#I have inhaled SO MUCH spray paint fumes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

squids-comics · 10 months

Text

Today's special writing piece is the first (and so far only) chapter of my little novella about The Neighbourhood Watch! They're a team of misfit superheroes who (try to) stop petty crimes in a small suburban neighbourhood! Enjoy!!

It was three in the morning, the perfect time for a crime. Criminals are easily scared, and are very wary of superstitions. They strike at night, when no one can see their sins. No one, except Gadgetron. He had nightvision.

The Neighbourhood Watch was out making their usual patrol, in the early hours of the morning, when Gadgetron detected something. Out in Brick Wall Park, against the lone brick wall the park was named after, where there weren't any street lights to cast shadows, there was a small group of criminals spray painting. Three of them. They thought they were hidden, completely unseen by the world. But Gadgeteron had infrared vision built into his electronic eyes. They were attempting to ruin Brick Wall Park's brick wall, staining it with brightly coloured portraits of their deepest feelings and desires. They smeared their hopes and dreams, their wants and needs across the wall, holding them out for the world to see. An admirable expression, but ultimately, still illegal.

When Gadgetron saw them, his eyes lit up green. The green glow glistened off his metallic skin. His antenna buzzed as his gears whirred. His sharp, robotic voice cut through the cold night air. "Criminals spotted! Three of them in the park! By the wall!"

"I see them," Bi Aro responded. He was closer to them than the rest of the group was. He stood in one of the nearest trees, nestled in its small branches like an elephant on a palm tree. The tree was small, barely able to support the weight of a fully grown adult. Bi Aro didn't notice how low the branches were bending. His purple shirt stuck out from the green leaves like a sore thumb, but it was dark so it didn't matter that much. He grabbed his bow and notched two razor sharp arrows on the string. Unfortunately for him, there were three vandals, and he wasn't Tri Aro. He'd have to save them for the rest of the team. But he could still cause a bit of chaos! He pulled his string back, and held his breath. It was really dark. He wished he wasn't wearing sunglasses. Unfortunately, taking his pink sunglasses off would mess up his whole bi pride style, and he couldn't have that. He let the arrows fly. He silently prayed that they hit their mark.

The arrows flew through the darkness. They pierced the paint cans in the vandals hands. the cans exploded, releasing thick clouds of paint to billow around the vandals. The vandals screamed, dropping the cans. The world around them quickly grew fuzzy due to the cloud, but also because they were inhaling lungfuls of paint. They turned to run, teetering as they did so. As they ran, a figure appeared from the smoke. He stood in front of them, standing eerily still. He wore a cheap looking tuxedo, complete with a red bowtie. He had a domino mask hiding his eyes, perched on his sly face over his thin pencil moustache. He seemed to wobble and wave in the smog. The vandals thought it was because he was a magical entity. Really, it was just the paint fumes. The man pulled a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and began shuffling them, like he was about to do a card trick.

"Listen up you hooligans!" The magician said sternly, in the same voice a teacher would use with a misbehaving student. "I will not stand idly by as you besmirch the good image of Brick Wall Park! Go home, or face the wrath of..." He flicked a card into his empty hand, holding it up proudly for the trio to see. It was the ace of spades. "...The Gambler!"

One of the three crooks, a scrawny looking young man, collapsed to his knees in front of The Gambler. He slowly opened his mouth to speak. "We- We're real sorry magic man."

Gambler tucked the card back into his deck, relaxing his posture and taking a step towards the three. He held his hand out to the young man, helping him off the ground. "A wise decision. Now lets get you home. It's a school night."

The man grabbed Gambler's hand. Gambler's white gloves were soft in the man's hand. Gambler's arms strained slightly as he pulled the man up to his feet. His arms were thin and scrawny, the padding of his suit hiding his lack of muscle. By the time the man got back on his feet, Gambler was a little red in the face.

"Good idea," The man said, turning away from Gambler. The other two vandals turned with him and began walking with him. "It's late... We should probabl-"

He stopped midsentence as he ran into a wall of solid purple flesh. The soft flabby tissue of the skin and fat dulled the blow of the rock hard muscles concealed underneath. The trio looked at what they had just unwittingly headbutted. In front of them stood the figure of a man, around eight feet tall. He was purple, with ripped green pants being his only clothing. His body looked out of shape at first glance, bulbous, with a bulging belly. However, the trio could tell it contained great strength underneath, like an Olympic deadlifter. His hair was disheveled and black, his eyes glowing purple in the dim night air. His nose was flared. His teeth were gritted tight. Steam seemed to billow from his nostrils and the corner of his mouth. He was angry. He looked like a bull ready to charge.

"It's a troll!!" The trio called out, before turning around and running as hard as they could. They split up, each taking a different escape route.

"Monster like your art!" The great purple man called out into the night behind them. He got no response however, indicating that his enthusiasm may have been too little too late. He didn't seem to notice, calling out louder to ensure the poor artists felt seen. "Self expression very good!!"

The paint fumes began to dissipate from the air, as Gambler walked up to Monster and attempted to place a hand on his shoulder. He couldn't quite reach. His hand landed somewhere around Monster's elbow.

"Monster," Gambler spoke softly, as if talking to a confused child. "It is wonderful art to be sure. But we can not allow them to deface public monuments like this!"

"Monster know," Monster said calmly, still scanning the horizon for the artists. "Vandalism wrong. But it still healthy expression of feelings others may repress. Monster respect that."

"You just like all art," Bi Aro said, swooping out of the tree and joining the conversation.

"That very true. Monster admire the artists courage to bare themselves to outside world. Monster awestruck by the vulnerability of art."

"If I may interject my feelings into the conversation," Gadgetron said, slowly walking up to the party. "I prefer science. Vulnerability may be inspiring to some, but I prefer finding the abject truth of the matter."

"That is valid opinion, and Monster thank you for sharing. Even if robot is wrong."

"I fancy myself a fan of the arts," Gambler spoke with a smirk. He pulled a card from his sleeve, proudly presenting it to the rest of the group. "I've always had quite a flair for the dramatics."

A light lit up in a second story window of a small suburban house overlooking the park. A small, stocky man poked his head out the window. He pulled his circular spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes at the dim dusk of the park scene below. He rubbed his snowy, white beard, matching his snowy, white hair.

"What's going on out there?" The man called, leaning out the window. He teetered over the edge rather precariously. "It's you! The Neighborhood Whackos!! Dolores! They vandalized the brick wall!"

The quarter of superheroes turned to look at the wall. The paint fumes kicked into the air had settled nicely against the brick wall, creating a rather neat looking mosaic of flowing colours. The heroes sighed in defeat. They had failed to protect their park.

"Here! Take these!" The old man shouted, throwing a handful of rags out the window. "None of you are going anywhere until that wall is spotless! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Mr. Richards..." The heroes muttered in sync, hanging their heads low in shame. Even Gadgetron looked down at the floor, and he was a robot that couldn't feel shame.

The crew scrubbed the wall all night. They scrubbed till the rags tore and their arms were sore. But eventually, the wall was spotless. The quartet took a step back to admire their handiwork. In the distance, the sun began rising over the horizon, casting a golden glow on the now clean wall. The heroes puffed out their chest. They had won!

"Come on guys," Bi Aro said with a smirk as he turned from the wall. "I'm going to bed."

And just like that, The Neighbourhood Watch had saved the day again.

0 notes

itsjustnobody0 · 2 years

Text

Chapter 4.

Hi guys and welcome back! I hope your enjoying this story so far!! Already on chapter 4! God it’s been rlly quick since I posted the first chapter. Speaking of the first chapter here’s the link to it in case you haven’t read it:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

TW for chapter 4-

stealing

Swearing

Self doubt

Hights

Climbing

Sleeping

Screaming

Nightmares

Food

Locking yourself in a small room

Starving

Death

Hugging

It is literally just the word being mentioned but I’m giving the warning in case it is like really triggering for some people. Enjoy the chapter. Ciao bitches.

We got back home and I had a wardrobe full of new clothes and paint. I also had some got some fake plants and other things to add to my room. I wasn’t going to use much of it. I liked the plants and decided to name the fern Roderick (If you know I love you). I had stolen some spray paints without anyone noticing, I had walked out at the exact time as someone else to make it look like they had stole something when the alarm went of. I had done things like that before but I don’t normally steal from actual shops. I didn’t bother painting the white walls I just got my spray paint and started spraying it on the walls. Once I had done I had a massive green dragon in the wall and other doodles on the other, I was very proud of it. I had been spray painting since I was very young and I had a black mask with a bit of spray paint on it, I had wore it while painting as I didn’t want to inhale the fumes. I sat on the bed I had and chilled, I had hidden my spray paints so I couldn’t get them taken off me. I wanted to speak to Ranboo again but I didn’t want to bother him and he probably already thought I was very annoying. There wasn’t much I could do, I didn’t own a phone or any devices, I had forgotten to buy scetch books, I did have a couple of books that where in the closet when I first came here but I had no idea how to read. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. The person walked in without waiting for an answer.

“What?” I snapped, I didn’t need people talking to me unless it was Ranboo.

“Hello to you too.” The woman said quietly.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded

“I’m Niki, I work here.” She explained politely, suddenly I kinda felt bad, I knew I shouldn’t have snapped at her but I wasn’t going to apologise

“”Oh h-hi. I’m Y/n” I said

“I know, I just wanted to introduce myself and say if you need anything to just ask. Don’t worry if you get lost, it’s a pretty big house, just ask anyone for directions, they’ve all been in the same situation as you so no one’s going to judge you.” She smiled at me

“Thank you.” I said gratefully.

She was about to walk out then she saw all my spray painted walls. Her eyes widened but she didn’t say anything. I went back to lying on the bed. I hated being there, I felt trapped. I just wanted to get out, feel the rain on my face and the breeze in my hair. I sighed. I got up of the bed and walked to the window. It wasn’t massive but it was big enough to climb out of. Maybe if I wanted to escape. Then I decided it wouldn’t be bad if I went for a little stroll, a walk maybe? I left all my stuff in the room and climbed out of the window. I hung off the window sill and looked round, there was an unstable looking drain pipe I could climb down, I decided to go for it and I slid down it. To my suprise it stayed firmly connected to the wall. I hopped of and saw a boy, he had brown hair and brown eyes, he was wearing jumper with bees on. He kinda stared at me.

“The fuck do you want?” I snapped

“I want to know where the fuck you’re going.” He said

“Well why don’t you mind your own business Bee Boi.” I sneered.

He laughed and I joined in. His laughter was sweet and infectious.

“Oh well, just be safe. I can tell your not running away, the amount of people I’ve seen try it not hard to figure out. Make sure your back in an hour because then they start looking for you and then they call the police and that’s where it gets hard to get out of.” He explained to me

“Thank you so much.” I smiled at him.

He smiled back at me and then j started walking down the street. He seemed nice. I wondered if he knew Ranboo. I had no plan of where to go and I’d never been around here before so I wasn’t sure where to go. I found this park and walked into it. It had a lake in it and a play area for children. I started walking round the lake, I found this shady area a way off the path which had a big tree. I climbed up the tree and I found a platform, really large. I could see the lake from up there and the sunset was reflecting off it. It was so pretty. I lay down from a bit and drifted off to sleep. I woke up and the sun was pretty much almost set. I went to look down at my rust then realised I didn’t own a watch. Shit. I had no concept of time and no idea how long I had been out. I almost fell down the tree trying to climb quickly. I got to the ground and started sprinting back the way I was sure I had came. I found the house and climbed up the drain. I had left my window open enough from me to get into. I quickly shut the window and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from the running. I heard shouting from downstairs and it brought back memories of things I wanted to forget. Suddenly someone barged into my room. I jumped of the bed as a reflex, I fell onto the ground and I quickly stood back up.

“Jack!” I exclaimed

“WHERE THE HELL WHERE YOU?” He shouted.

That shocked me, a lot. I hated being shouted at, it was triggering. I grabbed the closest thing near me and threw it at him. I ran past him and found the bathroom. I ran in and locked it. I was surprised there was a lock on the door, I would have thought Niki and Jack would be more weary of the kids they had here. I sat down on the floor and breathed heavily. I wanted to cry but I wouldn’t do that, not today, not ever. There was a blurry window on the bathroom wall and I could see it was dark outside. I was super tired even though I had slept in the tree house. I found two towels in a cabinet I put one down at a pillow and put the other one over me as a blanket. That was the 2nd most comfiest sleep I had ever had in the life. I had bad nightmares, they were about my past, there was shouting, sometimes at me and sometimes at other things. I wasn’t sure how long I was asleep but I was awoken by a soft knock on the door. I looked at the window and it was light now, meaning I had been there all night.

