#Home gum equipments

[kentocidal]

OPEN UP AND SAY "AHH..." .txt

USERS: dentist!kento nanami x fem!afab!reader

WARNING! THIS FILE HAS BEEN CORRUPTED WITH THE FOLLOWING MALWARE: dubcon, oral inspection, gloves, medical malpractice(?), oral (m!receiving), spit, dacryphilia, choking/gagging, power imbalance, oral fixation, ask to tag

NOTES: something happened to me while i was writing this. anyway, here you go. ~3.2k words.

the dentist’s office was one of those medical buildings that was clearly a house before it was an office. built in a cape cod style with a tiny parking lot that had been added far later. you had found this place online, after it had gotten some stellar five-star reviews that you trusted enough to schedule a consultation and a cleaning. 

it wasn’t one of those gimmicky, commercialized dentists either. it didn’t have a tooth for a mascot, or a commercial with a jingle that never left your head. it was simply a dentist’s office. the page on google came up as “kento nanami, d.m.d., dental practitioner and surgeon.” 

something about the blandness of the webpage, matched with the homey feel of the office, dissuaded your nerves. you had finally found an office you felt comfortable going to get your cleaning at.

you took a breath in as you stepped through the threshold, and found that the home had absolutely been converted to a medical building. the hardwood flooring, the almost sickly yellow lighting, the stock paintings on the walls of oceans or some tropical place. it would almost be tacky in any other place, but it felt right for a dentist’s office such as this.

the girl at the desk, clearly some part-timer, popped her gum as she looked up from her phone when you approached. “do you have an appointment?” “ah, yes. at twelve-thirty?” you nodded faintly, eyes glancing over the girl’s nametag. ‘k. nobara.’ perhaps she was studying under dr. nanami.

she hummed softly as she clicked around on her desktop for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “i see it. here, just fill this out, and i’ll send you right back.” she flashed the barest hint of a bored smile at you as she placed a teal clipboard on the desk with a pen, and you thanked her before going to sit in one of the padded chairs.

name, address, insurance information, when you had your last cleaning, reason for your visit. standard paperwork for a new patient. 

how did you hear about dr. nanami?

you wrote in: online. all positive reviews! :) 

you filled out the rest of your medical information before walking the paperwork back up to nobara, who took it from you and popped the bubble she made with her gum. she barely even looked at it before taking it to the scanner and making a copy. once she finished her own side of the paperwork, she looped around the desk and opened a door to lead you down a tiny hallway. “just this way, please.”

she brought you into a small room retrofitted to be an examination room. the dentist’s chair was in the middle surrounded by all of the necessary equipment. there was a television mounted to the wall, displaying what was on the computer monitor in the corner, there to reflect x-rays and other important images. nobara moved a little table filled with sharp instruments on it over to the side to allow you space to sit in the chair. you sat, taking a breath and sitting back. the leather squeaked under you, and it wasn’t the most comfortable place to be, but it was to be expected.

nobara made sure you were settled before grabbing a piece of blue medical tissue and a thin ball chain with clips on either end, leaning over you to place it around your neck as a bib.

“dr. nanami’s just finishing up with his patient, he’ll be right in for you.”

you nodded and thanked her again, to which she smiled softly before leaving and shutting the door behind herself.

it was quiet outside of the ticking of a clock behind you and faint music playing from another room. it didn’t take long for the music to be turned off, footsteps to come down the hall, muffled chatter to be heard as who you assumed to be the doctor’s last patient gets checked out.

you shift in the seat and lick your lips, nerves returning. you didn’t really like the dentist (who does, anyway?), but you couldn’t find a reason to be so worried about it outside of superstition and online horror stories. 

just as you buried yourself into your head, there were two rapt knocks on the door behind you before it was pushed open. “ms. l/n?”

“ah,” you turned your head and peered over the back of the chair the best you could as the doctor entered and shut the door behind him, “yes, that’s me, hi.”

“nice to meet you.” he was tall, broad, curt; his hair was perfectly styled atop his head, wearing a blue polo and khaki slacks rather than scrubs. the only dentist-ish thing about him was the surgical mask that was pulled under his chin. 

brown eyes met yours and his lips quirked up into a cordial smile as he approached. you smiled back, feeling heat rise to your cheeks; he was far more attractive in person than he was on his medical profile.

“nice to meet you as well. thank you for squeezing me in, i-”

“it’s no problem. there was an opening. it made sense to get you in here quicker rather than make you wait.” he shook his head as he grabbed the rolling stool from under the nearby desk and took a seat, dragging the computer stand over with him to start typing away. 

“you’re here for a consultation, yes?”

“consult and a cleaning, yeah,” you breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. “it’s… been a while.”

“when was the last time you had a cleaning?”

“three years?” you smiled sheepishly when the doctor cast you a sidelong glance and clicked his tongue. “i didn’t mean to keep forgetting! i was new to the area at that time, and it just kept slipping my mind.”

“still, it’s not good to neglect regular visits like that. i’ll make sure you schedule your six month follow-up before you leave today.”

you nodded, because that made sense. at least he seemed to care about your health, unlike some other dentists you’ve had before in the past.

dr. nanami typed for a moment more before pushing the computer away and getting back to his feet. “before we can start, i need to take some x-rays of your teeth. have you had this done before?”

“a long time ago, yeah,” you watched closely as dr. nanami took a step over to where a protective vest was hanging, watching him pull it down before approaching you again.

he used a foot pedal to lean the chair back slightly, and you went with it, your head resting against the high back of the chair. he looked much taller from this lower angle, his cheekbones high and his jaw cut and perfectly angled. 

he laid the heavy vest over your chest and then leaned over your body completely to reach for the x-ray camera that was hovering overhead, tugging it down closer to you. you sucked in a breath; he smelled of some foreign, expensive cologne, the scent making your head spin slightly. 

dr. nanami hummed in the back of his throat as he stepped away from you to reach for a box of gloves on the desk, tugging out two of the black latex garments and pulling them on, one at a time. you watched the latex shine in the sickly fluorescent light of the examination room, watched the way he stretched the rubbery material over thick fingers and broad palms. one by one, he snapped them on, making sure he was protected. 

you shifted in the chair again when he leaned over you to bring the plastic piece to your mouth. he was so close – he had to be, this was an exam, snap out of it! – “i just need you to open up wide and then bite down on this, okay? it’s going to take a few photos of your teeth and your jaw.”

you blinked like a deer in headlights, because suddenly a gloved finger was tapping your cheek. you opened your mouth, nice and wide, and felt the cold plastic slip past your lips and rest between your teeth.

“bite down,” and you did, “that’s it. good. now stay still.”

you found yourself preening under his ministrations. he would step away and let the machine whir as it photographed your teeth and your bones and your jaw structure, and then he would be right back in your space to adjust where you were holding the piece between your teeth. he took about five or six pictures (it felt like you were swimming in his cologne) before he finally pulled the piece from your mouth with a soft pop and pushed the attachment away.

his wide, gloved hands lifted the vest from your chest, and you felt like you could breathe again once the weight was gone.

“not so bad, hm?” dr. nanami quipped, though he didn’t smile, and you laughed airily like a little girl who got caught with ice cream she shouldn’t be having.

“not so bad, right.”

he nodded once before he took a seat on the stool again and sat right next to you, pulling up the fresh x-rays as they loaded up. you were presented with the images on the television just as dr. nanami viewed them up close on the computer screen in front of him.

“your teeth look good,” he murmured, as if it was more to himself than to you. “all even – none missing. adult teeth grew in almost perfectly, though you did wear a retainer briefly, did you not?”

“yes.”

“right.” he clicked over towards an image of your molars, humming under his breath. “have you been experiencing any pain in this area?”

“hm? no, why?”

“there’s a bit of a dark spot here,” he moved the mouse over to a spot on the image, on a tooth that had to be all the way in the back of your mouth. “it could be a cavity.”

you moved your tongue in your mouth to feel for it, but came up short. “i don’t feel it, but maybe.”

dr. nanami pushed the computer away and shifted closer to you, reaching up over your body to grab the light fixture and drag it down towards you. using the foot pedal again, he brought your chair back, back, back; it felt like you were completely horizontal by now. 

he rolled his stool over to be behind your head, leaning over you. it was almost as if your head was in his lap, separated only by the chair’s headrest.

he pulled the light down lower until it was perfectly on your lips. once settled into position, he moved his surgical mask back up and over his mouth and nose, and you thought that it somehow made his eyes all the more alluring to you.

“i need to conduct a further oral examination to assess the cavity. is that alright?”

“yes,” you breathed, and dr. nanami made a sound of approval. 

you figured he would reach over for the metal table and grab for one of those little mirrors, or maybe even a water pik of some kind, but, no; dr. nanami leaned more over you and pressed two gloved fingers to your lips.

“open up and stick your tongue out, yeah?”

you blinked at him, heat rushing up to your cheeks once again. you felt as though your ears were playing tricks on you; dr. nanami had sounded huskier, like his voice had dropped an entire octave when he muttered the command to you.

you swallowed the saliva that pooled on your tongue before opening your mouth as wide as you could, sticking out your tongue and flattening it so he could see your teeth better. 

“good girl.”

your whole body shuddered the moment those gloved fingers pressed on your tongue with the utterance of those two little words. what was this?

a part of you was saying that something was off about his ministrations, about the way his fingers pressed and almost petted the flat of your tongue before starting to explore deeper. the other parts of you, however…

it felt as though you were floating as dr. nanami brought his other hand up to your face to hook a finger in your cheek and pull slightly, tugging your mouth open just a little wider. your eyes fluttered and you made a wet little sound, only for dr. nanami to click his tongue behind his mask and murmur for you to settle. 

his fingers continued their journey, probing and prodding at the warm flesh of your cheeks, the hardness of your teeth, rubbing and feeling over your tongue and your flesh and bone.

you whimpered softly when you felt his index finger rub over your molar in the far back of your mouth. it felt as though his whole hand was forcing your little mouth open, but that definitely wasn’t the case. 

“what a pretty little mouth you have,” muttered the doctor, before his fingers dove down towards your throat.

you gagged harshly around his digits and kicked up a fuss in the chair, rattling the attachments and kicking your feet. dr. nanami let up only for a moment as you felt drool start to form at the corners of your mouth and coat your tongue. your eyes brimmed with tears, wetting your lashes, and dr. nanami only watched you with those golden brown eyes.

you couldn’t see the bottom half of his face, but he had to have been panting.

