We highly recommend you build a wall of reclaimed, salvage, and/or barn wood for the most authenticity.

- Yolei

The Ballad of Courtney and Brian

Dear Courtney:

It feels funny now that the apartment where my boyfriend and I built a home is emptied of furniture, holes in the walls from where a handyman helped us hang beautiful things we scooped at discount stores upstate, driving through tree-lined country roads on our way to bucolic towns in the springtime. Pretty soon they’ll slap a fresh coat of paint on the walls, shut off the cable, sand the dark hardwood floors, and it’ll just be another transient space that we passed through on our way to somewhere else. I wonder if you think about this place, or wish things had been different.

It was spring two years ago that my boyfriend and I were falling in love, all those thrilling gusts of breathless sentiment and promises—the end of loneliness, the end of first dates—and spring again last year that we moved into this apartment. This spring, he left and I knew he wasn’t coming back.

Before us, it was you and Brian. The realtor who showed us this apartment mentioned you, though she didn’t use your names. The rent was subsidized, she said, because the people who lived here were breaking their lease and paying part of it to rent it quickly. They were paying the broker’s fee, too. It would save us thousands. “Why are they breaking their lease?” I asked. “They broke up?” The realtor demurred. “They broke up,” I said.

My boyfriend loved it—the kitchen that gleamed; the dimensions of the living room, capacious by Manhattan standards; the convenient location; the price that was reasonable, again by Manhattan standards, for a one-bedroom in a doorman building on the Upper East Side. It was so fancy—the fanciest place I had ever lived in New York City by a mile. 

But I didn’t want to live there. It was stupid and superstitious, I knew, but I was skittish about building a home amidst the dissolution of someone else’s relationship—all those cinders. I didn’t want to get burned. When I looked up the building online, there were complaints about the street noise, the mismanagement, the endless parade of temporary doormen. Rich people, I thought, and their petty complaints. Still, if it was going to be our home, I felt like I should do my due diligence and find out for sure.

I called the broker. “The internet does not like this building,” I said. She laughed. “The girl whose lease you’re taking over—she never would have rented anywhere that wasn’t top-notch.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Between you and me, her parents wouldn’t have let her.” It allayed my anxiety. The problem wasn’t the building—the problem was that you were so high-maintenance. Still, it rattled me to think about the energy that you and Brian had left behind. I almost backed out the day before we signed the lease. But I didn’t.

You were there to sign the documents to turn the lease over to us, in a cramped conference room in a nondescript midtown office building. You were wearing a trendy fur vest and designer heels, cheekbones so sharp they could slice your hand open, unsmiling, prune-faced, stinking of perfume. I said it was nice to meet you, and you didn’t say anything back.  

A week later, I took a cab down to a funky little hole-in-the-wall storefront in the East Village that sells witchy knickknacks and bought a smudge stick, then carried it through the apartment as ash sprinkled down onto a white porcelain plate, letting plumes of fragrant white smoke snake through the living room. I didn’t really believe it would work, nor did I really believe that it wouldn’t. Still, I said a little prayer, asking that whatever darkness you had left here would evaporate.

It didn’t. The first thing I noticed was the chip in the granite on the sink. I made up stories about it. I imagined Brian cracking a beer open there, too drunk to find the bottle opener—did you hate his drinking?—you sniping at him, resenting him a little bit more every time you washed a dish and saw that aberration in the smooth line of the granite. There was no storage in the too-small bathroom, so we installed a vanity and put in shelves, and then it was too claustrophobic to ever feel comfortable.

The street noise was relentless. Honking so loud it sounded like you were standing outside. Endless drilling from construction projects. Jackhammering on the weekends. It was always too hot or too cold. We bought four lamps and yet the living room always felt unlit. Even on the eighth floor, there was never a moment where direct sunlight actually filled the room. We bought beautiful furniture that looked cold and sad and dark in our beautiful apartment, where the noise was always too loud to be at peace. I looked up studies about noise pollution. Rats exposed to it over time go insane, and we were rats, trapped in our expensive sterile box in the sky, growing more and more agitated until we turned on each other. Until we turned on each other for the last time. 

We got your mail. We should have forwarded it to you, but we didn’t. I’m sorry about that.

In three days, I never have to come back to this apartment, and I’ve been thinking about you a lot. The way you looked that day, signing those papers. How cold and unkind you were. I thought you were truly awful, but I wonder if I was wrong to judge you so harshly. All year, I just assumed that you drove Brian away. I don’t know why I thought that, but I did.

The possibility never occurred to me that maybe you had done your best. That you had tried a million different ways, and couldn’t make it work, no matter how fiercely you loved him. That your desperation to get out of the apartment—a need so urgent you would spend thousands to rent it out quickly—wasn’t because you were so privileged, but because the pain of staying in the home you built with a man you loved after he was gone was so enormous that you just had to go. It must have been so sad for you, remembering how you had laughed and wept and made love in this place, only to have it all come to a premature end.

Or maybe it wasn’t premature after all. Maybe relationships, like leases, just come to an end sometimes. And when that happens, you pack up your things. You say goodbye. And you find a new home.

Oh, Courtney—I hope you’re happy in yours.

It hadn’t taken that long to get the hot tub done he had promised Erik. A few calls to the guy who had installed his bathroom, a few more dollars as a promise if he’d get it done quickly and roughly a month after Christmas, the hot tub was done and ready for use. No matter that it was cold outside, Zach had taken a bottle of bourbon to the tub and was soaking in the hot water, trying to drink away the memory of what had happened in the bar where he had been so close to losing everything he had worked for. When he looked up, he saw Erik coming and he rolled his eyes. “Come to tell me I’m breaking my promise?”, he asked while he held the bottle up. “I know. I just want to take it back.”