“Y/n, open up.” Said Jack.

“FUCK OFF!” I shouted at him through the door.

“Y/n please, I’m sorry.” He tried

“ARE YOU FUCKING DEAF? FUCK OFF!” I screamed.

I heard footsteps walking away from the door and I sat there. I wasn’t going to give up but there wasn’t much I could do in the bathroom. The widow didn’t open and there wasn’t any food in here, I was super hungry as-well. I sat there and I could smell the smell of pancakes baking made downstairs for other kids, they were probably being made by Niki. I then heard another knock on the door.

“Hey Y/n, let us in please.” Someone begged.

“Who’s us?” I called.

“It’s Ranboo and Tubbo.” Ranboo’s voice said

“Tubbo?” I asked, I had no idea who Tubbo was.

“Bee Boi!” A sweet voice said, Tubbo’s.

“O-oh.” I stuttered

“Please let us in.” He asked.

“Is it just you guys?” I checked.

“Yeah.” Ranboo told me

“Promise?” I asked

“Promise.” Tubbo confirmed.

I keep towards the door and slowly unlocked it. I let them in and then quickly closed and locked the door again.

“Y/n, you know you can’t stay in here forever, right?” Ranboo asked me nicely

“And why not?” I demanded stubbornly

“Your going to starve to death.” Tubbo said

“Good.” I said quietly, they both looked at me with wide eyes.

Ranboo slowly approaches me by scooting across the floor, I felt his long arms rapping round my body in a comforting manner, he was warm and he felt safe. I hugged him back and tried so hard not to cry. Tubbo came towards us and hugged me aswell. I let out a slight giggle, I didn’t normally like physical contact but this was nice, comforting. We all pulled away but they sat closer to me this time. I put my head on Ranboos shoulder and held Tubbos hand. I hadn’t known either of them for very long but I felt like they were my brothers. It was probably because of my lack of human contact for the past 2 years. I hadn’t talked much until the past two days. I didn’t need to speak, people I stole from didn’t need to know I existed.

“Why are you in here anyway?” Ranboo asked

“Jack screamed at them? Did you not hear?” Tubbo explained

“No I kinda taught myself not to hear screaming.” Ranboo told us

“Oh, I kinda wished I had been able to do that.” I said

“Me too.” Tubbo agreed

“Y/n, what do you say we get out of here, get some snacks, then go watch a movie in my room?” Ranboo asked

“You have a laptop?” I replied

“Yeah!” He said

“I have this memory stick, im not sure what’s on it, could I plug it into your computer?” I asked him

“Yeah of course you can!” He agreed.

Tubbo and Ranboo got up and they both helped to pull me up. I giggled a bit and then we unlocked the door. They both held one of my hands each and we walked to Ranboo’s room which was just down the corridor and opposite them room I was staying in. I went in with them and Ranboo went to get snacks while me and Tubbo sat down.

We heard a knock on the door and found it weird, why would Ranboo knock on the door of his own room? I got up to answer and deeply regretted it when I saw who it was. I went to slam the door but it was caught by Jack.

“Y/n. I wanted to apologise for screaming. It didn’t just upset you it triggered multiple people in this house and I should have known better than to shout.” He apologised

“Wowwww. You’ve managed to figure out how much of a bitch you are.” I sarcastically gave him a round of applause.

“Language, Y/n. We don’t use those type of words in this house.” He told me sternly

“Oh whatever. Fuck off.” I rolled my eyes.

“Jack just give them time. It’s hard being in a new place.” Tubbo pleaded

“Ok Tubbo, you and Ranboo are incharge of Y/n. Don’t let them do anything bad or it’s your fault ok?” Jack said pointedly

“I don’t need looking after.” I complained “I’ve been on my own for two years.”

“Yes, I know. I believe that’s the problem.” He sighed

“Ok bye now!” I tried shutting the door but Jack held it open

“We need to talk about the walls of your room.” He told me

“Ok. Later.” I said trying to get rid of him.

He let out a sign in defeat and left. I breathed a sigh of relief. I hated being bugged like that, I hated people to be honest. I’d been able to talk to no one for over two years I didn’t want people to start annoying me now.

#sbi #sbi x reader #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois x reader #gn!reader #x reader #ranboo #tubbo #jack manifold #niki nihachu #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #philza #technoblade #niki x reader #jack manifold x reader #ranboo x reader #tubbo x reader

31 notes · View notes

glitchslut · 3 years

Text

Common Household/Personal Products Toxic to Snakes: (and other pets)

I made this list because I was having a really difficult time finding any info on this, specifically for snakes. I did a lot of research because I think this is so so important. I wanted to share it incase this is helpful to anyone else. These toxins are also deadly to most other reptiles, amphibians, and birds.

These animals are extremely sensitive and have very sensitive respiratory systems and can die within minutes of inhalation. Please read if you own any of these pets or are considering getting one. Most are also toxic to dogs, cats, and even humans, only not usually lethal to us.

Nail Polish and Remover

Deodorants

Perfume & Cologne

Permanent Markers

Avocado, Onions, and Garlic

Most Glues

Anything Containing Pine or Cedar

Hairsprays and Dry Shampoo

Floor Cleaners + Polishes

Chlorine

Bathroom Cleaners

Kitchen Cleaners

Gun Powder, Cleaner, and Ammo

Scented Lotion

Bleach

Ammonia

Essential Oils

Smoke of Any Kind

Nicotine

Scented candles + Plug-Ins

Room Sprays like Lysol + Febreeze

Disinfectant Sprays

Laundry + Dish Detergents

Hair Dyes

Batteries

Glass + Oven Cleaners

Degreasers + Drain Cleaners

Paint and Paint Thinner/Removers

Spot Removers

Rubbing Alcohol

Petroleum Products

Mothballs

Matches

Lead + Zinc

Teflon and Non-Stick Pans when too hot

Shaving Cream

Any Pesticides (obviously, but even fumes)

Fertilizers

Specific Chemicals: Acetone, Boric Acid, Bromine, Bleach, Ammonia, Aerosols, Petroleum, Phenols, Lead, Zinc, Linoleum, Propellants, etc.

Put Simply, most things that have a strong chemical odor, flammable things, things compressed into cans like room sprays or hairspray… pretty much anything scented. Most things that are flammable also contain these chemicals. Any smoke whether from candles, incense, cigarettes, or even weed. Paints and Metal/Wood Polishes. Bug sprays, bug repellants…

All of these things are normal to us, some we would never think would be harmful, but they could easily kill our little companions from inhalation of the fumes alone. There are a lot of natural alternatives out there. I hope this helped even just one person. Please help me keep our tiny friends safe! ♡

185 notes · View notes

fangirlshrewt97 · 3 years

Text

Stuttered Confessions and Soft Kisses

Fandom: Sense8

Pairing: Amanita Caplan x Nomi Marks

Read on AO3

///

Nomi was walking on clouds. Well, not literally obviously, but she was pretty sure this weight-less sensation would be what it would feel like. Her heart felt like it was racing and also just the most full it had ever been. She didn’t even mind that the rain had left them stranded in under this bus stop, hell, she was ready to thank it and hope it continued for a while longer.

Here she was, nearly at the end of her fifth (fifth!) date with the single most incredible person she had ever met, and Nomi felt like she was in a dream. How was this her life?

She was not the type of girl things like this happened to. Like come on, meeting who was surely going to be the love of her life in a bookshop? Her saying yes to a date? And then again to a second one?

And yet. Here she was. As happy as all those sappy love songs always made puppy love out to be. She had always assumed that to be a load of crap. Maybe she owed them an apology for doubting the sentiment, but the music was still too sweet for her.

She did not want to burst the bubble, afraid of ruining the best thing that had ever happened to her. She had not told Amanita about …her. Not yet. About her past. Did it matter? Like, was it important Amanita know right now? What did it matter? The risks of telling the truth were far too great, and Nomi had never considered herself to be gambler.

Still. They had been on five dates. Nomi had come home from the first date of her most secret dreams, and she had known she needed to tell her. Even back then, it was obvious that Amanita was not just another person she would get to know and then move on from. Something about her was magnetic. Addictive. And also because she did not know what falling in love felt like, but she thought it was the endless butterflies in her stomach at the sight of Amanita’s smile, or the warmth that had spread and lingered through the night from her simple hug at the end of the night. Or maybe it was the perfect impression of her captivating eyes that had tattooed themselves into Nomi’s brain. Or maybe it was all of the above.

The risk though. The inevitable pain. Nomi was no stranger to pain, hell, she was more intimately familiar with pain than with this strange joy, which is why she needed to tell Amanita the truth. Because as much as it would hurt if Amanita decided to walk away, Nomi would always remember her for being the first partner she had had who had seen her. Truly seen her, and liked what she had seen.

So today.

She would tell her today.

At the end of their date.

She would tell Amanita.

Shit.

She did not want this rain to stop. The rain stopping meant they could walk to Nomi’s apartment. Meant it would be time for Nomi to confess. That Amanita would walk away.

She did not want to leave this little cocoon they were in, where Amanita was huddling close to Nomi, an arm slung across her waist, shivering slightly in the face of the rain’s chill. She did not want to walk towards her heartbreak.

Because this was her, right? In what world could she hope for a story that didn’t end with her heart broken? What frame of reference did she have for unfettered happiness?

“Bloody rains never rain when one is inside, always insist on ruining lovely days.” Amanita gritted through her teeth as she tried to wind her shawl tighter around herself.

Nomi hummed, mind still worrying over the coming confession. She glanced outside the glass of the bus stop they were standing in. “I don’t know. I always found rain to be cathartic. A way for the world to relieve itself of whatever burdens it had. I could stay comfortable in my room, inside my blankets, I slept easiest when it rained.”

Remembering herself, a faint blush painted her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “I mean , that is-”

Only to stop in the face of Amanita’s wide eyes and slightly open mouth.

Nomi ducked her head. “Sorry.”

Amanita shook her head vigorously. “Don’t apologize. That was beautiful. I had never thought of it like that.”

Nomi shrugged again, still keeping her eyes to the ground. Until she felt a soft touch to her temple, Amanita’s hand clammy where it was lightly cupping the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I love to hear about how you see the world.”

The blush returned stronger than ever to Nomi’s cheeks.

Amanita’s lips quirked, and she leaned closer, making Nomi’s breath hitch. Just as Amanita was about to kiss her (their first kiss! Nomi’s brain was blue screening at the most inconvenient of times!) though, a car came roaring out of nowhere. Speeding down the road so fast it sprayed them with the puddle water, making them jump apart.

Nomi reached to grab Amanita’s wrist as the other woman shouted curses at the long gone car. When Amanita turned to face her, Nomi knew she must be in love. Even with dirty water dripping down her face, and eyes fuming with outrage, Amanita was the most magnificent sight she had seen.

Unable to help herself, she started laughing. Amanita scowled at her for another moment before cracking, and soon they were both leaning on each other as they laughed. When she finally caught her breath, Nomi straightened up and reached into her bag, pulling out some wipes. Passing a couple to Amanita, she wiped off her glasses, and then her face.

“And here I was thinking this date was like something out of a dream.” Amanita muttered as she threw their wipes into the nearby trash can.

Nomi just grinned, “I like this better. Because it makes it more real.”

Amanita’s shoulders dropped as she seemed to soften. “Yeah, I suppose there is that.”

Feeling brave, Nomi approached Amanita, one hand tentatively cupping the shorter woman’s cheek. Amanita leaned into her hand, eyes lighting up in anticipation.

Swallowing down the fear, Nomi leaned down and kissed her.

It wasn’t a “fireworks” or “angels singing” kind of kiss. It was soft lips on chapped lips, gentle hands cradling one another, two people sharing a connection with the potential to grow into so much more.

It was real, and it was perfect.

When they parted, they stayed close, leaning their foreheads against each other.

Nomi was afraid to open her eyes, afraid that this would all have actually been an elaborate fantasy her mind had made up. Her breath shook, and only Amanita’s wounded noise and finger brushing away a tear made her realize she was crying.

“Nomi? What’s wrong?” Amanita whispered.

Nomi just shook her head, body trembling as the words lodged themselves in their throat.

“Oh honey.” Amanita said, so gently, and folded her into her arms, Nomi clutching at her sides, trying to calm down and push down the sobs that kept rising up.