“your teeth are in very good condition,” he spoke in such a soft tone it almost had you relaxing again as he unhooked his finger from your cheek, letting your jaw slip just slightly closed again to try and find comfort. 

“ah, i’m not finished,” dr. nanami chastised you with a tap of his wet finger on your cheek, and you whined softly under him as his forefinger started to probe and inspect your mouth yet again.

one by one he inspected all of your teeth the best he could, feeling each one, filling your mouth with the taste of latex and the scent of his cologne. your eyes were locked on his face, while his were locked on the way your lashes stuck together, wet with tears, and drool started to drip from your lips and drag down your cheeks. 

his eyes flickered away from his inspection for a brief moment to watch the way your thighs were squeezing together, and that was it for him, the sign that he needed.

he pulled his fingers from your mouth and tugged his mask off of his face, placing it to the side as you heaved.

“now then,” he started, shifting back away from you as you caught your breath, “your teeth are in perfect condition, but i’m concerned about your throat. let’s… conduct an experiment.”

your wet eyes shifted hazily backwards as you tried to look at him again, only to be met by a thick cock springing free from dr. nanami’s khakis. he was leaky and drippy at the tip, and it smacked wetly against your cheek.

oh. oh.

you squirmed in the seat and moved yourself backwards (or, well, up towards him) with a bit of his help, a wet hand on your shoulder tugging your body up so your head would hang off the headrest of the dentist’s chair. 

from this angle, dr. nanami didn’t even need to get up. he could stay seated in his stool and let you do all the work.

but you were his patient, and he was your doctor. he would take care of you.

he shifted his weight and took his cock in hand, guiding the tip over your spit-soaked lips. his other hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his thumb hooking onto your jaw to force your mouth open.

“there you go, nice and wide, just like that…” dr. nanami hunched over you, studying your fucked out expression. “is this okay?” “ye-yes,” you whispered, and dr. nanami finally smiled down at you. it was brief and fleeting, but it was there.

and then he gathered spit between his lips and let it drip down onto your waiting tongue.

you moaned, quiet and wanton, just as dr. nanami slipped his cock into your mouth.

he tasted musky and salty and perfect. he fucked your mouth open slowly, his hand a nice weight on your throat, helping to hold your twitchy body down as you shook with anticipation.

slowly, slowly, he worked the tip of his cock further and further into your mouth, until he was muttering, “open wider, wider, just like that, good girl, take it…”

it felt like all of your blood was rushing to your brain in this position, but at the moment, you didn’t care. all you cared about was how you choked and gagged around the tip of dr. nanami’s cock as he worked it into your awaiting throat.

he sheathed himself in your tight heat and started to rut into you as your throat fluttered around his girthy length. the room filled with the sounds of skin-on-skin, soft gags, wet plaps, and dr. nanami’s little gasps and moans.

he moved his hand from your throat to the hem of your pants, managing to undo the button and the zipper with just one gloved hand before it was slipping into the front of your panties to graze over your clit.

you gasped and moaned around his cock before starting to choke again, drool dribbling all over your cheeks and face as dr. nanami collected some of your slick on his gloved fingers to rub your clit in quick circles.

“shh, quiet. feels good, right? feels nice to have your throat fucked like this? you like it when your doctor touches you here?”

you had gotten so turned on that his words were almost enough to send you over the edge, your nails clawing at the rubbery material of the dentist’s chair.

“i can feel you throbbing,” he grunted as he fucked his cock deeper into your throat, “go ahead, cum on my fingers, cum, cum-”

his fingers didn’t stop even as you creamed in your pants and all over his gloved hand, your body jerking and your throat constricting around his cock. dr. nanami groaned low in his throat as he finished down yours, pumping his hips slowly and riding out his own high.

he pulled back from you and panted, pulling his hand from your panties and licking your juices off of his glove, then discarding both. 

you laid on the dentist’s chair, head hung over the edge, boneless and still twitching from the waves of your pleasure.

“now, for your cleaning…”

—

“so, do you want to make your six-month follow-up now? or should we send you a letter reminder in the mail?” nobara popped her gum and twirled her pen between her fingers as she looked you over.

“i’d-i’d like to make it now, please.”

“sure. and don’t forget to leave us a good review online, alright?”

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝔸 ℝ𝕚𝕤𝕜 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Rich man Yunho x Thief Reader, Warnings: Handcuffs, implied mafia?, implied yandere behaviour, unprotected sex(smh), slight praise, name calling (dear) Wordcount: 3353 Not proofread

Yunho drives me mad, he's just so...ugh, there aren't words that are worthy enough to describe him. Also I wrote this at like 2 am.

Summary: A thrill-seeking burglary, driven by a craving for adrenaline, you break into the grand Jeong Estate to steal a priceless necklace. Equipped with skills from past heists you're dressed for stealth, the owner unexpectedly decides to make an appearance and punish you in his own way.

Out of all the things that you would do, this one was probably the craziest, no this is the craziest idea ever. Sure, you've done stupid things before but this one was going to take the cake, even if you were fully prepared.

Your mother had always told you, this hobby of yours would get you in trouble. For her you were a "normal" kind of adrenaline junkie, bungee jumping, paragliding, rock climbing, something that was in a controlled environment but would still get your heart racing. Your blood pumping. When that didn't satisfy you anymore though, you turned over a different leaf, starting with cliff diving and some urban exploring, graffiti, crimes that's what this hobby of yours turned into. Especially little crimes that involved stealing something, from a store, a jacket, a purse your hands were quite skilled at the task and the feeling you got from it was just too addictive to stop.

And after a stupid night with an even more stupid idea from your friends you were here now, a block down from the biggest estate in the city. The Jeong Estate.

The idea was stuck in your brain like gum on your shoe and you wouldn't leave until that itch inside of you was cleansed. The worst thing was, this was completely solo, from the planning, to going through with this.

It was simple really, sneak around the cameras, hopefully find some open entrance, if not you'd get entry in some way. You learned a few things about security systems from rich homes like these, they all worked the same, so you'd be able to deactivate it, you just didn't know for how long, that's why that was as a last resort.

You honestly looked like a burglar, the dark leather jacket, black jeans with an old black t-shirt and a black cap. In case you were somehow caught, they wouldn't recognize you.

You just had to get in, find something worth taking and then get out. And that undetected.

Interesting enough the whole layout of the mansion was on the internet, you guessed they like to brag about their wealth and how many bathrooms one could possibly need.

There were multiple interviews taken in the house, pictures of the outside, inside, around it, with a little bit of smart thinking you'd be able to sneak past any cameras where they wouldn't be able to detect you.

Because of their huge security set up, they didn't think to have any guards, the place completely empty, anyone that was going to try anything had a death wish. And you wouldn't pass up on the thrill of escaping that mansion with a little souvenir that you'd pull out and brag to your friends about.

You could already imagine the dumb, shocked faces they'd pull when you got back. You stepped out of your car, combat boots hitting the ground, you only got a small bag, as to not make your form any bigger. You decided the back was safer to gain entry, less cameras more blind sports as well, with the huge maze-like garden blocking your silhouette from everything, combined with the darkness of the night, this was going to be a walk in the park. your heart was racing though, not even inside yet. You checked various doors and windows hoping someone left at least one open with a house this big, poor luck.

You guess that meant plan B was officially going to commence. You whipped out your phone connecting with the security system in a matter of minutes with the closeness, there seemed to be a manual lever hidden just close to you, that was the only thing you couldn't find amongst the endless photos taken of this place. You opened a small metal box being faced with a control panel, thankfully each button had some words on them, not making you guess what each does. You clicked one and then another to confirm it, the cameras immediately losing their red recording light, and the alarm presumably being off now.

You grabbed a rock off the expensive looking assortment next to a little pond and smashed it against a glass door. Sliding your hand in and turning the knob, it slid open, and you were officially in. No going back. You gulped the nerves hitting a little harder, but your excitement burnt even more. Turning the lamp on your flashlight, you snuck around a little, figuring out which hallway you were in, looking at a few vases, might take one of those.

But you were actually on the lookout for a particular door, leading to a secret treasure room. The Jeong family apparently liked collecting stuff a lot, paintings, statues, jewelry. You were going to go for a specific necklace, only one in the world and it was here, so close to you. You moved further down, passing high chandeliers and a set of stairs. The doors couldn't be missed, big embroidery and golden accents making it stand out even more than everything that you've seen here yet, however that was possible. You pushed it open, startled of it not being closed. There wasn't anyone inside, thank God.

You looked around the room, in awe. It was filled to the brim, to each treasure a sign explaining it was from or what it symbolized. As you watched each one with interest your eyes landed on the glass in the middle of the room, encased in it was the necklace you were here for. What you would be taking home. You walked up to it, your boots squeaking a little on the oak wooden floor.

You pressed your gloved fingers onto the glass, admiring the piece inside. You would obviously have to break it and then sneak out again. You brought some equipment just for this, obviously they didn't have normal glass around these national treasures. You got a laser cutter for a pretty dime, and you'd leave with something worth every coin spent on this device. You put your bag down, going through it, setting up the little machine, turning on the flame and testing it a few times. You were just about to cut it when you heard some noise.

Which wasn't you for sure. You immediately panicked a little and turned the thingy off reaching for your bag and pulling it behind the counter of the necklace, hiding behind it. There wasn't any reason that someone would just come in here. Or was there?

You were mentally going through every scenario that was about to happen. Your palms sweating, heart bursting out of your chest. You had to calm down a little or you'd make stupid decisions right this second. The racing of your little heart was promptly stopped by the door creaking open, the clanking of shoes evident in the spacious room. Definitely dress shoes, definitely someone that lived here. It was okay. They didn't know you were here. They were probably just having some weird midnight museum tour here. This was probably just some rich person behavior, going to your own treasure haven at the dead of night, yeah, must be it.

The steps grew closer and thus louder. You prayed they wouldn't walk around the counter and see you, briefly you regretted ever coming here but you did get what you wanted, a thrill.

You held your breath when the sounds of those shoes stopped. Listening intently for what was about to happen and staying alert. Just when you were trying to get ahold of your breathing again, there was some fast movement, a click, a shove, and you were on the ground. Looking up, you saw your one hand cuffed to a bar embedded into the counter. And some very shiny looking shoes, that were now directly in front of you. You moved your gaze slowly up, black slacks, further there was a simple shirt and a black tie. Who the hell wears those in their own home? And finally, a rather young-looking dude, you'd have expected a man in his fifties by the clothing choice. The black-haired man didn't looked like he was in his mid-twenties, slightly older than you.

Your bows furrowed at that. His deep voice was the next thing that shocked you as he leaned down, setting himself on his haunches.

"Now what do we have here? A little mouse lingering in my house." There was no way that this was the Jeong Yunho, he was just way too… young, for a successful multi-millionaire. You didn't realize that you haven't responded.

"I was wondering what crawled in when I heard some noises, you ought to be more careful than that." He smiled mockingly.

You were trying to keep your gaze away from him, not wanting him to catch even a single glance of your features, he might just let you go. Who are you even kidding? Fat chance, you were lucky if you made it out of here alive now, genuine fear setting in.

He kept trying to move his face to yours, obviously wanting to look at the intruder that snuck in, but you just turned in the other direction. Having enough of your attitude he gripped your jaw in his hand, your free one trying to pry him off of you. He turned you to him and knocked the hat off your head.

You stared into his eyes, not wanting to get intimidated no matter how much money this guy had. You wouldn’t be intimidated by a pretty, rich boy that was born with a silver spoon.

"Happy now?" You questioned. His hand left your face.

"Oh, so she does talk, and she's got some fire." That grin just wouldn't leave his face, it was so goddamn punchable even if it was a shame to ruin.

Maybe violence was next on your hobby list of crimes. If looks could kill, he would be buried six feet under, your glare was burning a hole through his face.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of you visiting my home?" Any words that came out of his mouth made you want to shut him up. If it was with a fist or a kiss you honestly didn't care.

"Why don't you take a guess?" You wouldn't answer anything with a guy like this squeezing you into a little corner. Which was risky to say the least.

"Well… judging by the get up and the fact that I found you here, means you were planning on stealing something." No shit sherlock, for what other reason do people break in.

You gave him a deadpan look.

"Oh, come on, this is the most interesting thing that has happened here in a while, usually, people get caught by the alarm or cameras before even making it inside."

"Makes me wonder how you made it this far." He looked you over, studying you, analyzing.

This was probably the best time to convince him of letting you go, somehow. "Look, I'm sorry okay, this was stupid, I'll pay for the broken glass and just leave."

"See now, that just won't work. I can't just "let you go", that'll just make me look bad if it comes out that I just let little thieves like you come and go."

"I have to set an example." What the fuck does he mean by that?

You hadn't even thought about what kind of people lived here, for all you could know this was some secret mafia family that built their empire on corpses. Sure, sounded like it.

"I promise I won't talk; I won't do this again."

"You really expect me to believe that?" He raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

"Trust me, I'll make sure you won't." Now that sounded like something a killer would say, you were fucked, so fucked.

"Please, look, I have family, friends, please just let me go." You looked at him a little pleading, fuck your pride and not getting intimidated. This was beyond anything.

You shook the cuff slightly, trying to slip your hand through it in any way. "Look I'll pay or whatever, j-just don't kill me." He seemed in thought about something, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek and then he stood up, your eyes following his long, slim figure.

"No." He curtly replied.

Okay fuck him and fuck reasoning with this asshole.

"I'm gonna cave your face in when I get out of these handcuffs, I swear." You glared. His smile grew again, this fucker was getting some sick satisfaction of seeing you seething in anger.

"Ouuu there's that fire that I was beginning to miss, you were begging so nicely a second ago." He twirled a stand of your hair. He grabbed at the cuffs unlicking it from the bar, getting your hopes up of being free when he clasped the now free shackle to your other hand. Your hands now cuffed in front of your body, he pulled at the chain holding them together.

He stood up, dragging you with him. "Girls like you only learn the hard way, don't they? Lucky for you, I know just how to handle your type." Anything he said sounded so suggestive, you don't know if the fear was activating some hidden side in you, or if his attractiveness eliminated any red flags in the situation. He tugged you along, crossing room for room way too fast for you to keep track of where you were and therefore not making you figure out where he was taking you, until he hauled you into a dimly lit room. A bedroom, okay woah, this was turning into one of your fantasies real fast.

"I'm feeling generous today, it's not every day where a pretty thing just turns up at my doorstep, so I'll even remove these." The restraints from your wrist fell to the floor, your hands massaging your wrists. "I'll let you off the hook" But? There had to be some twist. "You'll spend the night here, after all you wanted to be here." Yeah, to steal something, not to fuck a loaded dude.

You did consider it, he wasn't bad looking. But that fucking attitude was just so aggravating. "And what makes you think that I would just agree to that?" Your arms crossed in silent protest.

"Maybe the fact that you wouldn't land yourself in jail."

"You kind of interrupted my work so It's only fair that I get a little bit of a compensation for being so nice."

Oh, hell to the no, not this guy, nu uh. He looks like someone that would brag about this for centuries to come. You whipped around ready to leave; "I'll just turn myself in."

"Come on, didn't you notice the tension between us, are you that oblivious?"

Of course, you had noticed, from the first second you realized his hands were way bigger and that he was towering over you, had you thinking dirty. Like if he had just bent you over the glass in the other room. Or the hallway wall, or this bed. God there must be something wrong with you. Some adrenaline induced arousal that activated since you were caught.

You didn't notice yourself stopping nor did you notice Yunho moving up behind you until his warm breath hit your ear.

"Right, you did notice. I'll even gift you a little something to take with you, or you can leave with nothing right now."

He brushed the hair from your neck, kissing it slightly. You could just leave now, but his offer was too tempting. You whipped around, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him in for a kiss, before you could second guess your decision making.

He pushed you against a nearby wall, caging you in. He was so fucking big it felt suffocating in an intoxicating way. Like all your senses were filled with Yunho only.

The movements were rushed buttons falling off, his tie almost getting ripped apart. Your shirt and jacket being discarded in a matter of seconds. You called his name in between kisses, desperate to get him to move faster.

Only one of your legs was out of your jeans when he stuffed you with his fingers, you were hoping that your legs kept their strength, and your knees wouldn't buckle. It was getting increasingly difficult, the more fingers he added, the harder he thrusted, the deeper that he hit. You tried your best to hold onto his shoulders. You took notice of the large bulge pressing against his slacks and slipped your hand in. You stroked him making him bite his lip a bit, his brows furrowing in pleasure. Groans were the only things you could hear besides the wet squelch of your pussy. When your knees were going to give out, he pulled his hand from you, reaching over, grabbing a familiar object, clicking it onto you again but lifting your arms making you wrap your cuffed hands around his neck, your hands holding onto him. He lifted one of your legs getting closer to your body while his other hand moved down and pulled his length out of his pants.

A pretty thing from top to bottom, with just the perfect curve. Fittingly big for his stature. Your favorite part was when he started rubbing it against you, getting it wet, a vein that ran along his cock brushed your clit at the perfect angle. It made you cry out just a little louder for him.

"I might just keep you in my treasure room dear, you just make such cute noises."

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, not that you cared at this moment. When he slipped himself inside that's when you almost came on the spot, your insides were clenching so much around his length. Wrapping around him, it was so so warm. And when he started moving it was even better, the drag of your ridged walls pulling him back in when he pulled out.

"Yunho, Yunho, god ah."

His thrusts reached deeper than your fingers every could, than any man before him could. Yunho kept thrusting while alternating between playing with your boobs and circling your clit with his thumb.

"You're gonna kill me, you know that? o-my fucking god." He groaned after each thrust. Your stomach became so warm and tingly, it was only a matter of seconds before you'd cum all over his cock. It was after a particular calculated thrust up into your g-spot that had you seeing stars, tightening your arms around Yunhos neck and letting out a pornographic moan. The squeezing of your pussy had him coming just a moment after, not giving him the chance to pull out, not that he wanted to.

He spilt himself into you, driving aftershocks from your orgasm out of you. His thrust slowing down, to ride out his own, until his hips stopped.

He pulled back, your hole opening and closing a little and making cum dribble out of you.

"Can't have you waste that." He pushed some of it back in with his fingers. You moaned in hypersensitivity. Your legs completely gave out after that and he picked you up, carrying you over to the bed that would have been the more ideal place.

He untangled himself from you, you grumbled at the loss of contact. You just heard the click of the cuffs, your eyes closed in contentment, too tired.

He continued staying at your side, bringing you a glass of water, and pulling the blanket over you, making you fall asleep faster than you'd ever think was possible. Considering you were still in a stranger’s house, said stranger was inside your guts just a moment ago, so couldn't really call him that.

This definitely wasn't part of your masterplan, but you wouldn't change a thing.

When you woke up in the morning, Yunho peacefully sleeping next to you, you quietly dressed yourself and excited the mansion. Not forgetting to take a price, in the form of his ring and a note that read: "If you want your souvenir back, call me."

[nombitenary]

Spelunking.

Super short (2.5K) self indulgent story of a borrower!you getting caught by Christopher and swallowed up <3 Maybe bring better equipment next time you try borrowing from a maneater...

G/t, ambiguous ending, rope play in the throat, and mentions of fatal <3 enjoy!

You can’t believe you got caught.

The man who lives in the apartment you’ve been borrowing from is home so rarely that you suppose you’ve gotten careless. After all, he’s never around to hear your heavy footsteps on the counters or the scrabbling of clumsy hands against drawers. His two cats are easy enough to maneuver around as well, seeing as one of them is trained well enough to not go on the counter, and to scream at the other one whenever it gets the bright idea of chasing you along the countertop. 

You’d been testing your new rope, tying it to all manner of things in the kitchen and letting yourself be slowly lowered off the edges of drawers, tables, counters… and hadn’t been bothering to keep your laughter at your successes quiet, nor the thuds of your tiny boots as you’d climbed up the edges of his walls and cabinets. 

Everything had been going so well that you’d somehow missed the sound of the bedroom door opening and the light in the hallway, and by the time you realized that something was amiss… was only due to clawed fingers wrapping around your waist and a soft coo of: “Oh, what do we have here?”

And now, here you are, dangling between his fingers from the rope you’d thought had been such a clever tool to get around the maze of his apartment. You can’t bring yourself to speak as you stare up at him meekly, the light reflecting off his glasses making his eyes seem cold and far away- near impossible to read. 

He hasn’t spoken since his initial greeting, if you can even call it that. All he’s done is stare at you with that coldness in his eyes, almost as if he’s calculating something- blinking every now and again, though it does nothing to set your mind at ease. If anything, it makes you feel worse, and when he opens his lips and finally speaks to you properly-

“Well. You should fit. This should be interesting.”

-it does nothing to calm your nerves. 