Amanita held her through it, calmly rubbing at her back, her other hand curved around the back of her head. When Nomi was able to see past the tears, she stepped away, arms wrapping themselves tightly against her chest in a gesture she had become familiar to over many years of missing touches. Amanita recognized she needed space and gave it to her, leaving another immense wave of gratitude to flow through Nomi. She did not think she could do this if Amanita was touching her. Wasn’t sure she could do it otherwise either, but if not now, then. Then, she might not survive whenever Amanita left.

“You need to know something.” Nomi said.

Amanita blinked, then nodded hesitantly.

“I-um. It’s important. It’s a part of me. And I can’t. If this can be more. And I want it to be. You need to know. Now.” Nomi stuttered.

Amanita released a breath. “Okay. What do I need to know?”

Here it was.

The moment of truth.

The moment of heartbreak.

The moment where all the love and concern in Amanita’s eyes would leave. Nomi knew her enough to not disrespect her by thinking she’d be disgusted.

“I.” Nomi straightened her spine, taking in a deep breath and exhaling. “I’m trans. I wasn’t born… I am a woman.” she finished. She was a woman. Had been one from birth. No matter whatever anyone else had to say about it.

“Oh.” Amanita said.

Nomi’s eyes focused beyond her shoulder, heart racing with fear. She couldn’t meet the other woman’s eyes. Not until she came close enough for Nomi to feel her body heat.

Nomi fought to keep the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from falling.

“Would you please look at me?” Amanita asked, voice gentle.

Clenching her jaw, Nomi inhaled once, eyes closing. When she exhaled, she opened her eyes. Amanita’s dark eyes were sparkling in the streetlight.

She let out a sob when she saw the same love and concern there, along with something that almost looked like pride.

“Can I hug you?” Amanita asked. Through blurry vision, Nomi nodded, letting Amanita embrace her again.

Where the last hug had felt like a desperate grasp to the last bit of comfort and affection she would receive, this one was so much more. This one felt like home.

“Thank you so much for sharing that with me Nomi. And I am so sorry that you have been caused so much pain because of that. The world is so stupid and it sucks. But I promise you. It is not a deal breaker for me.”

Nomi’s shoulders kept trembling.

“You are perfect just as you are. And anyone who has ever made you think otherwise can go fuck off. Do you hear me?”

Nomi let out a watery chuckle, and felt Amanita press a smile to the side of her temple.

“I would really like to go on another date with you. How does that sound?” Amanita whispered in her ear.

Nomi clutched her tighter. “Like a dream come true.”

Amanita laughed and nudged her upright, grinning so brightly, Nomi felt blinded. “Let’s get you home. Sooner I drop you off, sooner I can pick you up for our next date.”

This time, Amanita was the one who kissed her.

Nomi opened her eyes as soon as it was over. She did not want to miss a single moment with Amanita. Because this wasn’t a dream, and that made it so much better.

#my fic #my writing #sense8 #amanita caplan #nomi marks #nomanita #sense8 fic #let me know what you think!

14 notes · View notes

platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

Dildos and Hayfever

Harringrove April prompt day 13, Hayfever. Detective Billy Hargrove's had a rough time lately, and Captain Hopper assigns him a partner who'll either make everything worse...or everything better.

“All you need to know is he’s the commissioner’s son,” rang in Billy’s head as he stalked down the hall. Hopper had followed up with “I told him you were fresh out of rehab,” and “I’m sure you can remember enough of the ropes to show him, right, it’s not like he’s gonna be doing the work anyway,” and Billy gritted his teeth, punching the elevator buttons with a vengeance.

The light flickered, worsening the headache that always came on in the spring when all the flowers bloomed, and every tree on every sidewalk in the city shot its rocks off in midair—or when he had to walk into the office of the captain. This morning, to his utmost joy, he’d had both, and he took the opportunity of alone time in the elevator to blow his nose, hard.

Captain Hopper meant well, probably, Billy told himself, and set his shoulders.

He found the right building because of the smoke pouring out half the upper windows, the six fire trucks, and the EMTs coming out with the victims—a nice brownstone, before. Billy looked—somewhat hopelessly—for an elevator, sighed, and hauled himself up seven flights of stairs, sneezing.

Police Commissioner Harrington’s son was interviewing witnesses. Billy’d seen him before—always with his own office, always flirting with whoever worked reception, always with his uniform tailored. How he’d brokered a transfer to Major Crimes was a riddle Billy couldn’t wait to ask about—though if he was absolute dead weight, Hopper would probably come up with another solution to Billy’s bullshit, and kick Harrington back onto a desk somewhere.

Harrington was on an upper landing, listening to a black lady and her husband. They looked in their...seventies, maybe, well-off, both crying, and clutching tabby cats. “I can speak to you later,” he said gently, “—if you’d like to—” but the woman shook her head, grabbing his hand.

“He’s a good boy,” she said, sniffling, “—and you better catch whoever did this. Anyone who could do this. There aren’t many young men ready to haul an old lady’s groceries up nine flights, or open her pickle jars, either. Anything we can tell you—”

The man nodded too, holding her hand, and Harrington crouched, jotting down their story, while Billy showed his ID and ducked under the crime scene tape into the half-gutted apartment. He listened as he pulled the whole crime scene kit on, his gloves, mask, booties, and haircap and all.

It smelled horrible, still thick with greasy smoke that clung to the inside of Billy’s sinuses, and he was grateful for the mask.

The parts of the apartment that hadn’t caught fire were nice—nicer than he could afford, certainly—with art everywhere, photos, paintings...and a floor-to-ceiling, sculptural mobile he couldn’t help thinking looked like a cock. He surveyed the scene—a coffee table with wine glasses for two, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and chocolate dick-shaped marshmallows, in front of a couch with penis-shaped pillows.

There was a spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ on the wall, the last word obscured by char from the fire, but Billy honestly wasn’t sure it was new, given the decor in general, and the adjacent broken glass glued to the wall in a penis shape. He leaned in and sniffed it, and he could still smell the fumes of the paint. He snapped a few pictures of it, for later.

When he backed up to get a wider view, his shoulder thumped into someone. “Sorry,” said Harrington, and then, showing why he’d made detective, “...that huge thing on the ceiling kinda looks like a dick.”

“A lot of things in this apartment do, you’ll find,” said Wheeler, the lead CSI, raising her eyebrows at Billy with a smirk. He tensed, a little, but she just started giving him the report, and he nearly shut his eyes in relief. “Including the weapon.” She waved at a bagged, cement dong sculpture that looked like art deco. “It probably didn’t take any prints,” she said, sighing, “—with a gritty surface like that.” Harrington grimaced, wincing, and touching his head.

“The victim will probably regain consciousness,” Wheeler went on. “He left the windows open all along that side of the apartment,” she pointed, “—and with as windy as it’s been today, it sucked the fire away from him, so he didn’t get much smoke inhalation.”

“What even...robbery?” Harrington asked, then, “Domestic violence?” and she grimaced, clicking around on her tablet.

“From his phone, it looks like a first date. We’re going over it with a fine-tooth comb, though,” she said, frowning at Billy, then down at her tablet. “Since the assailant obviously wanted the crime scene burned to the ground.”

Billy nodded, his eyes watering either from the fumes, or the pollen count. He sneezed inside his mask, and grimaced as it stuck to his face wetly. “Who is the victim?” he asked, sighing, and wrinkling his nose.

“Ishaq Hill,” Harrington put in, glancing between them. “Profession, camboy. Posted photos and videos of himself, pinup style mostly, artsy, sometimes naked. Neighbors don’t think it was stressing him out any, though, he just talked about being single a lot.”

Wheeler raised her eyebrows. “Because of the head trauma, they’re keeping him in a medically induced coma, so we can’t ask him what happened at least until tomorrow. But look,” she said, leaning between them to flick between photos on her tablet. She zoomed in on the victim’s crotch, and Billy automatically shot an alarmed glance at the nearest human, who happened to be Harrington, his brown eyes frowning back.

“Was there evidence of sexual assault?” he asked, and Wheeler shook her head, waving him closer.

“No, no, look,” she said, zooming it in further. “It’s hard to see, but look, the harness. The color, there, against his white vinyl? It’s a leather harness, dyed rainbow tie-dye. The straps are cut—and it’s empty.”

Billy stared at her. “...you’re saying the victim is trans,” he said slowly, making sure he had it right, “—and the attempted murderer stole his dick.”

“What the hell,” Harrington breathed.

She raised her eyebrows, waving her arms in a dramatic shrug. “I have no idea! But go look, there’s another one in the bedroom—” she pointed, and then bent back to sweeping something into a tiny ziploc bag.

In the bedroom, Harrington pointed at the waist-to-hip sculpture of a man, used to demo, apparently, turquoise leather straps similar to the rainbow straps they could make out in the photos. This one had a securely-fitted glass dildo in it with a whole blown-glass coral reef inside. Harrington bent close to stare at the cock made of tiny jellyfish and anemones, while Billy took in the display on the dresser—a whole array of fancy condoms and butt plugs, with decorated stands, and nameplates.

“He must have used this stuff in videos,” Harrington said. “Like, you know, unboxing.”

“I think he probably filmed less taking them out and more more putting them in things,” Billy muttered, as Harrington snickered, and then waved at the small, rhinestoned pastry stand labeled ‘God <3 Fags’. It was empty.

He looked over to see whether Harrington had noticed the empty stand, but he was fiddling with his phone. “...doesn’t look like he had any nasty public messages, or anything,” he said, frowning. “I’ll look through his account when we get back—”

“I’m gonna see where he gets all these dildos,” Billy said, frowning at one with what looked like birthday candles, and ‘Ishaq 23rd’ floating inside. He pulled a drawer open, and found a few boxed vibrators, and a lot of lingerie. “Some of this stuff has to be custom. Maybe they’ll know which one got stolen.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, brightening. “Good idea!”

“You can call around,” Billy told him, and Harrington shot him a sideways glance that made Billy wonder if he was gonna be a shithead about his dad being the commissioner, but he just nodded. He dropped into a chair at a desk out on the floor like any other cop when they got back to the precinct, searching up both Ishaq Hill’s social media, and local sex shops.

Billy went to find coffee and gossip, avoiding the old guard—his father’s friends.

“Steve’s all right,” said Holland, another CSI he thought he could trust, since she was friends with Wheeler. She considered, crossing her arms. “Everybody figures he’ll be bad at the job, so he gets all the desk work, and he’s kind of obnoxious, but he’ll get down and dust vac a bloody trunk, if you need him to.”

Hagen in Vice sneered, and yelled for everyone to come say hey to Neil Hargrove’s son, back from rehab, and Billy turned on his heel and stalked back to his own department, his heart racing.

He returned to hand Harrington a vending machine coffee, and Harrington looked grateful, toasting him in the air as he talked on the phone. “No, ma’am, I’m not trying to make any trouble. No, it’s nothing like—” he groaned, leaning his head against the handset, then sipped his coffee, and hit redial. “Hey, I’m looking to buy custom, handmade dildos. I’ve got a—” he grimaced at the wall, screwed up his face in thought, and then shrugged, glancing at Billy, and grimacing as he sighed. “I’ve got a highschool ring I wanna put in a dildo. Uh, go 2011!” He listened. “Oh, you do? Oh, thanks so much,” he said, writing down a phone number, and mumbling more thank yous.

“What’d you get?” Billy asked.

“Just another store to try,” Steve muttered. He kicked the desk, and rolled a couple feet closer to hand the post-it note to Billy. “They don’t want to talk to me until I want a weird sex toy,” he said, flushing a little, but laughing. “I’ve looked for one with plastic dinosaurs in it, a butt plug with my old glass eye—”

Billy snorted his coffee, coughing as Harrington scrambled up to pat his back.

“I think one time I maybe said moose antlers,” he muttered, counting off on his fingers. “That one must think I’m pretty weird.”

“Not the eyeball one though,” Billy choked out, trying not to die. “The fake eye ass plug store thinks that’s normal as shit.”

“I just mean,” Steve said, blushing, and waving his arms in a vaguely antler-like shape from his head, “—moose antlers wouldn’t probably fit in my ass, you know?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Billy gasped, wiping his eyes, leaned in to where Harrington had brought up Hill’s social media, and scrolled.

“What’s all this shit about the Westboro Baptist Church?” he asked.