Before you can ask him what he means, the air is forced out of your lungs by him tugging on your little rope, effortlessly and haphazardly lifting you into the air above his face and leaving you to stare down at him in terrified disbelief. You’ve never met this human before, but from what you’ve gathered, there’s nothing too horrible about him. 

With your lower lip trembling, you look down into his deep brown eyes, searching for any trace of a joke or flickers of sympathy. 

What you receive in return is a toothy smirk. One that plays out almost in slow motion, leaving you helpless to watch as his lips curl away from his teeth, showing the gleaming, drool-slicked and sharp points lining his gums. Your heart starts racing at the sight of them, and again, you try to find your words- but you’re once again interrupted by something terrifying. 

Those teeth were bad enough on their own, but as you stare down at Christopher’s freckled face… they begin to part. 

A warm blast of air rises from the chasm opening beneath you and you find yourself unable to look away as the huge muscle of his tongue shifts- easily the size of a small mattress and just as cushioned- moving from one side of the pink and dripping cavern to the other. The surface of it flexes in waves, and you follow the muscle back toward the darkest pit in the back of his jaws- marked by a swinging uvula and a streamlined tunnel designed to cram anything it can fit inside down.

His throat flexes, and his whole mouth shifts at once- a mess of moving pieces and parts and flesh and teeth rearranging to allow him a soft swallow- and when it opens again, strings of drool connect the bottom of his jaws to the top like the bars of a prison cell. 

Unable to speak, your own mouth opens and closes as you watch his throat shift with his every breath, the idle motions of his tongue twitching and swaying as more and more saliva floods the cavern. 

You’re transfixed, though the spell breaks when his grip on your rope abruptly falters- sending you falling a few inches closer to the gaping maw with a scream. 

A laugh rolls over you in response, and you gasp, clutching the rope in your fingers despite the knot keeping you secure. You’re spinning now, watching the gullet beneath you pulse as you rotate, unable to keep yourself from noticing that it seems to be pulsing in anticipation, the tongue stretching out from between those lips as if to echo the sentiment. 

He’s going to eat you.

No. No, he won’t. 

Surely he won’t. 

Despite not being human, you think for a moment that you’ll be able to appeal to his sympathy, though when you manage to tear your gaze away from his maw to try looking into his eyes--

The rope slides easily through his fingers, and with a rush of air, you plummet- your scream being cut off and muffled by his tongue greeting you. It all but wraps around your sides, and you feel it constrict, pinning your arms to your torso as its owner tips his head back and allows you to fall backward into the cage of his mouth. 

You scream as the tongue folds over you greedily, drinking in your flavour and slathering you in thick saliva. The surface won’t stop moving beneath your hands- cushy and soft and speckled with taste buds that leave a faint bumpy texture pressing against your palms and fingers- though when he abruptly licks you again, you’re flipped onto your side, helpless to do anything but let his tongue squish tightly against your back. The muscle is hot and explorative, wasting no time in dragging its tip along your flailing limbs. 

Everything around you is hot and slick, but the more you fight against it, the more of his saliva seeps through your clothes, soaking your skin and causing you to slip around easily in the chasm of his mouth. A zigzag of light filtering between his teeth is the only way for you to see the warm pink of his tongue as it continues to effortlessly bat you and part of your flimsy rope around. 

It’s… so easy for him. 

So easy to treat you as nothing more than a sweet treat. You find yourself pushed against his fangs more than once, and each time, you suck in a sharp breath and wait for him to chew you to pieces- all the while trying to peer out past his lips for one more glance at the world you’re leaving behind.

You don’t get one. 

All your squirms earn you is more buffeting from the tongue, more hums of delight from the throat that you know is yawning wide behind you, but you don’t allow yourself to look at it, trying instead to drag yourself forward in the dripping mouth of the beast. You’re close. Your fingers reach the very edge of his gums and you strain to pull yourself up from his gullet even as you feel your legs brush the very edge of his throat.

A throat that twitches eagerly, the muscles there relaxing with a soft slrrrk of noise- and you yelp as you find yourself falling deeper into the squishy tube. 

“NO-”

The tongue that had been idly sloshing you around arches, filling his mouth and squeezing the air from your lungs in a strangled cry- though you don’t have time to be worried about that as you realize what the predator’s doing.

Swallowing. He’s swallowing. The gullet behind you lurches, a tiny hlrk and a bob of the muscles behind you causing you to throw your arms forward as gravity changes- but you’re too covered in saliva to get a grip on anything. Instead, you’re forced to feel his uvula drag across the back of your shoulders as he hums- the noise loud enough to make your chest feel like it’s buzzing. 

You’re squashed under his uvula entirely with another firm swallow, leaving you scrambling against the plush back of his tongue as you try to reach the swinging tab of flesh. Your fingers are tangled tightly in your rope, clutching it in utter desperation. It’s still holding fast. Still tied to something. 

You try to remember if you saw it caught between his molars or canines as you try to hoist yourself further up his gullet- barely able to even paw the backmost part of his tongue in your attempts to reach freedom. It’s still somewhat taut, taut enough that there’s hope…

…as light falls over you, you look up from the depths of his throat, for one fleeting moment allowing yourself to think that he’s about to cough you up. It must be a mistake. He seems like a kind enough man, and you shift your position slightly to see better, wiping a string of drool out of your face as a shadow falls over his jaws. 

His hand. 

And in his fingers…

No…

In his fingers, he’s lazily clutching the end of your rope. He holds it there with a soft chuckle, one that makes the throat around you ripple, before you watch his mouth start to relax as it closes for what you realize in terror is the final time.

“Wait- wait wait wait-!"

When he swallows, the walls of his throat clutch tight around you, rippling with a soft ulp that folds around you and tries to squeeze you down along with it. Your whole body jerks in place, being squashed tighter into the living tunnel before the rope pulls taut and forces you back up- which causes the muscles around you to quiver and the predator they belong to to hum. 

It’s absolutely deafening this close to his voicebox. 

You gasp as the slimy walls finally ease up, trembling at the sensation of something pressing at you from outside of your new prison. At first, you almost think you’re imagining it, but when the throat around you twitches in response to a firmer press, you realize those are fingers pressing against you from the outside. 

You can’t help but imagine yourself as a lump in Christopher’s throat. 

As you struggle harder, forcing your elbows out against the taunting squishes, in you mind’s eye, you see the small flutter of your movements settled just above his collarbone- the way you stretch the freckled skin and wriggle just beneath it- and as you tug on the rope in a desperate attempt to shimmy back up the way you came-

GLURK.

-the throat constricts tighter, and this time you can’t keep yourself from giving a yelp as you’re sucked further into Christopher’s esophagus- settled just beside his thudding heart. The walls of his gullet have grown tighter, as has the knot of the rope around your waist thanks to said walls hungrily rippling around you in an attempt to squeeze you deeper inside. Again, you struggle to haul yourself further up the rope that’s keeping you suspended in his chest. Your saliva slicked hands fumble to get a grip, and you curse yourself for not having tied too many knots in it before trying to use it out borrowing. In the pitch darkness of his throat, you can’t see much aside a very faint red- the light from outside only penetrating deep enough for you to see the faint outlines of the esophagus squeezing around you. 

Your rope is still being held snugly by the gullet’s walls, the red lifeline almost vanishing into the pulsing darkness, but you squint through the saliva running down your face just long enough to realize how far down you’ve been squeezed. Seeming miles of throat stretch above you, and a flicker of light from the top of the tunnel causes your heart to sink. On either side of you, you hear a rush of air filling your devourer’s lungs, and everything tightens as they fill with oxygen, preparing for another-

Gulp.

-for him, it must be nothing. Just soft and lazy bobs of his adam’s apple that allow your rope to fall deeper into the folds of his throat. You can almost imagine how faint the sound of him swallowing must be outside of the sweltering confines you’re in now- but you can’t quite cling to the illusion long enough to mute the disgusting squelch and ULLLLK that draw you deep enough to feel a distinct change in heat.

Heat from below you.

Heat coupled by the sound of an organic growl, and your heart grows cold despite the warmth of the predator surrounding you as you realize how close to the belly of the beast you’ve gotten.

You scramble against the soft walls, tugging on your slack rope more and more as the sound of gurgling grows louder beneath you. You can’t end up in his stomach. You won’t. You’re a borrower, you’re not-

Glmpk.

He swallows once more. 

Firmly. 

Firmly enough that you manage to look above you in terror, watching the tunnel of his throat constrict in a wave that rushes toward you in the dark, too fast for you to do anything but take a breath in before you’re squished firmly into the upper stomach sphincter. 

Then through it.

Your tiny form lands in his stomach with a wet plop.

The walls around you shudder with a gurgle of greeting, and above you, you hear a long and contented sigh breeze up from the throat you fought for your life not to get squeezed down- unable to keep yourself from envying the air for being able to get past his lips.

You’re not as lucky as the air. The stomach containing you groans in emphasis, the organ steadily starting to rock this way and that, the walls rippling inwards eagerly in what you realize are the beginnings of digestion. Your hands find the rope and you pull on it sharply, earning the sound of a muffled glp from above and the sensation of more and more of it pulling into his belly, coiling around you on the fleshy floor, gulp after gulp ushering it down, down…

The piece of yarn bobs momentarily at the back of Christopher’s throat, and it brushes the folds of flesh there as its pulled down his gullet. It isn’t fully soaked through with his saliva, not yet, and as he sits with his jaws open, he gulps, feeling it stick dryly in his throat- though he persists in his task anyway. 

With a few more short swallows, there’s no trace left of you at all. No rope dangles from between his lips. No shape wriggles in his throat, and as he trails a hand down to his comfortably full stomach… he grins at the realization that you fit so perfectly inside that you’ve completely vanished from the outside world. Not even a lump against his middle surfaces to show anyone where you’ve vanished to, and he purrs in delight, trailing his fingers over his middle and hiccuping suddenly when you squirm. 

“Oh, don’t worry.”

His voice rumbles around you, echoing over the sounds of digestion. One of the fleshy walls folds inward with a prod against you and you feel the tip of one of his claws massaging you into the lining. 

“I think I’m going to let my guts take their time with you… best get comfy in there.” 

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 1/12)

yes i have eighty different rockstar!eddie's now, pls don't look at me, i rewatched almost famous and had a moment, k bye, enjoy!

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: you're a writer for rolling stone magazine and eddie hates the media so... he hates you

contains: enemies to lover trope, themes of sexism/misogyny, smoking, drug and alcohol use, sexual themes, and eddie being an asshole <3

word count: 4.5k

| next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

You love your job more than anything.

You love that it allows you to travel, that it’s centered around music, and that you get to meet people and make friends and do extravagant things you would’ve never imagined you’d be doing. You love your job.

“I love my job.” It’s starting to taste like a lie when it reaches your tongue.

You mutter it to yourself again, looking around the bright hallway and searching for any fucking door with the words ‘CORRODED COFFIN’ written on it.

You glance at the watch on your wrist, teeth digging into the soft skin of your cheek as you keep walking down the corridor. 

You feel as if you’ve been walking down this hall for years, miles of white stone wall and shiny gray cement floors, equipment littered here and there with staff walking through doors and yelling commands.

You follow the echo of chatter and soft giggles, the sound getting closer and closer until a group of girls meets you. A red-headed girl lazily chews gum and stands against the wall, glaring at you from behind her blood-red shades. You take the chance to ask them your pressing question, “Do you know where I could find the dressing room for Corroded Coffin?” You ask.

The girls glare at you and giggle, eyeing you and, without a doubt judging your lack of fishnets and leather clothing. Brown leather boots, flared jeans, and a white long sleeve— you don’t belong here. “You a reporter or something?” 

You look at the redheaded girl, pursing your lips and taking a steady breath, reaching up to grasp the strap of your crossbody bag. “I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, ignoring the snickering girls on the side. You clench the leather band of your bag in your palm, “I’m doing a piece on the band.”

The girl silently studies you; a ghost of a smile passes her lips, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You shift on your feet, eyebrows furrowing, “Yeah um… they’re big on music and—“ “I know what Rolling Stone Magazine is.”

You love your job.

You steadily breathe, clenching your bag once again. Your feet ache in these boots, and your jeans are teetering on the cusp of too tight after you ate a quick dinner— you want to go home. “The boys won’t speak with Rolling Stone.”

It falls silent between the two of you, and you glance at the other three girls, huddled together and passing a joint. “They don’t like watered-down shitty tabloids like yours. They won’t want to see you.” The redhead explains, silently reaching over to accept her turn with the joint.

You watch as she brings the burning paper to her lips, taking a long drag and smirking at you. She expects you to take her word and leave, but you’ve dealt with enough people like her to know she’s bullshitting you.

“Could you please point me toward their dressing room?” You ask, reconstructing your previous question because you now understand that, without a doubt, these women know where the dressing room is.

She laughs and points across the hall, some feet from where you’re all standing. You can see the first few letters of the band's name from your angle, and you internally rejoice. You thank her and walk over to the door, mentally reviewing your introduction a few times before laying a few knocks on the heavy black door.

There’s no response for a moment, and you try not to let the snickering sound of the girls tick you off. You lift your hand to knock again, but the door swings open before you can do it. A tall, muscular man glares down at you, dressed in black with a scowl. He must be security.

“Hi, I’m a writer for—“ “Groupies aren’t coming in yet; wait out in the back.” 

Your face twists in offense, glaring at the man as you, yet again, clench your fist in annoyance, “I’m not a fucking group—“ The door slams shut before you can finish your sentence. 

“Fuckin’ asshole.” You mutter to yourself. 

You love your job.

The girls snicker behind you, and you feel your face heat in embarrassment and annoyance. Why is nearly everybody in this industry just a bunch of assholes? You figure you’ll just have to wait for the band members to come out, leaning back to press your back against the wall and patiently wait.

From outside, you can hear the chaotic noise of yelling and loud banter from inside the room— the clatter of furniture breaking and thuds against the wall. You remember when behavior like this used to shock you, but artists seem to have reckless behavior nowadays.

The group of girls chatter amongst themselves, and you busy yourself with following the cracks in the floor. You stand there with aching feet and a mental ticking clock for what feels like hours, and you almost give up until the door flies open and three boys stumble out, reeking of alcohol and weed and musk. 

You watch as they all brush past you, ignoring you for the group of girls standing across the hallway, cheering their names and draping their arms across their shoulders. 

“And who might you be?”

You turn around at the gravelly voice, locking eyes with a glazed pool of brown. The last of the group, the fourth member— and, by what you can piece together given the notorious long dark brown locks dusting his shoulders, Eddie Munson. You clear your throat, stepping forward and telling him your name. You extend a hand for him to shake and ignore how his gaze rolls over every inch of your body.

“I’m a writer for Rolling Stone Magazine,” you explain, retracting your hand when he only glances at the kind gesture. He stands before you, an uninterested smirk dancing against his lips. He’s dressed in black jeans and black leather boots that look worn to hell despite his bottomless pit of a wallet. A black sheer button-down top, fully open to expose his sweat-glistened chest, shiny chains hanging from his neck and kissing his collarbones. His ringed fingers are wrapped around the neck of a half-empty bottle of whiskey, tiny sticky streams of spilled alcohol coating the bottle.

“I’m here to interview your band.” You add. 

He laughs, spit-slick lips forming a mocking smile as he speaks, “My band?” 

You blink, “Yes, you’re all a band, right?” You motion to the boys, still chatting with the girls across from where you stand, ignoring the sight of one of the members groping a girl as she giggles. “Heavy metal band, Corroded Coffin?”

Eddie snickers, “Yeah, toots, we’re a band,” he lifts the bottle to his lips, speaking over the rim, “But this isn’t my band.” He tips the drink back and gulps down the bitter drink.

You watch as he takes it down without a single twitch of displeasure. You take a deep breath, shifting on your feet as you ignore his smart response, “Okay, well, it won’t be long,” you try to reason, reaching for your bag to dig out your notepad.

“Just a few questions; I won’t take much of your time—” Eddie cuts you off with a wave of his hand, “Listen, princess,” he presses his hand against the wall beside you, using the hand wrapped around the whiskey to gesture as he speaks. “While I’d love to sit and chitchat like a couple of teenage girls, we’ve got two issues here, sweetheart.”

“One,” he raises his index finger, “We don’t do interviews before shows.” He explains as if it’s common knowledge. He lifts another finger, “And two,” he steps closer, a sickening grin spreading across his lips when you step back. “We want nothing to do with your shitty dick-sucking career-crushing poor excuse of a magazine.”

You stare at him, a million different responses churning in your head, and you so badly want to read him to filth, but you really fucking love your job.

“Mr. Munson, I promise you—” “Where are you from?”

What is it with these assholes and cutting you off mid-sentence? 

You swallow your pride and answer, “Michigan.” Eddie hums, nodding his head, clicking his teeth as if tasting the state on his tongue. “I’ll tell you this, Michigan,” he bumps the bottle against your shoulder, and you grimace at the drop of liquor that seeps into your shirt. “We’re not doing your shitty piece of a story, but we’ll graciously give you a nice view of the show from the side stage.” He grins, patting your shoulder once and winking.

A staff member passes by you, alerting the band that they have less than a minute to be on stage. You open your mouth to object to his offer, but the boy is downing the rest of the bottle and shoving the bottle into your chest, “Enjoy the show, Michigan.” 

You watch in disbelief as he walks off with his band members, the other members not even glancing your way as they holler and cheer down the corridor of the venue. For the 80th time tonight, you clutch the band of your bag and curse to yourself.

Fuckin’ dipshit rockstars.

Against your better judgment, you, again, swallow your pride and watch the show from the side of the stage. You decline any drinks offers, wanting to stay as sober as possible for the interview after the show (if you can weasel one out of them). 

Corroded Coffin knows how to put on a show. Each band member works the crowd in ways you have rarely witnessed in this industry— it’s not difficult to see their appeal to the younger generation of music listeners.

None of the members outshine the other; they are all equally in the spotlight, playing their part to create a well-oiled machine of an act. Granted, most of the show is concerningly chaotic; Gareth kicked his foot into his drum set near the end, Jeff smashed the fret of his guitar over the side of an amp, Eddie made out with a fan and Gareth, and the other member you can’t seem to name for the life of you sprayed the front row with multiple bottles of liquor.

It’s chaotic, an endless list of violations without a doubt, but the fans eat it out of the palm of their hands.

You don’t even bother trying to get their attention when they run off the stage, quietly watching from afar as they’re cheered on by VIP fans, managers, and staff. Security rushes them to the green room, where a line of fans waits with various pieces of merchandise to be signed.

You follow, silently taking in the busy scene, saying nothing when you catch a few members stealthily swiping tiny bags of party favors from fans. It’s a movie of never-ending noise and movement, and you’re wondering how they put up with this every night.

You glance at your watch and grunt in annoyance, half past midnight, well past the time you’d hoped to be back in your hotel room.

You stand aside and watch the room as the squealing fans go to each boy, getting autographs and Polaroids to commemorate the moment. Gareth is a flirt, shakes every girl's hand and only lingers for the ones he fancies, gazes into their eyes like they’re the only girl in the room, and smirks when they giggle and lean into his touch. Tells them they’re pretty, compliments their dresses and tops, and gazes at their chest for too long until staff breaks the moment and tells the girls to ‘keep the line moving, ladies’. 

Jeff is almost the same, except he’s less performative with it. He’s got a hint of a gentleman in him, thanks each fan for coming, and asks how they liked the show with a sneaky glint in his eyes and a sly smirk. Winks at one of the girls and leans in to whisper something in her ear, something you can’t read from his lips, but later on, you will see them step onto the tour bus together, snickering like sneaky teenagers.

The bass player, the one whose name always slips your mind, has gone off somewhere with a groupie; you watched them slip away from the madness the second he stepped off stage. 

And Eddie— Eddie can’t stop glaring at you. Can’t stop looking at you and making you squirm because he wants you gone. He’s got an arm draped around a girl's shoulder, neck craned down to hear what she whispers, and through the chaos of the room and the pretty girl practically pawing at his chest and giggling in his ear, Eddie still manages to find the time to look at you. Curly bangs wet with sweat sticking to his forehead, cheeks rosy and flushed with adrenaline, wide eyes diminished beneath smudged black eyeliner. He looks like an animal, damp and matted, searing gaze dripping with malice. 

You almost take the bait and cower.

A hand is placed on your shoulder, breaking your silent staring contest with Eddie as a man steps into your view. He is taller than you, older with lines of age sinking into his skin, glaring down at you over the end of his cigarette as he speaks, “Rolling Stone Magazine?”

You wonder how he was able to pick you out, but your itchy jeans and suffocating boots quickly remind you that you don’t exactly fit into the crowd. You nod, sticking a hand out and telling him your name. “You must be Richie, the manager?” You assume, kindly smiling when he takes your hand with a friendly grip in greeting.