Steve was mumbling and scribbling, and then he hung up. “Oh,” he nodded. “They’ve been spamming ‘God Hates Fags’ on all his sites. He’s been doing a big photoshoot with teasers, kind of...at them? He kept tagging them. It’s gone viral.” He held out his phone, and Billy was treated to a lock screen of their assault victim on his knees, arms out like he was singing, his glittery dick spurting a cartoon rainbow.

“...sorry, that’s not very professional,” Harrington said, grimacing, and yanking it back. “I’ll change it.”

“Did you see this at the crime scene?” Billy asked him, yanking his phone out and showing Harrington the spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ he’d found on the wall.

“Holy shit,” Harrington said. “Eugh, imagine them knowing where you live. Shit, I didn’t even notice that.” He sighed, and Billy kicked his chair, lightly.

“Kinda busy walls in that place,” he pointed out, and Steve shot him a smirk.

“Hargrove!” a familiar voice yelled, and Detective Holloway ran up and gave Billy a hug. “You look so good!” she told him, and then nodded at Harrington, and smiled back at Billy. “We found the guy the date was with on Grindr. They’re bringing him in.”

It was nice to have somebody happy to see him, even if her face made him kinda uncomfortable, knowing she’d been the one to catch him drinking in the supply room after all the—after.

“Make him wait,” Billy said, considering. “I wanna go through the conversations on Grindr. He can work up some nerves first.”

“He’s ex-military,” she said, grimacing. “His CV says his last job was as a ‘fully armed and trained combat specialist’ who did security for diamond mines in war-torn areas. I don’t think you’re gonna make him nervous.”

“Eugh,” Harrington said, making a face. “I can see why that date didn’t go well. He probably dresses like a supervillain.”

Holloway’s look at him was a little withering, and he shut up, turning back to sit at his computer. “Lemme know if you need anything,” she told Billy, frowning into his face, and he pushed her shoulder away, quirking his mouth.

“...I’m okay,” he told her, and she didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t hug him again, at least.

“How are you doing?” Harrington asked, after she’d left, and after swallowing half the cup of coffee in one chipmunk-cheeked slurp. He wiped his mouth, blinking wide brown eyes up at Billy, and Billy groaned.

“Look, about what the captain—”

“I know the story,” Harrington said, tossing back the rest of the coffee like a bathtub drain. Billy reminded himself to make Harrington pee before they got in a car together, like a little kid on a road trip. “My dad’s the commissioner, I know the whole...thing,” he said, grimacing. “You shoulda got a commendation.”

“...he was a dirty cop,” Billy grunted, hunching his shoulders. “It’s our job to make sure—”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed, nodding at his screen, and Billy relaxed a little, out from under the weight of sympathetic eyes. “It’s our job, but not everybody does it. And you knew what it was gonna be like.”

“I did,” Billy said, grimacing. “I thought I did.”

“Hey, they let me into Major Crimes for this,” Harrington laughed, unhappily. “Even if my police work isn’t up to scratch, they won’t try anything on you if I’m standing there.”

Billy watched him, and felt a kind of brotherhood, suddenly, looking at Harrington’s tight smile, and tense shoulders. “...police work’s been okay so far,” he said, and Harrington shot him a startled grin. “I’m gonna go...call the hospital,” Billy told him, suddenly needing to be somewhere else. “Maybe swing by and take a look at our victim.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, nodding.

Billy had a few more pictures of the harness sent over—Wheeler was right about what it was, at least—and then they brought the ex-military Grindr date in. He didn’t look that intimidating, actually—his huge biceps were flexed as he held kleenex over his nose, sneezing so hard every few feet he staggered, and he was wearing a t-shirt with a badly-designed logo for a Queer Youth Charity Marathon.

“Hey,” Harrington whispered, touching his shoulder just before they went inside. “Uh, there’s a lot of hate on there from the Westboro Baptist Church. Like, they were getting specific, said someone doxxed him.”

In the interrogation room, their person of interest sneezed so hard snot dangled from both his nostrils, like a drooly dog. Steve snorted a laugh, and walked off to lean against another detective’s desk—Carol’s, Billy thought.

“Can I bribe you for some of that kleenex?” he asked, leaning in like he was flirting on a movie poster, and Carol laughed out loud, and hit him with it.

“Take it and git,” she said, and Steve ran back, grinning.

“Here we go,” he said, handing one to Billy. “One for you, the rest of the box for him.”

“I didn’t even stay for the whole date,” said Braxton Haglund, 34 years old, dark haired and caucasian, with a tattoo Billy could see peeking from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Haglund blew his nose, again, and the kleenex was so wet it made a noise as he dropped it against the table. “He’d left the windows all open. I walked up so many stairs—” he sneezed, miserably, several times, wadding handfuls of kleenex under his nose, and wiping his eyes.

“God,” he mumbled. “If I didn’t have hayfever, I’d probably still have been there when...whatever happened,” he said, between sneezes. His wide shoulders were hunched despairingly, and even Harrington had a sympathetic grimace. “Dunno if I’d have been much use, though.”

“Did you see anyone as you left?” Billy asked, and Haglund thought, taking deep breaths between blowing his nose.

“...nobody that stood out,” he said. “Some neighbors, maybe. Think I walked into somebody, once, my eyes were watering.”

He hadn’t seen anybody going in, either, so after they let him leave, Billy spent a while scrolling through all the victim’s media accounts. Harrington stayed doggedly on tracking down the dildo maker—Billy nearly felt sorry for him, except it was giving Billy such a good read on what to expect—and he was coming up with a continuous stream of weird sex toys to be in search of. “I’m an author,” he told one. “I want a dildo containing the pen I wrote my first book with.” He jotted down another number, called it, sighed, and tried again. “Uh, I want a dildo full of baby teeth—” he started, and then stopped, frowning at the phone. “They hung up,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Wouldn’t you?!” Billy asked, smiling despite having to see comment after comment by the Westboro Baptist Church. He found further reasons to hate them, but nothing specifically actionable, so he finally stretched and grabbed his jacket. “I’m done for the day,” he called over the other empty desks.

“Go ahead,” Harrington said, frowning at the screen. “I won’t stay much longer. How the hell hard can this be, really?”

He was there before Billy the next morning, his jaw set, with dark shadows under his eyes. Billy detoured to the coffee machine first, and plonked it down in front of him, and Harington rewarded him with widening eyes, and then a bewildered stare.

“...thanks,” he said softly, then smirked up through a yawn. “Heard back from the arson investigators, and guess what? The fire looks accidental.” He bounced a little in his chair, and Billy wondered whether he was really into murder mysteries, or whether he was just trying to stay awake. “There was a pan on the stove, some kind of chocolate fondue, they think. Just caught fire, and with Ishaq unconscious, nobody turned off the stove.”

“...lucky bastard,” Billy said, grimacing, and Harrington raised his eyebrows.

“You think? Oh, also, guess what—I found her. Our dildo artist. She’s not all that local, but she did send me a few pictures of the dildos she’s made for our guy.”

“Had to track her down eventually,” Billy said, sipping his coffee, and then caught the way Harrington just bit his lips, his jaw tensing.

“Good job,” Billy told him, feeling a little...stupid, like he was praising a dog, but Harrington brightened, smirking up at him again.

Billy studied the printouts, as Harrington spun around on his chair, guzzling down coffee, and explaining his triumph. “She says that photoshoot that had the Westboro Baptist Church up in arms? Upcoming? Get this,” he said, getting up to lean over Billy’s shoulder. “—they’re pissed because our boy was staying at a hotel once with the new leader, Steven Drain. He pretended to be maid service, snuck in, and took the guy’s wedding ring, and made it into a dildo. He describes it as ‘surrounded by rainbow unicorn confetti and delicious queer flesh’. Our victim stole his wedding ring,” Harrington cackled, beaming. “I’m subscribing to his...everything.”

“Lemme see if any of these comments can be traced to Steven Drain,” Billy said, heading off to ask someone to do computer magic. Steve hopped up and came with him, which was kinda weird, but it was nice to walk down a hall without people shoulder-slamming him like he wasn’t there.

“Hate that he has my name,” Steve muttered, as they walked back. “Drain’s got restraining orders for beating up and threatening two young teenagers his daughter talked to, it’s on the public record. We could see what kinda injuries they had,” Harrington said. “...imagine taking down the whole Westboro church.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Billy laughed, dropping into his own chair as Harrington got more coffee, then called around and discovered the assailants had both been right-handed.

“Get this,” he said excitedly, “—Steven Drain is in town. Gay soldier’s wedding, they’re planning to picket it and scream at his widower, you know, their whole thing, but he flew in the night before the assault.”

“We should talk to him,” Billy said, most of his brain on the photos of dildos and butt plugs.

“Can’t we just drop a piano on him?” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted, flicking back through, and trying to figure out what was bugging him about the dildos. There were lots of them, more than Billy’d seen in the victim’s room, and Billy stopped, squinting at his phone screen at one that looked like it was full of tiny antique coins. “...wait,” he muttered. “Where did you say she lived? Dildo lady?”

“Upstate,” Harrington told him, blinking up at him, as he held his pen on the list of neighbors he’d called to ask whether they’d seen anyone that looked like Steven Drain.

“I need to talk to Dildo Lady,” Billy announced, and Harrington blinked at him, then glanced at his screen and back to Billy, waiting. “...we should go talk to her,” Billy amended, and Harrington grinned, grabbing his jacket.

“Should we talk to Drain first?” he asked, “—since he’s local?”

“Let’s wait and see the CSI reports,” Billy told him. “We’ll be on a lot firmer ground if he clipped his nails after he clocked Ishaq Hill upside the head.”

“Hard to believe somebody that loud went down quietly,” Harrington said, nodding. “There’ll probably be hair or something. Even if he doesn’t wake up and tell us. I called this morning—he’s out of danger, it sounds like,” he said, grimacing, and Billy nodded.

“Nice if we can tell him it’s all handled, though,” he said, and Harrington laughed.

“That’s a definite yep.”

Billy led the way to the level where his car was parked, and then stopped.

His car had dead rats on it. He walked closer, and there was a scratch where somebody’d jimmied his window, and tossed more rats inside, and suddenly he longed for a drink.

“Shit,” Harrington said, putting an arm around his shoulders to steer him away, and whipping out his phone. “Yeah, hey—”

“Stop,” Billy hissed, grabbing for it. “You’ll just make it worse, don’t tell your fucking dad—”

“Wheeler,” Harrington said. “Mmm, yeah, you know you said you had some CSI training to do? I’ve got a, uh, little crime scene in the parking garage. Could you get your most annoying rookie to come down and—yeah. Yeah, blue Camaro, license plate PCE 235.” He listened for a long second, and then thanked her again, tucking his phone away.

“...shit,” Billy sighed, as Harrington manhandled him to a different car.

To his relief, Harrington didn’t say anything sympathetic. After a few minutes, driving at a snail’s pace through downtown traffic, he took a breath, and Billy’s hands twitched. “Huh,” Harrington said, glancing down, and then biting his lips in a cartoonishly intent face.

“...jesus, just say whatever it is,” Billy told him, snorting a laugh, and sipping his coffee.

“Sorry your dad is a bastard asshole shithead,” Harrington said, wincing, and Billy choked again, coughing and spluttering coffee down his shirt, but he hadn’t been able to laugh about it before, ever, and it felt good, even if he tried to breathe coffee, and couldn’t stop coughing.

When he could finally draw breath, he sighed contentedly, leaning his head against the window. “...he is, isn’t he,” he said.

“He is, and so are most of the officers he came up from the academy with,” Steve said, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “My dad too. He didn’t—ugh.”

“What?” Billy asked, curious, suddenly, about Steve Harrington, instead of just the commissioner’s son.

“He didn’t want me to transfer,” Harrington muttered. “He said Major Crimes doesn’t need the dead weight. Hopper had to kinda go out on a limb. I fuck up and I’m kicked all the way down to traffic, I think.”

The thought that the commissioner had stepped in to help Billy, Detective Neil Hargrove’s son, had gotten Billy through some long nights in rehab. He drew a long breath, realizing he was even more alone than he’d thought. “...shit,” he said softly. His eyes stung.

“It’s fine,” Harrington said. “Hopper’s got your back. There are enough of us. I’ll lean on Hagen some, I think I can talk him around. It’s good you turned your dad in. You did a good thing, and everybody shit on you for it,” he growled, glancing over. “I’ve got your back. Jesus, man, don’t cry.”

“It’s the pollen,” Billy said thickly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I have hayfever,” Billy hissed at him, rubbing his face.