“I’m here to interview your boys. We called this morning,” you remind him. He nods, puffs out a cloud of smoke from the side of his mouth as he speaks, “Yeah, uh… The thing with that is,” he tilts his head to scratch at the stubble on his chin, “I’m not so sure the boys’ll be up for that.” 

You breathily laugh, glancing at the boys behind him, ignoring when Eddie glances your way, “Yeah, I gathered that already.”

The man hums, reaching up to pluck the burning paper from his lip, blowing the smoke away from your face before speaking, “Yeah, Eddie’s not too keen on big media. Bad run-in from the past.” He explains. You nod understandingly, “The Face?”

The man nods, taking another hit, “Tore ‘em to shreds.” You nod, crossing your arms over your chest with a breath, “I remember.” He offers you a hit, and you shake your head, kindly waving him off.

“Shitty, you came all this way, though. Where you from?”

You don’t look at him as you respond, too focused on the man across the room, his attention locked in on the fans now that he sees you’re being taken care of— like an unwanted intruder being exterminated. But you’re not an intruder. You’re a journalist, a writer, a listener— and you’re damn good at it. 

Before you can thoroughly think about the repercussions, your mouth is running, gaze still locked on Eddie, “I can get them on the cover.”

Richie pauses his rambling at that, pauses the lift of his cigarette to his lips, and looks at you, waiting for you to say it was a joke or something— but it’s not. Your gaze flitters to him, your expression unwavering as you wait for him to respond. “The cover?”

You nod once, watching as he takes one long drag of his cigarette. “We can do one big interview with them all,” you begin, “I’ll tag along for a few shows to gather more on the experience, get a photoshoot booked and have them on the cover for the July issue.” You’re pulling strings, tugging at what sounds enticing and will get you where you need to be. You’re good at your job, you’ve done this before, and you know how to bend things to your will because the rockstars— the rockstars are always easy to break.

Richie glances over his shoulder and grunts, rubbing a hand over his face before turning back to you, “Okay, um,” he sighs and curses under his breath, “Let me see if I can talk them into it, yeah?” He sticks the cigarette between his lips and starts searching his pockets. “We’ve got a residency tour in New York next,” he announces, finally fishing out his wallet and sifting through cards until he finds what he needs. He offers the card to you, “Think you can meet us there?”

You take the card and glance over it before glancing at the boy once again. You nod, and he smiles, “Give me a call when you land; I’ll let you know if it’s a go.”

He leaves without another word, and you stay standing for a bit, rubbing the card between your fingers as you watch the boys meet the last of their fans tonight, Eddie no longer looks your way, and you hope he does for just a split second so he can know— so he can realize that he lost.

You give up when he seems too preoccupied with the girls, stuffing the card in your purse and making your way toward the exit. You’ll have to settle for rubbing it in when you see them in New York.

You spent the better part of your week convincing Anna, your manager, to give you the benefit of the doubt and allow you to pull through with a cover story. Anna wasn’t so excited when you told her you offered them a cover, but Anna is never excited by your ideas; she’s always worried until the final product comes out like a fine piece of gold. Treasure. You create treasure, and Anna knows this, so she finally relents and lets you go through with it— “You better get me the biggest story ever made. Bigger than Madonna.”

You can do bigger than Madonna— and seeing as your subject is four young men at the peak of worldwide fame, ‘bigger than Madonna’ will be a piece of cake.

You grab the hotel phone the second you get in, dialing the number on the creased business card you’d fished out from your bag. Your knee bounces in anticipation, teeth digging into your lip as you listen to each agonizing ring, almost thinking Richie gave you a fake card before finally, the phone picks up, “Hello?” It’s groggy, like he’d just woke up.

“Hi, it’s Rolling Stone Magazine,”

He groans on the other end, and you can hear the rustling of sheets, and you assume he’s sitting up in bed, “Rolling Stone Magazine… Oh— oh, uh… are you here?” He asks. You nod before answering with a short yes. 

“Are we on for today?” You ask. He’s silent for a few moments, nothing but sleepy, distant grunts filtering through the speaker. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, we’re on just uh,” you pick at the seam of your jeans as you wait for him to finish his thought, “Come to the garden at around three; they’ve got rehearsals, and you can try to squeeze in after.”

You thank him and end the call, placing the phone back on the stand and sighing as you glance around the room. This will be your home for the next month; Anna advised you to stay for the entire residency tour despite your reassurance that you can complete the story in a week— “A big story, birdie. A massive one. A good one. That doesn’t happen in a week.”

So, one month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie doesn’t like rehearsals. 

He thinks they’re stupid and useless and take up too much time of the day when he could spend it doing something else. Could be writing, could be out having fun with the boys and getting high as a kite, could be fucking that redheaded groupie, Lany. He could be doing so many things, but instead, he’s up on stage in an empty arena listening for feedback in the mic and testing the amps for the guitars. 

“Let’s do that last track one more time; I think I’m picking up a bit of feedback on you, Gareth.”

Eddie sits down on the edge of the drum riser, sticking a cigarette between his lips and lighting it up. He tilts his head back and blows up toward the beaming lights, squinting at the bright rays and imagining them enveloping him. He closes his eyes and imagines it’s the sun, thinking about Hawkins and the last summers he spent with the gang. Thinks about Dustin and Lucas and Max and Mike. Steve, Nance, and Robin. Thinks about how he hasn’t called or visited in a while, even though he got their card on his birthday.

He feels shitty for not calling home; he itches to make the call now and let them know that he misses them and wishes they could fly out more often to watch the band play. They’re all busy, though; the kids are about to start college— dusted the shit out of high school, which Eddie obviously flew in to watch them walk the stage— and the older half of them are all getting jobs, looking for their next big step in life, and Eddie misses them.

His reminiscent thoughts are cut through with the sharp and loud slamming of the arena door, grasping his attention in seconds. He blinks a few times to get the light out of his eyes, squinting at where the noise came from— and Eddie’s mind is fresh off a joint, so he’s not a hundred percent sure if he’s just envisioning that journalist from the other day or she’s actually here.

He stands up from the drum riser, stepping further into the stage as he watches you walk down the rows of seats; barely acknowledges the stage manager when he asks him to play the riff from track four until Jeff walks into his line of sight, “Come on, man, I wanna get this over with.”

Eddie situates his fingers over the frets of his guitar, watching as you find a seat in the third row and settle in, settling your bag in your lap and holding it to you as you silently watch the crew work the stage. He plays the riff a few times, until they can fix that god-awful ringing noise behind the higher notes, and when they finally wrap up rehearsals, Eddie makes a beeline to the front row where Richie is standing, quietly chatting with a staff member about where he wants the road cases to go. Eddie doesn’t care much for their conversation, steps in, and promptly interrupts, “Why the fuck is that journalist here?”

Richard turns to him and raises his eyebrows, “Sir?”

The staff member leaves as Eddie leans in and points over Richard's shoulder to where you sit, still quietly watching the stage, bright lights illuminating your face like you’re some god-sent fucking angel— and you’re not. Eddie knows you’re not. He sees straight through your friendly act. “The journalist, Richie. Why is she here?” He slowly repeats.

Richie glances at you and looks back at Eddie, “She’s doing a story on the band—” “No, she’s fucking not.”

Richie stares at Eddie, blinks for a silent moment before speaking, “Son,” —and sometimes Richie reminds Eddie of Wayne, and it scares him, “She’s gonna put you on the cover of Rolling Stone Magazine.” Richie points your way. Eddie falters momentarily, mindlessly blinking and shaking his head, “Cover?”

Richie laughs and pats Eddie on the shoulder, “Yeah. The fucking cover,” he says, “so, whether you like it or not, you’re doing the interview. This is what the band needs.”

Eddie shakes his head, curly strands brushing the muscles of his shoulders, “We don’t need a goddamn cover, Richie. We’re not doing a fucking story—” “Yes, you are.” Richie doesn’t mean to make his voice boom through the arena, but it attracts attention either way, and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose before clapping a hand onto the back of Eddie’s shoulder, turning both away from the stage.

“You’re putting out an album in a few months. You want it to sell, don’t you?”

Eddie clenches his jaw, teeth grinding against each other as he glances over his shoulder, annoyed when he catches you watching— almost smirks when you quickly look away as if you’d been caught red-handed. Despite Eddie’s strong will, he nods because fucking obviously he wants the album to sell— but at what cost?

Richie nods and squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, “Good. Then you’ll do the interview. She’ll be with us for all of New York, so play nice. We need a good piece.” and leaves Eddie with a pat on his shoulder. 

Eddie stands there for a moment, gathering himself and trying to cope with the fact that some fucking narc will be on their back for the next month. He doesn’t see or hear you walk up to him until you say his name. The barricade separates you, your fingers gripping the black railing as you stand before him. Eddie’s hands are on his hips, not moving an inch as he looks at you.

“I know you don’t want me here, but I… I’m just doing my job, and if you can cooperate, this will be easier for the both of us.”

And Eddie— god, Eddie can’t fucking believe the audacity.

“Did you fuck Richie?”

He watches you pull back, blinking at him as you stare silently. Eddie tilts his head, eyebrows raising to push the answer from you, “No, I didn’t—” You shake your head and blink hard in confusion, “Why would I—” “Because you want a good story.” Eddie snaps, “Right?”

Because that’s all anybody ever wants from him. A good story. A tale to tell their friends about. Tell them the secrets they pulled from Eddie Munson, tell them about the famous rockstar that fucked them backstage, tell them they know what makes him crack. A good story.

You gape at him, lost and shocked by the sudden confrontation. 

You straighten up and tilt your head, eyes growing harsh with anger as you respond, “No. I didn’t fuck Richie. I don’t fuck to get where I want, I pull strings, and I make it work,” you snap, “I treat people with the respect they deserve, and I get what I want. You could learn a few things from that.”

And with that, you’re gone. Leaving Eddie behind with a twisted face of annoyance. He watches you walk over to where Richie is and greet him, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to watch or tune in to the conversation, storming through the arena and grabbing his coat to get in the car and tell the driver to take him to his hotel.

One month. Twelve shows and thirty days. One month.

Eddie can play along, he thinks. How hard can it be?

————

part two

[mataritopalestine]

Hello dear friends

🛑 STOP SCROLLING PLEASE 🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

I am Mohammad Matar, a civil engineer. I graduated in 2015. I am a father of two children, Imad, 3 years old. Rima, 6 months We lived a comfortable life and I owned a car . I used to live in an apartment in Khan Yunis, then I moved to an apartment in Gaza City.