The Dildo Lady looked about sixty, Pakistani probably, and wore a hijab. Her name was Faiza Khalol, and she was delighted to tell them about her work.

“Do you have any better pictures of these?” Billy asked her, showing her the one with the coins in it. “Or could you describe them?”

She could, as it turned out—and even better, when she’d asked about them, Hill had given her one, and she handed Billy a tiny silver coin which, after some googling, he thought might be an Athenian drachma.

“Oh,” she whispered, her brows drawing together. “Um, is it valuable?”

“I have no idea,” Billy told her, but flicked to another picture. “But these are, I think.” The clear butt-plug was full of greyish crystals, with a huge one where it would show.

“I didn’t see these in his dresser,” Harrington said, leaning in warmly against him, and Billy annoyed himself by shivering.

“No. These are uncut diamonds, I think.” Faiza and Harrington gasped satisfyingly, and Billy grinned. “Ishaq Hill stole more than a wedding ring, I think. We’ve had the wrong motive.”

“Braxton Haglund guarded diamond mines,” Harrington breathed. “He’d probably recognize them. Did Ishaq post pictures with these?”

“He always put up pictures of my latest work,” Faiza said, covering her mouth in horror. “Do you think…”

“I think we better talk to Braxton Haglund again,” Billy said, reveling in Harrington’s impressed grin.

“You’ve got duthing on be,” Haglund gasped, blowing his nose miserably. “You gan’t brove I saw ‘s pictures. You gan’t brove anything.”

Billy tried to parse that for a long second, and then, for Harrington, who looked bewildered, said, “Oh, that’s not all we have. Have you wondered,” he said, turning to his partner, who grinned back, “—how anyone could come in to Ishaq Hill’s apartment, clonk him from behind with a dick sculpture, then search his apartment, and not notice he’d left chocolate heating on the stove? Chocolate burns fast,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Haglund. “How did you not notice the smell?”

“His hayfever,” Harrington breathed, his eyes widening at Billy as his cheeks flushed, and Haglund slammed his fist on the table, opened his mouth to yell, and then stopped to blow his nose, and sneeze.

“Also while you were waiting,” Billy told Haglind with satisfaction, “—we searched your apartment. The warrant judge was convinced by our diamond-and-hayfever argument, and guess what we found?”

Haglund’s eyes widened in horror, and his back thudded against his chair as Billy shot Harrington a grin, and Harrington smirked back. “Good job framing a hate group for the crime,” Billy said, his grin widening, “—but why were Ishaq Hill’s dildos on the table in your front room?”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove April #harringrove #Ridiculous #Billy and Steve like each other more than they thought #=D

17 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 4 years

Text

Monster Match #21: Astomi

The Traveler's Masterlist

For @moonlightreetops: Appearance: Mortal Woman, Pfp is me(straight brown hair, almond hazel eyes), short, scared, with sevral tattoos. Personality: INFJ, Cancer, loud, protective, generous, and I have a snort laugh; definitely a hugger. Therapist friend and proud. I believe I was born cursed to always be polite and kind to everyone. I'm not naive to the trouble I can get into this way but I still cant help myself. Oh! And I cry with every movie and sad commercial. It's annoying.

Hobbies: Hosting D&D, Collecting macabre things, Responsible Social Distancing. Likes: Roadtrips, Pretending I'm more fond of the outdoors than I actually am, Forest Paintings, My Nerd Family, Opposoms. Dislikes: Heights, Bugs, Cooking, Cockroaches (listed separately from bugs because I will panic cry)

Ideal Partner: Someone whose more grounded than I am but at the same time is understanding of my struggles and won't berate me for them. And preferably a monster who wont leer in my windows. (Still have fears of that from my childhood monsters) NSFW & SFW welcomed. My orientation is Pan. So you are free to throw whatever you like at me.

You’ve been matched with an Astomi!

Originating in Greek and Roman mythology, Astomies, also known as the Gangines, are an ancient legendary race of people who had no need to eat or drink anything at all. They survived by smelling apples and flowers. Megasthenes, a historian and Asian Indian ethnographer, located them at the mouth of the river Ganges. They are described as being hairy and having no mouth. When traveling, they would carry roots, flowers and apples to smell. They could die by smelling a strong, unpleasant smell.

There was a forest reserve near your home that you frequented to draw and paint. There was a section of it that was strangely green all year round, and you weren’t sure why. None of the trees were evergreens, so the hidden grove should have lost leaves and turned grey like all the greenery around it in the winter, but it never did. You never went into it, and you never saw anyone near it. It was just an oddity no one knew anything about. Lots of people said it was haunted.

The more logical minded people claimed there was a hot spring somewhere in the grove that kept the trees green, but that it was toxic to people, which is why no one ever went there. Though, that didn’t make sense to you. If it was toxic, why were there flowers and birds? The wildlife seemed unaffected by whatever odd supposed toxin existed in the grove.

It had struck your interest more than once, but you never went in. You loved ghost stories, but you weren’t necessarily keen on being in one. And the threat of a toxin was enough to keep you from venturing in.

Though, one day, as you were wandering close, you heard a mournful whimpering, as if someone were in pain. Your worry about ghosts and toxins flew out of your mind as you ran into the grove, looking for whatever was making the sound.

“Hello?” You called. “Is someone there? Are you okay?”

“Please!” They called. “Can you help me?”

“Yes,” You said, pushing past the thick foliage. “Just hold on, I’m coming. Keep talking to me so I can find you! What’s your name? How old are you?”

“Geras!” They said, coughing. “I’m ninety-eight seasons!”

“Seasons?” What was ninety-eight divided by four? “So you’re twenty-four?”

“I suppose,” They said. “But we don’t measure time that way.”

“We?”

“The people of the grove,” They said. “My family and I.”

“Wait,” You said, untangling yourself from a tree. “People live in here? I thought there was a toxin in the air that killed people.”

“What?” They actually laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. “No, of course not.”

“What about the ghosts, then? Are they real?” You asked with a laugh, but you were met with silence. “Geras? Geras! Keep talking.”

“Hurry, please,” Geras said, their voice hoarse. “Please.”

“Almost there,” You said. You finally managed to fight your way through heavy branches and dense underbrush and into what looked like an apple orchard. There were all sorts of apple trees there, and in between a copse of heritage apples was a person laid between the rows, unmoving.

“Geras?” You called. You couldn’t see much of them beyond the long brown hair all over. You could only tell that they were tall and gangly.

Next to them was a bag that stank to high heaven. At first you thought it could be poisons, but you looked inside and found a litany of gross hunting sprays: skunk essence, liquid ass, insect repellents, deer musk, and the like. The odor was so strong that it made you gag.

“Is this the problem?” You asked, breathing through your shirt. They nodded weakly. You weren’t surprised. It made you feel woozy, too. “I’ll get rid of it and come back to check on you, okay?”

“Yes, please,” They gasped.

You fought your way back out of the grove into the dead winter forest, back to the hiking trail to find a trash receptacle. It took nearly thirty minutes to find one, and another twenty to return to the grove. By the time you got back, Geras was not there. Worried, you followed the row up to a house.

The house was… old. Very old. So old that you couldn’t even determine what style or era it was from. It was tall and square, made of rough brick and thatched roof. There seemed to be no windows, but the entire front wall was open and had a rolled up flap that closed that side from the elements.

From the open side, you could see people moving around, hurried, almost frenzied, and you called out to them.

“Hey!” You said. “I’m looking for Geras! He… or she.. or they passed out from some garbage that got thrown in here. Are they okay?”

They all stopped and turned to stare at you from the shadow, and it was then you realized that there was no lights or electricity. There wasn’t even a power pole or lines anywhere nearby.

“Are you the one who helped Geras?” One of them asked. They had a feminine sounding voice.

“Yes,” You said. “Are they okay?”

“She’s not well,” The speaker said. “I am her mother, Foteini.” The woman came down and out of the shadows, and you took a step backward.

She was covered from head to toe in fur, except for her face, which was hairless, but possessed no mouth. Her eyes and nose were very large, however, and her silvering hair was long behind her.

“What are you?” You asked, your voice a little shaky.

“The people of the grove,” She said, her voice not coming from any sort of mouth, but rather from all around her. It wasn’t like telepathy; you could actually hear a voice in your ears, but it seemed to emanate from all over her. “Do not be frightened. We are gentle people.”

There were three other people there in that stepped out of the darkened interior, a black haired creature like Foteini and two much smaller ones the same color as the mother, likely children. They clung to the legs of the taller, black furred creature, seemingly frightened of you.

“Will Geras be okay?” You asked haltingly.

“I don’t know,” The mother said. “She inhaled much of the fumes from those poisons.”

“Is there something I can do to help?” You asked.

“You’ve already done her a great service,” Foteini said. “We would not have been able to help her, if we had found her, and if she had laid there longer, she’d likely have died.”

“Why?” You asked. “That stuff stank, sure, but it wasn’t technically poisonous. Not inhaling it, anyway.”

“We live on the aromas of nature,” Foteini explained. “Flowers, trees, fruit. Those sustain us. Pungent, unpleasant smells, like that poison you disposed of, are toxic and potentially fatal to us.”

“Oh,” You said, daunted. “Is there something that could help speed her recovery?”

Foteini thought. “Roses. They are among the most fragrant things that exist in nature, but we haven’t been able to grow them here in many years. Could you find some?”

“Yeah. Yeah! I… I’ll be back!” You said, and dashed back out of the grove before they could stop you.

You got out of the forest, dropped off your painting stuff at home, and went to a plant nursery.

“Do you have any rose plants?” You asked the clerk.

“Well, yes,” The clerk said. “But it’s too late in the year to plant them. If you want to grow from seeds, though, you can plant those now. I can sell you some seeds and give you a guide.”

That’s too long, you thought to yourself. Geras needed the roses now. “You know, I’ll take it, but I’m in a hurry.”

“Uh… alright.”

The clerk packed up the seeds of several types of roses and a guide for each, and as soon as you had them, you sprinted to a flower shop. You purchased a large bouquet of the finest, freshest, most aromatic red roses, and while it took a chunk out of your bank account, you didn’t want to run the risk of buying some that were less than perfect in fear that they wouldn’t work.

It was nearing sundown when you returned to the grove, and Foteini seemed surprised to see you.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d return,” She said. “Humans tend to stay away from this place.”

“I brought the roses,” You said, gasping for breath. “And some seeds to plant.”

“This is… most generous of you,” Foteini said. “Please, come inside. Night is approaching and you don’t want to be in the forest after dark. There are far less benign creatures out there than us.”

You shivered and followed her inside.

Geras was lying on a pallet in a far room, her breathing labored and raspy. Foteini began to lay out the flowers around Geras’s head, arranging the flowers around Geras’s head in a circle.

“Breathe deep,” Foteini said soothingly, rubbing Geras’s chest like a mother would for a sick child.

Geras made an effort to take a deep breath, but it sounded pained. However, after two or three tries, her breathing eased and eventually, after about an hour of tense waiting, she was able to breath without struggle. Foteini relaxed, and so did you.

“You should sleep here tonight,” Foteini said. “And eat as many apples as you want. We owe you a great debt.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” You said.

You fell asleep almost immediately after eating, having been exhausted by all the running. When you awoke, there was a new bushel of apples sitting next to you, and next to that was Geras, watching you sleep.

“Oh,” You said, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m much better now,” She said, smiling with her large green eyes. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course,” You said with a self-conscious laugh. “You gave me a scare.”

“I’m sorry,” She said. “I know humans aren’t used to us.”

“No, I mean almost dying like that,” You corrected her. “I mean, I was a little startled, I’ll admit, but you guys seem nice.”

“You’re nice, too,” She said, continuing to smile.

“Thanks,” You said, starting to blush under the weight of her stare. “I, uh… I should get back, I have to go to work later today.”

“Of course,” Geras said, standing in a fluid movement and holding out a hand to help you to your feet. “Though… I hope… you’ll come back to visit?” She held out one of the roses for you to take.

You smiled at her, your hands still clasped. “I would like that very much.”

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Monster Match #Reader Insert #Astomi #Greek Mythology

37 notes · View notes

dngrdyke · 4 years

Text

Home Renovation With the Homosexuals

TW: gore

Monday.

Dyke and Faggot rode for hours until they found what they were looking for. Dyke had seen it a few times before the two teamed up, but she didn't have the strength or the motivation to fix it up. Now that she had Faggot to help her, she figured it would be a good time to put down roots.

The building itself used to be a house, she thought. It looked like it anyway. Four walls, two storeys and an attic? Didn't matter. Out there, it's free real estate.

The outside used to be white but over time it ended up looking kinda dusty and run-down, just like the rest of the buildings left after the Analog Wars.

"This is it?" Faggot asked when they pulled up. "I was expecting something with a little more..."

"Little more what?"

"Just a little... more."

"Oh, alright Mr Picky. You think you could do better?"

"No, no! That's not what I'm saying!"

Dyke laughed and kicked down the bike stand. "I know it ain't. I'm just yankin' your chain, kid. Now c'mon and haul ass. I want this place ready for the afterparty. Bring the radio."

Faggot grabbed it and followed Dyke inside. Some other Desert folks had obviously taken refuge inside. Here and there were empty soda and beer cans, as well as empty food packets.

"You keep checking down here. I'm gonna make sure the upstairs is still okay," Dyke said. Even though she said it calmly, she took out one of her guns, just in case. You never can be too careful in the desert.

The stairs were sound, and two of the upstairs rooms even had mattresses. The attic was clear as well.

"Faggot, we struck gold!" she yelled down.

"Fuck yeah! Can I put the radio on now?"

Tuesday.

Dyke stole- well, borrowed- some tools from D's station and was currently nailing down some loose floorboards upstairs. Faggot was blasting the radio while cleaning the kitchen room. Turns out Blind hadn't killed the water supply, so they even had running water. And the bathroom had a shower! Just imagine. No more shitty face splashes for her. Sure, the water would be cold, but damn it if that mattered.

She heard the song end from downstairs and D's voice started with the announcements.

"Crank it up!"

The voice got louder. "-and we remind you folks again to be on the lookout. Scarlet Ripper and the Mongoose don't wear masks, 'cause if you see 'em, you're dead. Our next announcement is just a little reminder from the DB and F- and from the Killjoys themselves- that there's still a drag race goin' down at the Hub Thursday night. For all you rock’n’rollers with motorbabies, don’t sweat it tryna find a babysitter for the night. Bring ‘em along. Fun for all the family. So, far our challengers are,” he cleared his throat dramatically. “Ahem. Party Poison and the Kobra Kid, Dyke on a Bike and Jet Star, Roadkill and Rock Machine-”

“Hey, Dee! Who’re Roadkill and Rock Machine?” Faggot called up.

“No idea, kid!”

Wednesday.

Most of the shit in the house was done. As housewarming gifts, Kobra and Ghoul had given them all their leftover cans of spray paint. Poison wasn’t too happy, but he settled for a trade: he got to paint a mural in the “living room”, as Dyke was calling the front room with some stolen beanbags. He spent the whole day locked in there with Cherri, the windows thrown open, and nobody else was allowed in. Except Ghoul, but Ghoul went where he wanted anyway. Dee, Jet and Kobra took the stairs and the upstairs rooms, while Faggot took the attic. He insisted on it. Said he was gonna make it look like “the coolest motherfuckin’ loft you ever saw.” They all camped out that night so nobody would die from inhaling the paint fumes, even though they were all pretty spaced out from them anyway. They all went to bed pretty early (by their standards), but as Dee was drifting off she muttered to Poison beside her. “I’m gonna kick your ass tomorrow night.”

He didn’t respond.

Thursday morning.

The crew were up bright and early with the rising of the sun. They had a party to prep for.

Poison took over the bathroom for a solid three hours to redo his roots. “Being this awesome doesn’t come from shitty dye jobs,” he said, grinning at Dee leaning against the doorway. She flipped him off as she walked away, shaking her head.

“I’m gettin’ the booze at the Rendezvous!” she called out as she left the house, popping the collar on her jacket and snapping on her mask. Sunburn was a killer in more ways than one.

The Rendezvous was a spot pretty near the new Killjoy House. You got in contact with Cherri Cola, who got in contact with his contact, who got you anything you wanted from Bat City. Then you met him at the Rendezvous. Dee went all out for this party. The strongest, rawest vodka, straight from the slums of the Lobby.

In the heat-haze of midday, Dyke saw two figures kneeling on the ground beside a third body. As she got closer, she could see that the body was a Drac, and the two figures were men without masks. She drew her guns when she saw the glint of knives in the sun. They were taking the kidneys out of the corpse.

She cast a shadow over them as she stood with her guns pointing directly at each of their heads.

“Now I just know you motherfuckers ain’t doin’ shit to that Drac.”

The one on her right looked up. He wore a mesh shirt and stony grey skinny jeans. She glanced at his left hand. Brass knuckles, spikes. So he was one of those rebels. His partner, arms deep in blood and gore, continued to work. His jacket was laid neatly beside him, and his shirt was a deep red and tattered. From what Dyke could see, his pants were tight and tartan, though they were so dark it was hard to tell.

“What’s it to you, Red?” the one looking at her asked.

She shook her hair out of her face and tightened her grip on the guns. “I happen to know a thing or two about the desert, boys. And one thing I know is that if you mess up someone’s body, the Phoenix Witch can’t take ‘em. Now, I know it’s said she can’t save the Dracs, but if it was me? Hell, I’d hope their souls never got free. Otherwise they’d be comin’ after me worse than a Scarecrow for Doctor D.”

The second man looked up at Dee. His eyes stared into her soul, willing her deepest fears into the open. But she would not give in.

“These people would have you killed, would shoot you where you stand, and yet you would give them over to the afterlife? You would give them their peace?”

Her hands never wavered, even as she shrugged. “They’re people too.”

The man smiled at her, but the smile held no emotion but morbid curiosity.

“They may have been people once, but after the masks? No longer are they anything but meat.”

She stretched her neck out. “Alright Mr Bigshot, I’m gonna give you and your buddy here five seconds to grab your jackets and get the hell outta my sight. One.”

The two men stood calmly, one with a kidney in each hand. The man with the brass knuckles picked up their jackets. Dyke’s guns followed them with every movement until they were safely speeding away on another motorbike. She shook herself off and put her guns away.

“Damn,” she muttered. “What a fuckin’ morning.”

Thursday afternoon.

“Honeys I’m home!” Dyke called, opening the front door with her butt. She had crates of vodka in her arms which rendered them almost completely useless. She put them under the stairs and dusted off her hands.

“She’ll either love you or hate you, man.” Faggot’s muffled voice came from the living room.

“I’m taking bets,” Ghoul said. “Who’s betting what?”

Dyke heard more voices talking over each other as she walked quietly back to the door of the room. That was another thing about the house: almost every room had a door. Front door, back door, kitchen door, bedroom door. Only door that wasn’t there was the bathroom door. Everyone had agreed to leave it like that. It was just funnier.

The floorboard creaked under her foot and she heard Poison shushing them all.

“Dee? That you?”

Those assholes hadn’t even heard her come in. Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m back. Can I come in?”

Poison opened the door and stepped out quickly. Dee only saw a flash of colour before he closed the door with a snap.

“The mural is done.”

“So… can I see it, then?”

“You have to promise you won’t get mad.”

She thought for a second. What the hell. “Okay. I promise. I won’t get mad at you about the mural.”

“Close your eyes.”

Dyke shut her eyes tight and Poison guided her into the room.

“Now, on the count of three, open ‘em.”

She held her breath.

“One.”

It was killing her. The suspense. What if it was really terrible?

“Two.”

Nah, Poison wouldn’t do that to her. Unless he thought it was funny.

“Three.”

She opened them.

In front of her in every colour under the sun was a larger-than-life depiction of her darling. Carla, with flowers in her hair being blown about by the non-existent wind. Carla, her love. Carla, the Destroyer.

She said nothing.

“Uh, Dee? You gonna say anything?” Kobra asked nervously.

Dyke turned to Poison, who was slowly inching closer towards freedom.

“Party Poison,” she said seriously.

“Oh, fuck.” He debated running, but ended up deciding against it. He probably deserved it.

“You are…”

Jet tensed, ready to tackle her to the ground if it looked like she was going to go for him.

“Amazing,” she finished. “You are amazing. This is… This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The sigh of relief that escaped everyone’s lips was heard all across the desert.

“Never scare me like that again, Dyke.”

“Not a chance, Pee-head.”

a lil different than usual... filler during MTBBW that you can read here. very much a collab with another friend who thought of scarlet + mongoose........ if u know who they are let us know by liking ;)

#my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #killjoys #the adventures of dyke and faggot #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #frank iero #danger days oc #danger days

6 notes · View notes

reddeaddenial · 4 years

Note

doll, blood and candle for that ask thingy pls 😊

Doll- do you collect anything?

Yes! I collect tarot and oracle decks! I’m wiccan and prior to that, i’ve always had a fascination with tarot, and the art and passion people have put into creation beautiful decks. Basically i collect anything i resonate with or find aesthetically pleasing lol. So far i have...5 tarot decks and 2 oracle decks. I have three with me at my familys home while quarantining, the rest are back at my apartment lol. Tho my next goal is to acquire this goooorgeous gold foiled tarot deck i found a few weeks ago, but after that i need to save up my money for my move to a new house xD

Blood- What is the worst injury you’ve gotten?

Aaaah tw: seizures???

Hmmm, well it wasnt bloody or anything. But i was spray painting some armor for a cosplay in the garage, i had the door outside open but it was windy and i wasnt wearing a protective mask. Long story short, i inhaled too many fumes, and when i went upstairs for dinner, those stairs got me s u p e r out of breath??? And i felt like i ran a marathon and i neeeeded a glass of water. But as i was pouring a glass i sudden felt super tired. Like so tired, you dont give a shot where you close your eyes. And i closed my eyes, and i felt like i was having a very blury and rushed dream, yknow the kind where you don’t remember what the dream was but have vague flashes? Well apparently that was me, passing out, falling, hitting my head just right and according to the doctor ‘having a seizure like event’. We went to the hospital and i was checked over and i was fine, no lasting injuries, just a big bump on my head lol. Long story short: wear proper ventilation protection when dealing with paints and fumes. Dont be my dumb ass lol

Candle- what is your favorite scent?

Lavender and vanilla!!! Those combined too is just -chefs kiss-

We have a local lavender farm on island town my family lives on, driving by the fields in the summer is stunning and the scent is heavenly 💕💕💕😊 they use their lavender in a lot of products they sell to old downtown shops! Like lavender soap bars, lotions, oils, those lil satchets and rice bags you can heat up and put on your neck etc. As for vanilla, ive always just adored the smell. I think it comes from my love of baking and the smell of vanilla extract lmao

Thank you so much for these asks, they were super fun to write!!! 💕💕💕

Heres the Ask Promt is anyone’s curious!

#littlestarofthewest #ask #maddy talk #ty again for the ask!!!

4 notes · View notes

sambarvadai · 4 years

Text

#7: ooh la la spill the drama sis

posted on 30 nov 2019

hi, long time no see. it’s been a hectic week. we had our drama club’s end-year-production, and i started on my internship. this post will be about my somewhat complicated relationship with theatre so buckle in for the ride! this is going to be a really long post sorry i have a lot of feelings about this

(in case you haven’t already realised this is an EXTREMELY self-indulgent blog haha)

so! four years ago (god has it been that long) when i joined drama club, i was so excited. i nearly wasn’t going to get in because i had missed the audition date, so i cried late into the night, texted my senior about it, and got the reply that no worries, audition dates had been extended due to the overwhelming response. phew. i auditioned, i said the monologue too fast that the panel was left blinking, i tried to make friends in the audition room (i don’t remember any of them). i got through. i was so happy. it was the best best experience.

my new batchmates were… interesting. they were cool. we all liked to sing at the most random times. we were so extra. now that i think about it, i haven’t actively recalled these memories in so long. i can’t remember half of them, but they must’ve been good times because i remember waking up on mondays and thursdays – drama club practice days – pumped and ready to go. the seniors were a big part of this. every practice session, they’d come in, full of energy, and dazzle us with how much they could show with one movement on stage. they taught us the basics of vocal projection (I SHAT A BABY/I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE), spatial awareness, ensemble awareness, and teamwork. they made sure to get to know us properly, learn our names, be our seniors. they were amazing.