I own a company that works in the field of contracting and selling building materials with five employees, and engineering equipment, a trailer, a forklift, and rams. My life was like paradise.

Suddenly, on October 7, everything turned like a dream. I woke up to the sound of missiles and explosions. My wife was pregnant with my little girl. I tried and escaped from my apartment in Gaza City and headed to the safe areas, which I do not know where they are. The sound of death and destruction is everywhere.

what can i do !! I was displaced south to the central city

He stayed there for two months, then came the second exodus to the city of Rafah, then the third exodus to the city of Nuseirat, then the fourth exodus to the city of Deir al-Balah, and one exodus after it. Our life is like hell. We do not have the energy to absorb this amount of pressure.

In February 2024, my wife was about to give birth. I could not provide clothes for my newborn daughter, nor milk, nor gum, due to the brutal war and the scarcity of financial resources. Just writing and thinking about this thing makes my condition worse than tragedy.

I learned the English language and am currently studying the Spanish language and obtained a degree in water engineering. I dreamed of developing myself and my company, but everything went to waste. I did not imagine that one day what happened would happen and I lived in a tent next to the house and became jobless after I was the owner of a company.

My dear brothers and sisters, I did not accept one day to receive charity, but I had everything and I lost everything. Your support for me, even if it is a little, will change my life and the lives of my children so that I can provide them with milk, pampers, and safety, rebuild my home, and restore my life for the better.

I put my family first in everything. My children are the most precious thing. I have this life. I hope they live a more beautiful and better reality

Your support for me will strength my resilience and will keep me holding up . Thank you from the bottom of my heart

The land of peace has never seen peace.🕊️🔥🍉✌️

🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[dancingtotuyo]

All Farms…

Javier Peña

Summary: Javier has to decide what to do with the ranch

Warnings/Tags: grief, loss, hurt (no comfort?), ranch/farm used interchangeably here.

Notes: I started this on Christmas after walking my grandparents farm which happens to be the same farm I lived on for the first 7 years of my life. My grandparents are getting older which has sparked a lot of conversation with what will happen to the farm when they're gone. Fast forward to now, I'm currently processing a lot of feelings this Easter weekend. I lost my step dad last year. He was a farmer too. After his cancer diagnosis, all of us kids (there are ALOT of us) came home for Easter. It was the last time I saw him look like himself and the last time we were all together before he died. In my processing, I started working on this piece again. It's one of those things I need to put out into the world for me. I hope for anyone else going through something similar, it brings you comfort or makes you feel not quite so alone.

Peep the cow picture. I took that one myself at Christmas :)

Words: 966

Author Master List

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. Typically along a ridge or tree line, piled-up equipment that was never sold or broken beyond repair sits in overgrown piles and sunken earth. The old family car. The beat-up sports car or pickup truck each son or sometimes daughter inevitably thought they could fix only to spend hundreds of fruitless hours with one glory ride before it went haywire. Scrap metal torn from barn roofs pile up. Every tire imaginable is half buried in the earth. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. The moment you do, you’ll find use or need for the items thrown out. 

The Peńa’s graveyard sits between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill. Javier rarely makes his way to that side of the farm. They don’t use that space for cattle since his dad downsized the herd. He pretends there’s no reason for it, but it’s more than just broken down cars and scrap piles to Javier. It’s a ghost town of memories. 

There’s his mom’s ‘62 Ford. The one she drove his whole childhood. The vehicle that took them across town, to Sunday services, and hosted their many road trips. It’s where his Mom feels most tangible, her soft voice playing in his head singing to the radio. 

His first truck. The one he’d spent months fixing up, he kissed Sally Jones on a Saturday night and done much more with Vanessa Reyes. He’s proposed to Lorraine in that truck, driven past the church in it too. 

Chucho’s first American Harvester sits further back. His dad is so proud of that machine… or he was. 

The ache grows in Javier’s chest as he stands at the edge of the graveyard. He begged Chucho for years to clean this up. His dad always waved him off, stating that he would get to it someday. Except, Chucho didn’t make it to someday, and now it is Javier’s responsibility.  

His fingers twitch, desperate for the feel of a cigarette between them. Nicorette gum sits in his breast pocket instead. He’s working to quit again, picking the worst damn time to do it, but that’s life. 

He should probably bring the tractor down to pull everything out. It’s overwhelming with no good place to start. Digging around down there will only dig up the memories. Javier can’t deal with the memories right now, so he leaves the project for another day. He only needs to clean it up if he decides to sell the ranch. 

The house is quiet when he walks through the door. Javier is used to the subtle sounds of life- the coffee pot going, the tv running on low, Chucho’s boots on the linoleum, but it never comes. It won’t ever come again. 

Javier kicks off his boots, lining them right next to his dad’s. He hasn’t moved them. He’s not sure he will. 

He heads for the back of the house toward his room but stops at his Dad’s door. It’s shut tight as he places a hand on the wood. Javier hasn’t gone in there since picking out clothes. It’s a strange thing to pick out clothes for a dead man. How does one pick out what someone will wear for the rest of eternity? 

His hand lands on the knob, and it gives way with a squeak. The same squeak that used to echo down the hall, waking Javier up before the sun to let him know it was time for chores. Javier is flooded with the comforting scent of his father. It envelopes him, pulling tears into his eyes immediately. The bed is fixed just as Chucho had left it before he went out and started the chores just as he always did. Except that day, almost a month ago now, Chucho Peña didn’t return to the house. 

He collapsed in the field. He was already gone when Javier found him. He died alone and that hurt almost as much as the fact that he was gone. 

A thin layer of dust covers the surfaces in the room. He should clean it, but would it lose its smell then? In here, Javier feels surrounded by his father. The closest he can get to him. His room, the one he shared with Javier’s mother, is perfectly preserved. 

Javier dares to ease onto the bed and look at the world from Chucho’s perspective every day as he woke up. On the dresser, there’s a photo of his parents when they first started dating, and one from Javier’s high school graduation. On the bedside table, there’s a book with a bookmark halfway through, a picture from his parent’s wedding day, and another of Chucho on the tractor with Javier in his lap. He couldn’t have been older than two at the time. Javier traces it with his finger, wishes he could remember that moment, wishes he could go back in time and relive it all, even the bad days, and treasure it all, ask his dad more questions, called him more often.

Javier lays down on his parents' bed. Chucho’s scent is thicker here with Javier’s head on his pillow. Big, hot tears fall from the corners of his eyes dampening the pillow. He rests his hands over his chest, letting his eyes close. Javier can hear his voice now, his laughter, catches a hint of his mother’s as well. It’s Javier’s job to carry on their legacy.

All farms have a graveyard. One of lost memories and stories. No farmer dares to clean out the graveyard. When a tractor kicks the dust or that farm use pickup can only be stripped for parts, Javier follows in his father’s footsteps. He lays them to rest between scattered trees at the bottom of the hill.

[lulu2992]

Uncovering the unreleased Far Cry 5 in-game Encyclopedia

The almost complete but unused in-game encyclopedia, reconstructed thanks to the oasisstrings file.

Please note that it’s still cut content, so some information might not be relevant anymore.

You can read the oasisstrings file here. Pictures from this encyclopedia were also extracted and posted by @xbaebsae here.

Part 2: Locations - Holland Valley

Gardenview Packing Facility

The last facility added to the Hadlers' apple empire. They shipped their apples throughout Hope County and beyond. When the cult went red state, the Hadlers stopped their legal threats and resorted to violence.

Silver Lake Trailer Park

A community of people just trying to do their best.

Gardenview Orchards

A part of Doug and Debbie Hadler’s apple empire. After their ciderworks facility, they expanded to a second, larger orchard: Gardenview Orchards. Then they opened the Gardenview Packing Facility.

Rae-Rae's Pumpkin Farm

Fiery matriarch Rae-Rae Bouthillier cares about two things: Prize-winning pumpkins and her dog Boomer.

Gardenview Ciderworks

The first major facility owned by Doug and Debbie Hadler. Ten years ago, they had a dream: an empire made of apples. They nearly achieved it too, until the cult forcibly took over everything they had worked for.

Bridge of Tears

It was called the Mišihrew Bridge when the railroad was still active. It’s now a rickety old train bridge and John Seed's ideal location to send a warning message to all sinners.

Frobisher's Cave

In 1970, a cougar, named "Frobisher" by the locals, killed the star pitcher of a rival baseball team. The Hope County Silver Foxes won that year and changed their name to the Cougars in Frobisher's honor.

Howard Cabin

Home of Niesha Howard, an extreme rock climber from Canada who moved to Montana to be a prepper.

Copperhead Rail Yard

Copperhead Rail was created in the late 1800s by Emmet Reaves. It was shut down in the early 70s and a lot got left behind. It became a place for kids to get drunk or bums to find shelter, then the cult bought it.

Lincoln Lookout Tower

It’s the last working fire tower in the county. A man who worked here promised to help the Strickland family fight off the cult if ever their farm was under attack.

Sergey’s Place

A hobo historian calls this place home. Nobody's seen him in a while though.

Boyd Residence

Will Boyd lives here, or at least he did. No one in the valley talks about him. And for good reason.

Strickland Farm

Property owned by the Strickland family of farmers. No friends to Eden’s Gate.

U.S. Auto

A scrap yard containing trashed cars, broken farm equipment, and even a few busted planes. Eden's Gate uses the garage to build and maintain their convoys.

Doverspike Compound

Les Doverspike was a militia nut and he built himself a bunker. Nobody in the prepper community liked him. Despite that, he was anti-cult and pro-Resistance.

Harris Residence

Mike and Deb Harris were preppers with a cunning plan to keep themselves fed after the end of the world.

Reservoir Construction Yard

Deep North Water wanted to build a new reservoir for the Holland Valley. The company ran out of funding and was chased away by Eden’s Gate.

Dodd’s Dumps

Colin Dodd used to run garbage disposal for the whole Holland Valley, and his business lot shows it. The cult intimidated him into leaving but has yet to sort through all he left behind.

Davenport Farm

The remains of a run-down farm. Local farmers let their cows graze here. Can't let good land go to waste.

Hilgard Electric Power Station

The Holland Valley's power supply is reliant on this transformer station which is controlled by Eden's Gate.

Golden Valley Gas

Once the kind of gas station that gave out free bubble gum to kids, Golden Valley is now a strategic point of gasoline and auto maintenance for the Project at Eden's Gate.