i remember the productions we did that year. we ran around under the stairs before production, writing notes on bags and karaoke-ing, sleeping and eating. we told stories of the girl who had been crushed by the stairs, now a benevolent spirit who blessed us before every performance. we wore our shirts inside out, tags sticking out, because a senior told us our shirts had to be ALL BLACK. NO PRINT. (we later found out this was not meant seriously, but oh well.) once, we traipsed down one of the most affluent parts of town wearing our shirts like that, on the hunt for some ice to cool the drinks. my fingers froze by the time we got back to school (because there was no bag big enough to carry the ice) and i had to dunk them in running water to thaw them out. we were backstage, having the time of our lives, peeking through the hole in the curtain, mouthing alone to the lines said on stage that we had heard countless times in rehearsals. we cheered when the audience laughed. we bit our tongue so we wouldn’t curse when someone inevitably put the block down too loudly or got caught in the light. our batch was the only batch of first-years who cried when our fourth-years (the graduating batch) left, because they had made such an impact on us. it really looked like we were going to be one of the better batches.

it really looked like joining drama club – and theatre – was going to be one of the best decisions of my life, because of how much fun i had. i learnt about the processes that went behind-the-scenes, which made me appreciate every theatre show i went to after that even more. i

year 2 came, and with it, a competition that would suck out my life. for the purposes of this post, let’s call it abc. abc was a really prestigious competition – it was difficult to get into, and it was difficult to survive it. survive, meaning go through it with your sanity intact. it meant long, long hours cooped up in a corridor high up, inhaling spray paint fumes and sprawling on the dusty floor. it meant hashing and rehashing ideas and thrashing out team squabbles and pain and suffering. i mean, it was a great, character-building experience, but i’m told that i became so much of a dick during that time simply because of the stress. abc also took up much of my free time, so i couldn’t meet up with my other friends during breaks because i would always be busy.

the toil was not without its rewards, though. we got regional champs and placed 5th worldwide and won a really prestigious award for creativity, one of the few teams to ever win it in our division. but during that time, i felt nothing except passiveness (is this a word). i felt a sense of distance, that it wasn’t me who had won it. and it was partly true. toward the end of it, my enthusiasm for the competition had died down from a raging bonfire to a tiny matchstick flame snuffed out by an errant gust of wind. i just… gave up. i didn’t contribute as much. i should’ve felt guilty, but i couldn’t muster up anything.

what does this competition have to do with drama? well, because i was involved in abc, i couldn’t contribute as much to my drama club’s mid-year recital-thing. i was relegated to the props and sets team, where i met my favourite senior ever. we spent a lot of time in there, and it felt great. although all we did was just talk and do jackshit, it was fun to be in that tiny space, trying out makeup and talking about sherlock.

abc did affect my relationship with my batchmates, though. the rest of the teams in abc had my team-mates who somehow bonded with their team and loved their team, but i was the odd one out. i couldn’t connect to them at all.

fast forward to the end-of-year production, where i was in props and sets again. this time, it was slightly different because a teacher tagged along with us for every excursion we did to gather supplies and draw inspiration. that production was set in a bookshop, so we hopped around singapore looking for cool bookshops. it was fun, and i got to know that teacher a lot better. i’m still relatively close to her now. my batchmate, though, fell out with that teacher. i’m not entirely sure what happened, but it was weird.

year 3 was such a big mess, and it was wholly my fault. i was given the position of being in charge of props and sets, and i did a colossal screw-up. none of the sets were ready, none of the props were procured in time, the full-dress rehearsal was just accusations after accusations. i remember being backstage in the toilet washing up all the makeup brushes after full-dress rehearsal, and i could hear the seniors really really talking shit about me. it was cathartic, in a way, to hear everything i knew but hadn’t fully internalised. it was similar to abc, in that i had fully given up even before fighting. my rep was pretty damaged after that.

the end of year production was when things fully fell apart. i didn’t know anyone in my batch anymore (except maybe for one person?). another person whom i had been quite close to also drifted away. it was really, really shitty – there’s not much to say about it at all.

bUT. not all hope was lost. what i didn’t get in drama club at school, i found through something else. around march, i saw an online flyer for a youth-created theatre show. i auditioned. i got a part in the ensemble. and it was, hands down, one of the best decisions i made in my life. see, this online flyer was from a senior in drama club whom i had never met before, but was somehow following on instagram. so in a way, drama club was responsible for my so-called rebirth into drama.

that experience really taught me a lot. for starters, the way they handled everything was so professional. the props and sets team started work three months before the production and handpainted sets and built actual moving platforms out of wood. the publicity team actually got one of their photographer friends to take high quality photos and videos. the songs. oh, where do i start. the songs were full, a-grade broadway musical material, with motifs for each of the characters and fully realized emotional arcs. every single person working on the production was so wired and energetic and passionate. backstage felt like year 1 – all the excitement of cheering when something great happened on stage.

maybe it was god telling me to not give up on theatre so easily, to give it a second chance. maybe it was god telling me that i hadn’t lost my love for working hard to put up something on stage. maybe it was a sign that all i needed was a change of people. at any rate, i made so many new friends and learned so much about performance. it really changed me.

as i went into year 4, my final year, my feelings were mixed. i didn’t feel like a senior. i didn’t feel like i had any of the expertise or weight my seniors held when they were in our position. moreover, our drama club had merged with the chinese drama club, meaning that we had to adopt an entirely new set of practices and traditions. i kicked my year off by auditioning for the chinese new year skit. guess what? i got a main role – a chinese-speaking role.

i learn chinese as a third language, so it was really quite interesting to figure out how to perform chinese rather than just say it. all my co-actors were younger than me – a nice turn from everyone being older than me in the external theatre prod in year 3 – and it was a wonderful opportunity to get to know my juniors. sometimes, i didn’t want to go to rehearsal so much that i cried. but when i got to rehearsal, suddenly all the reservations i had went away and i fully immersed myself in the craft. being around the kids and hugging them when they felt down and cheering them up made me feel like i was properly slipping into my role as a senior. it was really a turn of fate.

of course, around end-feb, i performed for my youth theatre thing again. it still felt as good as it did the first time, and was a space for me to grow beyond just a skit performed in the school hall.

around april was our biannual mid-year recital thing, same as year 2. this time, though, i was selected for the main role (again!). i’m ashamed to say that i didn’t try quite as hard as i could have; didn’t allow myself to properly connect to my character. see, my character was a father trying to grapple with the loss of his mother, and the play was about how this affected his relationship with his daughter. it was a difficult role, mainly because he didn’t respond the way i would have if (touchwood) something happened. i didn’t allow myself to actually consider what i would do, i didn’t go down that line far enough to examine my own emotional responses and relate them to my character, because i was scared of what i’d find. anyway, the process was really rushed. we didn’t explore any of the characters’ backstories during rehearsals, which made it even harder to play them. we changed stage directions and cues barely a day before performance. the props and sets team were all super stressed. it was a mess, as usual, but we somehow pulled together in the end.

i should say, i’m really quite grateful that my batchmates (who were the directors) gave me the opportunity to be in such a big role. they trusted me to carry it off and to perform it well. i don’t know if i lived up to their expectations, but i hope i wasn’t too much of a burden on them.

next! the end of year for year 4. it was finally our turn to write, direct, produce, and act in our own play. we started the process around august, and we did shit out a script, but the script was rejected and we had to come up with an entirely new plot nine days before the performance. i was supposed to be one of the script-writers, and i did do my part in writing the first script, but the writing of the second script coincided with my chinese exam (see previous post) so i couldn’t help out much with that. i didn’t really feel an attachment toward the play, and honestly thought it wouldn’t even happen.

on the day itself, as we were rehearsing, something strange happened. i felt a bit of that wonder as we lounged backstage waiting for our scene. i felt a bit of that thrill as we gossipped about boys, same as we did in year 1. i was talking to people i literally hadn’t properly talked to in two years, and it was strangely comforting. of course, things went wrong as they always did – the transformer broke in the middle of rehearsal and we were left wondering if we would even have proper spotlights and stagelights to perform with, but it got fixed in the end. a prop was torn, but they taped it up and made it look laminated.

in the end, as we performed our play to a huge crowd who screamed, gasped and cheered for us, i felt like my journey in drama club had come to a good end. not a great end, where our batch sorted out our differences and actually hugged and was one big happy family, but an ending that we all worked for. i got notes and hugs from juniors, telling me i was a great senior, and all i could think was, ‘thank you, i don’t know what i did to deserve this.’ maybe i had grown up even without realising it.

so you’ve sat through 2.3k worth of word vomit, and you’re wondering what’s the endgame. i think the point i want to make here is this: drama was my one constant throughout the four years of my time in this school. it had seen me at my best and my worst, in all its various forms. it exposed me to an entirely new way of performing art. and for all the flaws in how i experienced it, it taught me so much, and was my safe space.

in these four years i’ve gained and lost in unequal measure. maybe i’ve lost more than i have gained, maybe i wasn’t the greatest person to be around. but in the end, i’m struggling to remember every single tiny perfect imperfection. i can’t recall so many memories, but i remember the feelings i felt. yeah, my batch wasn’t the most bonded, but on stage, we made it work. we pulled up our socks and showed the world that hey, it is possible to put something together in nine days. yeah, i wasn’t the best senior, but i was a good senior, and hopefully some people will miss me. yeah, sometimes i hated going for drama club, but that doesn’t negate all the good times i had. yeah, maybe it wasn’t the best choice of extra-school club, but it was only because of it that i was able to go for that external theatre thing that changed my life.

i’ve been learning to take my bad experiences with a grain of salt. i might’ve had shitty encounters, but they’ve led me to amazing places and great discoveries. i think that’s what i want to say – that one john lennon quote that goes: everything will be okay in the end. if it’s not okay, it’s not the end. and it did turn out okay, even if it was in a relative sense. i don’t know if i’ve articulated my feelings or experiences properly here, but i tried my best. i’ve ended my journey here, made my peace with the fact that i may not be on best terms with my batchmates, but at least we put aside our differences to work together. i had an experience, and that’s all it is.

and i’d do it all over again.

thanks for reading! anbudan, noon xoxo this post was brought to u by the 2.7k word club B))

#drama #introspection #character growth #word #c'est la fucking vie #mine #noonwords

1 note · View note

20dollarlolita · 6 years

Text

(@skeleton-kate)

Also, goes without saying, don’t use the same supplies for food and for dye.

YES. Remember, fellow people in the USA, a respirator is about $25 and a chest xray is about $25,000, so it makes zero financial sense to not get one.

Remember, other countries, just because your healthcare might not cost you the same amount as a new car for one night at the ER, your health is not worth messing around with.

Bonus, here’s some PPE safety. This is based on USA rating standards, so I don’t know what other countries label things, so look that up before you go shopping.

This is a surgical mask, a germ mask, or a paper mask. The purpose of this is that you wear it when you’re sick and it prevents your germs from getting onto other people. This does not protect you from inhaling things. This is not suitable personal protective equipment. If you’re working around particulate or organic vapor, this works about as well as shouting into the room, “Dear particles and vapors, pretty please do not go in my nose and mouth.”

These will not have a protection rating, and won’t tell you what size particle it protects you from, because it doesn’t protect you from particles.

This is a reusable carbon-fiber smoke/allergy mask. In addition to working well for Bane causal cosplays, the filter usually has a rating for what it stops. Mine stops particles up to .4 microns and has carbon to stop some gasses. If you’re spending long periods in environments with lots of airborne particulates like smoke or pollen, it’s a good mask. If you’re in an environment with lots of particulate and short-term exposure, like using a grinder or a power sander, there’s a much less expensive, better option.

These often don’t have NIOSH ratings, but a good one will tell you what particulate size it’s capable of blocking. Don’t buy one that the manufacturer won’t tell you its testing ratings.

This is a disposable half-face respirator.

Disposable half-face respirators are rated with one of the following ratings: N95, N99, N100; R95, R99, R100; P95, P99, P100. The number indicates what percentage of particles .3 microns or larger will be blocked by the mask. The letter N indicates that it doesn’t stop oil-based particles, R indicates that it’s somewhat resistant to oils, and P indicates that it will block oil-based particles. This means N95 is the lowest rating, and P100 is the highest.

Practically speaking, if you’re not working with asbestos, dried lead paint, or another particulate that is particularly harmful, you’re usually okay with an N95. The effectiveness of the mask is less dependent on the rating and more dependent on the fit. A poorly-fitting P100 mask will result in you breathing more particles than a properly-fitting N95.

Put your mask on, breathe through it slowly, and make sure no air is leaking around the edges. If you’re breathing in air that’s not being filtered by your mask, your mask is doing nothing.

And, extremely important, these masks do not protect you from vapors or fumes. These masks are for airborne particles, like from sanding or grinding, and are not able to protect you from spray paint fumes, cleaning supply fumes, or any gasses.

Don’t buy one of these if it doesn’t have a NIOSH rating on it. Don’t use one that doesn’t fit on your face properly. Don’t try to use one of these to protect you from dye fumes. For that you need...

A reusable half-face respirator with Organic Vapor (OV) cartridges! These things are great, because they’re comfortable as heck, you can wear them flipped down around your neck when you’re working with strange particles and vapors and not need to remember where you left it, and because it offers the protection of both the OV cart and whatever particulate filter you put on it. This means you don’t need to buy a new mask if what you’re doing suddenly goes from needing n95 protection to p100 protection.

You can also buy cartridges for this mask that aren’t OV cartridges, meaning that if you have one well-fitting mask, you can buy cartridges to make it do anything you want, and you won’t need to buy multiple masks.

If you’re spray painting, dyeing, or contact cementing, this is what you need to use. That OV cartridge does a whole lot of good.

Before you field test this thing, make sure it fits you properly. Take the cartridges off (they’ll twist off), and put just the mask part on your face. Adjust the straps so they’re comfortable.

In the 3M mask line, which is the easiest to find, you usually want to hook the fastener on the back of your neck first, and then pull the top-of-the-head strap over your head. BTW, these upper straps usually fit around high twintails pretty well.

Put your hand over the exhale valve in the center front, and breathe out. You should not have any air leaking out around your face. It should take a considerably strong exhale before any tiny bits of air leak. If you can make air leak out around your face without considerable effort, your mask is the wrong size. Do not wear it. It will not protect you.

Next, impersonate the movie poster from Home Alone, and put one hand on each of your inhale valves, which is where your cartridges should hook on. You should not be able to breathe in without moving your hands. If air’s leaking in around your face, your mask is the wrong size. If air is leaking in from anywhere but the inhale valves, your mask is broken. If your mask is broken or does not fit, do not use it. Instead, tell the particles to pretty please not go in your nose and mouth, because that’ll protect you just as well and then you don’t have to wear a mask.

If your mask fits, but is still very uncomfortable, look into getting a new one. One of the joys of the reusable respirator is that it should be quite comfortable, because comfort makes you more likely to wear it when you should.

Once your mask fits well, you can hook on your cartridges. This is pretty hard to do when it’s on your face, at least until you’ve done it a few times, but it’s safer to check your mask fitting (and yes, you should check that every single time you wear it) and then put the cartridges on with the just-checked mask on your face. However, it’s also very important that the cartridges are attached correctly, so practice that a couple of times before you try to use them for personal protection.

When you open your new cartridges, write the date on them in a paint pen or a sharpie. They’re only good for 3-6 months after you open them (check your packaging. It’ll tell you), so you want to know when they stop being effective.

Your masks and cartridges will keep filtering the air whether or not you’re using them, so keep them in a plastic bag to make them last longer. If you have a mask with detachable cartridges, you can keep just the cartridges in a bag, and keep the mask stored outside the bag.

A couple of other notes: if your mask doesn’t fit, don’t try to fix it. There’s no good hacks when it comes to taking care of your body. Don’t go all kawaii decora on your protective equipment. If you put stickers on something, in addition to possibly making it weaker, you’re waiving your legal right to hold the manufacturer responsible for a defective product, regardless of if they defect was caused by your stickers or paint.

So now you know what kind of mask to wear when you’re working with particles and fumes. Also, if I catch ANY of you doing “the bra hack”, I will find you, and I will take scissors to your favorite dress.

This is not a mask and it’s not safe and it doesn’t actually protect you from anything but it DOES make you look stupid AND you get to get up close and personal with the smell of either yours or someone else’s titties. Don’t do it.

I’d love to be proven wrong on this one. I’ll do a massive shout-out to anyone who can find me a scientific study about the smoke-blocking properties of a bra, what that bra has to be made of, how to get a good fit when the underwire is going to try to hold the edges of the bra away from your face and prevent a good seal, how long the life expectancy of a bra is in terms of filtering out particulate, or any other related concerns.

Now go do dangerous stuff with your respiratory system protected. (Oh, also, make sure your gloves are effective protection for the products you’re using before you dunk your hands into them.

#20dollarlolita #ppe #lolita fashion #dust mask #gas mask #gas mask CW #long post #ask #answer #skeleton-kate

62 notes · View notes

casismybestfriend · 5 years

Text

captain cold cosplay — day 9

so i have a big headache ‘cause i just melted plastic while it wasn’t as windy as i would’ve liked outside and i think half my brain cells are gone. good news is i think i removed all the plastic from the water gun that i needed to

first i used sharpie to mark what i’d be removing from the water gun to make sure i don’t melt off too much and inhale more toxic fumes than i already have to (can’t wait to start painting)

i added another hole in the front for the lights, melted out windows on the sides for more lights, and removed a few pieces around the trigger to make more room for the spray bottle head

once the soldering gun was hot enough the plastic was coming off like butter, which makes it both easy to remove stuff and easy to mess up and do a sloppy job :P once i got the hang of it i think it turned out okay(for an ugly, sloppy mess) and i used some sandpaper at the end to help recover it

once this was done i checked to see that the spray bottle head would now have enough room to fit inside and for the trigger to be in the right place

while there was room for the head to fit in the water gun the trigger piece was too big, so i had to cut it shorter. next i have to mount it well so it can work ‘cause inside the spray head there’s a rather strong small spring, so i can’t afford the head to get loose

once i get that to work then i can paint it, attach the lights, and i’m all done with my cold gun!!

#dctv #legends of tomorrow #the flash #leonard snart #captain cold #captain cold cosplay #cosplay #cold gun #my posts #my art #long posts #photos #not spn #i wanted to put a ‘keep reading’ link but im on mobile and i dont want to break these posts if i also edit them on pc #if these posts are annoying you can filter out ‘captain cold cosplay’ or unfollow/block me

2 notes · View notes

bonnie-and-cloud · 6 years

Text

How not to be a dumbass by Vann

Or how to correct your absolute fuck up in the event you are a dumbass and clog your bathtub drain like a goober

I'm on mobile so no read more I'm sorry

So a little back story so maybe you can avoid being a shit for brains neanderthal like me. I was cleaning bun cages and every now and then they need to soak because buns. Any bun owner knows why. They get gross. Especially ours because they're territorial so there is literally 0 point to a tiny litterbox in their cages. We're working on getting them fixed but that's another story. So I'd soaked this cage and dumped the water full of sawdust, hay, etc without thinking

See, we do cages and litter boxes as follows: puppy pee pad(s), newspaper, wood shavings because they love to chew on them, then hay. This keeps them relatively clean but we haven't been able to find newspaper recently or had the money for pee pads. So you do what you can, thus the sawdust. This leaves for especially gross cages for obvious reasons. We had to invest in a kitty litter scoop awhile back

Point being, find a big like storage bin (usually cheap and can be used for all kinds of things) and empty whatever you can carry into there. Then dump it in your yard. If you're an apartment dweller/without a yard, you're just going to have to perish I guess. If you're a homeowner, just wash these outside to spare the trouble. We're apartment dwellers with a small yard but no house and idk if there's hook up frankly

THAT SAID, let's say you were a buffoon and clogged your drain like I did, go to your local hardware store ie Menards, Home Depot, Lowe's, etc and look for SULFURIC ACID. Your regular drain-o won't do shit because it's bleach. And while bleach will eat through like wads of hair (most clogs) you're screwed for bigger things especially organic materials like sawdust, bun poop, and hay. You DO NOT WANT LYE as the lye will react to the organic material and expand and then you've got a bigger mess and need to shell out money for a professional to fix your mess

These WILL NOT be in the cleaning section by the way. Don't even look there and skip it altogether. Instead, look by sink fixtures and if you can't find it, ask someone where the lye products are because these heavy duty items are shelved together. Triple check every bottle you pick up because out of like 15 or so products, one was acid

You'll want goggles that secure to your head like from high school chemistry NOT glasses as those can slip off. You need to protect your eyes from fumes and splash back since this shit eats through bone. You're going to want at LEAST a dust mask but I'd recommend a fumes mask. This is because sulfuric acid is fucking strong as hell and you do not wanna inhale that shit. And while a dust mask is cheap and works, you're going to want to be able to breathe thus why I suggested the fumes mask. It also helps protect your face from splash back. Then you're going to want rubber gloves like the thick yellow kind you see on TV. Not thin latex cause it'll eat through that shit so fast if you get any acid on them anywhere. Shell out a little extra because I promise you WILL get acid on your hands and you DO NOT want to do that shit more than once or to suffer from an actual spill instead of a drop like I did

I'd also recommend clothing protection but MINIMUM this is what you want. Also get like a little bucket for like a dollar to put upside down over the drain just in case your drain decides to regurgitate and there's acid in that nastiness. I don't know why that's important but the instructions said so. Designate this bucket as The Acid Bucket just in case

Now, when you've busted past the plastic containing the sulfuric acid and popped open the top, you'll notice a metal covering. This is not nearly as thin as it looks. I was thinking yogurt top and grabbed a leftover screw from work my husband didn't need to poke it. Long story short. I got acid on my hand and it hurt like a bitch. Thank god it was just a drop honestly. So I stuck my hand under the coldest water I could stand for 15 minutes because you DO NOT want that shit anywhere near your eyes no matter how small. It's like if onions had literal knives instead of just making you cry

Oh and the part of the screw that touched acid? Fucking melted the latex paint and the screw threading down to a part of the metal that was white, entirely eating off the tip. And that wasn't even a quarter inch submerged in acid or for very long. So get like a utility knife. My husband grabbed his from work he uses to open chemicals. Frankly, if I had a redo, I'd get disposable rubber gloves so I had protection but also movement unlike the thick PVC coated rubber ones I had on hand. The cold water was more painful than the acid frankly and I haven't warmed back up over 12 hours later

DO NOT USE HOT WATER IF YOU HAVE TO RINSE SULFURIC ACID OFF ANYTHING. YOU WILL ABSOLUTELY HAVE A HORRIFYING REACTION YOU DO NOT WANT. USE THE COLDEST WATER POSSIBLE TO AVOID THIS REACTION

All of that said, you'll want to remove your drain before you start because this shit WILL om nom nom through that chrome worse than the cookie monster on a binge. Like our chrome is black now. You'll have to look up on YouTube to find out how yours unscrews. Ours needs a specific wrench and screwdriver we don't own so I said well since I've already fucked up what's another? Well that's the price. Fucked up chrome

Flip the vent on so fumes don't build up. If you've ever been to a place with sulfur water like camping in Yellowstone, it's that smell but like x10. It is beyond strong and you'll want some ventilation. Make sure no bunnies, human children, or the otherwise vulnerable can access the bathroom while you're doing this or for 15 minutes after each pour for the acid to feast (we only needed one) and another 15 once your drain is clear to run the shower at icy for 15 minutes to wash anything left down the drain. Don't want acid burns when you shower and you do not want to put others on danger

So you have the vent on and the drain open. Suit up minus your gloves so you can free the sulfuric acid of its top hat. Immediately din your gloves. Pour sir eats everything down your drain. There should be a chart on the label to tell you how much you need. You might need more if it's a particularly awful clog but I doubt you'll need less. Flip your bucket over top of the drain, cap your bottle, and hit start on your clock's stopwatch feature. Be sure when you pour not to have your face directly over the drain just in case. Mask is also great because holding your breath sucks a lot

After 15 minutes, turn on the faucet to check how well your tub drains. Remember the cold water. If it's not going, do another round of acid though I doubt you'd need a repeat. If things are all good, rinse out the tub as best you can if there's backup or buildup like ours had. Then turn on the shower and aim the spray directly over the drain if the drain isn't directly below the faucet. Let that go for 15 minutes to ensure all the acid is down the drain. Leave the vent on until the smell goes away just in case

So that's how you fix a colossal fuckup because Google only said "acid cleaner" and I had to piece everything else together on my own. A lot of this information is on the label, but I would've liked to have known beforehand too just what I was dealing with. I feel like I would've avoided getting acid on my hand and I would've made triple sure I had a mask on hand. I couldn't find the dust mask so I skipped it which just made things harder for me. I mean I knew it was Serious Shit but until I felt it, I hadn't had a clue. My husband had to tell me some things because he works with dangerous materials as a roofer. I also would've liked to have known about the drain mechanism itself because I would've preferred to open that sucker up

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk and please reblog this around for anybody who might need it. I'd like if other people didn't go in without Knowing unlike me because while nothing awful happened, it could have

#mod vann #idk how to tag this #long post

10 notes · View notes