Green-Busch Fertilizer Co.

Facing a decline in business, the Green-Busch family said “yes” and sold the place to John Seed on the condition that locals could keep their jobs and work alongside Eden's Gate.

St. Isidore School

Once a religious boarding school, it was forced to close its doors by Eden's Gate.

Dodd Residence

Home of Colin Dodd, hoarder and DIY enthusiast. He never throws anything out. His granddaughter Nadine's been known to lurk here.

Roberts Cabin

Home of Joe Roberts, a hunter. He's gone missing. He loved hunting deer above all else.

Hope County Clinic

Dr. Kim Patterson provides medical services to Hope County's farmers and low-income residents, many of whom would never receive care in such a remote area.

Holland Valley Station

In the days that it was up and running, Copperhead Rail used to stop here. Eden’s Gate uses this station to catch people who try to escape the region.

Grain Elevator

As the farmlands started to collapse, the grain elevator was the first casualty. Too expensive to maintain.

Henbane River Rail Bridge

Copperhead Rail was created in the 1880s during a mining boom, and shut down in the early 70s after the industry collapsed.

Flatiron Stockyards

Bobby Budell established the stock yards in 1946, and has proudly provided farm and ranch auction services since. The economic and community base employed over 25 people at its height.

Fillmore Residence

Home of Doug Fillmore. Not much is known about him.

Dupree Residence

Home of Tommy Dupree, an idiot who used to work at Green-Busch Fertilizer Co. He got fired by Eden's Gate because he was as dumb as the crap he bagged.

Catamount Mines

Fall’s End owes its existence to the gold Orville Fall discovered here in 1865. The mine brought a generation of prosperity to the region until a suspicious accident entombed 100 men within it, forcing its closure in 1912.

Sunrise Farm

Sunrise Farm was going under, so owners Mike and Chandra Dunagan reluctantly sold it to Eden's Gate. Big mistake.

Deep North Irrigation Reservoir

Originally designed to irrigate farms, the reservoir became a liability when the cult began putting Bliss in the water supply. The Resistance sealed it up to buy themselves time.

Red’s Farm Supply

The Redler family has run this place for 4 generations, and earned a reputation for honest business. Wendell did his best to keep it out of cult hands.

Purpletop Telecom Tower

In the 1950s, Purpletop Telecom built this tower, blessing people with the wonders of AM radio. As time and technology marched forward, they were also given the American splendor of a local TV station.

Woodson Pig Farm

This place has been in the Woodson family since 1943. Current owners Andrew and Frances Woodson used their wealth to try to stand up to John Seed and fight him in court. They lost, and joined the Resistance.

Sawyer Residence

Don Sawyer came from out of town to join the Project at Eden's Gate. He restores canoes, but isn't very good at it. Visitors have sworn they've heard him swearing in Russian over those boats.

Hyde Barn

Kenny Hyde's a poor man in Holland Valley, but that doesn't stop him from loving deep fried balls. He's the proud keeper of Fall’s End Testy Festy decorations, stashing them at his barn until they're needed.

Kupka Ranch

Zip Kupka's the only one who really knows what's going on in the Holland Valley.

John’s Gate

A missile silo long decommissioned and abandoned. The locals used to call it "Area 68." Eden's Gate bought it in secret and turned it into a bunker that is in John Seed's safekeeping until the Collapse.

Security Gate

Formerly the entrance to the missile silo, it's now the gateway to John Seed's bunker. Everything taken in the Reaping passes through this checkpoint.

Steele Farm

The Steele family managed to get their kids out of Hope County, but stayed behind to try and defend their home from Eden's Gate.

Lamb of God Church

A Lutheran church. Its elderly priest was overshadowed by Pastor Jerome’s charismatic sermons. John once asked the priest to say “yes.” Not a chance. Then, the priest was gone. He had taken a “long vacation.”

Lamb of God Sacristy

The Project at Eden's Gate has turned the Lamb of God Church's sacristy into a holding place for everything they need to baptize people at the water's edge.

Armstrong Residence

The Project at Eden's Gate targeted the Armstrong family early, burning their home to the ground when Grace Armstrong refused to devote her sharpshooting skills to the Father's cause.

Bradbury Tractor Shed

A shed for tractors.

Hope County Jail Bus

Prisoners hijacked this bus but were run off the road. The wreck was left to rot in the woods. When Eden's Gate brought prohibition to Hope County, some enterprising moonshiners set up shop behind the cult’s back.

Parker Laboratories

Home and workshop of Dr. Laurence Parker, and the origin of many mysterious noise complaints.

Seed Ranch

The power of yes gave John Seed this dream ranch overlooking the Holland Valley. it has commanding views, a private air strip, and secluded soundproofed rooms for his most invigorating religious pursuits.

Bradbury Farm

The home of the Bradbury family, hay farmers for generations. The strange pattern of dead hay in the field does not impact the quality of the final product. That's the Bradbury guarantee.

Bradbury Hay Field

Bradbury Farm's hay is baled and stored here before being sold to clients looking to feed their livestock with quality hay.

Laurel Residence

Laurel family honey was a local market favorite until their bee colony collapsed and jeopardized the business. It also spooked the Laurels who sunk money into a bunker and became preppers overnight.

Eden’s Gate Greenhouse

Bliss plants are found throughout the Henbane River, but they're also found here. John Seed takes the flowers he receives by boat from the east and plants them in his greenhouse.

Seed Boat Launch

Once a favorite spot for summer frolickers, this boat launch is used by John Seed for receiving shipments of Bliss and other supplies from elsewhere in Hope County.

Rye & Sons Aviation

This plot of land was first settled in 1920 by Willard Rye. He started a crop dusting business. His sons inherited both and it now belongs to the current generation of Ryes: Nick & Kim.

Kellett Cattle Co.

The Kellett family supplied beef for 3 generations. These proud Republicans thought they recognized the American spirit in Eden’s Gate, but when John Seed asked them to serve the Project, they said “no.”

Fall’s End

After prospector Orville Fall struck gold, his small mining camp quickly grew. Decades later, his rival, rail baron Emmett Reaves, shot him dead in the streets, giving the town its official name.

Old Silo

Welcome to the middle of it.

Kay-Nine Kennels

The owner, Kay Wheeler, loved her dogs more than life itself. She bred and trained hunting and guard dogs. When Eden’s Gate showed up, the local demand for guard dogs tripled. John Seed noticed and took action.

Sunrise Threshing

A silo and shed complex attached to Sunrise Farm. Rumor has it that Mike Dunagan's stashed a lot of cool shit around here somewhere.

Redler Residence

Home of Wendell Redler, local businessman and Vietnam veteran.

Adams Ranch

Jules Adams lost her husband in an "accident" after saying no to John Seed. Her family's struggled to keep the cattle ranch out of cult hands ever since.

Miller Residence

Despite financial hardship, the Miller family refused the cult’s invitations, prepping for doomsday all on their own. When the reaping came, Jerry Miller was out working.

Wellington Residence

The Wellington family mine is an urban legend, supposedly stuffed with gold, explosives, or both depending who you ask. Generations of Wellingtons (possibly inbred) have tried and failed to strike it rich here.

[nylwnder]

three years and counting

a/n: hiii sweets!! i'm sorry for making such a delay in the last half of this series, with the playoffs and the offseason’s shenanigans, i haven't been able to find a proper writing groove so bare with me. i hope you guys enjoy this part! i tried to lean on the fluffier/cutesy side for balance and also since i love me some soft mo! kisses xx

pairing: morgan rielly x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT, dry humping, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, use of lingerie, fluffy in the beginning, “food fight”, honestly just some cute soft sex w mo

word count: 2.6k

taglist: @shoot-the-puck, @11livpangburn, @eastoncowan, @boqvistsbabe, @sweetiet, @p1tstop, @occasionallyaurora, @laurenairay, @fallinallincurls, @andrea9, @biznastysloneshift12

series masterpost

the city sprinkled with snow, the last bits before winter’s goodbye. the steam from the kitchen fogging up the windows and the apartment smelling of pesto and pasta. the warm lighting only makes the atmosphere even more cosy and pleasant.

you head over to the window to look down. the food is almost done and morgan should be due any minute now. before you head to your bedroom you instinctively draw hearts against the fog with your finger on the glass with a smile.

it was your three year anniversary a couple of days ago, but since morgan was on a road trip for a week, you could only spend the day chatting on facetime waiting till he took the plane back to toronto.

luckily he won that night, and you were beaming just like you were earlier in the afternoon when you received the most beautiful lace dress in the mail with a bouquet of flowers. but little does morgan know you also have a gift for him when he gets home.

standing in front of the mirror, you fixed the dress before making sure your makeup didn’t smudge while you were cooking the last part of the pasta. then the lock clicked and the door followed open, you smiled.

“im home, honey”

you walked out of the bedroom, “welcome back soldier” you joked, even though you must admit the past week felt like years for you.

morgan’s eyes lit up, his hand dropping his equipment bag and welcoming your figure in his arms. you wrapped your own arms around him, sinking in the smell of his sweet cologne, mint from his gum and coffee. your body eased.

“you're so beautiful,” he says, as you step back enough for him to appreciate how you look. his hands are stuck on your hips as you smile. “thank you! i love it so much, morgan.”

he smiles in response, kissing you softly before you bring him into the dining area. he hums at the smell of dinner. “since we couldn't be together on our anniversary, i figured we can have our special dinner together, tonight. i cooked our favourite!”

you grab two plates from the cabinet and set them down on the table, “and i didnt want to drag you out to eat since you've been on the road for so long.” you mention.

“all that matters is that i spend it with you.” morgan says, reaching you for another hug.

“i'll serve while you clean yourself up if you want, but keep the suit on!” you say as morgan nodded.

he would have done whatever you wanted. whether it was a dinner out despite the fact his body felt a bit achy and tired, or stay at home like the two of you will do. even if he's dressed in his suit, the way you look in that dress makes it so worth it. he feels all the more better with each passing gaze at you.

you serve the pasta carefully, trying to have a little masterchef moment with the way you decorated and cleaned the plate. making sure to sprinkle cheese on the top, a bit more on morgan’s just like he always likes.

you both sit down at the table and begin eating, you can't help but giggle at how much your boyfriend enjoys the meal. he returns the giggle, shyly apologising. “no, i'm happy you like it. that is the point, mo.” you respond with a smile.

after talking about the team’s road trip shenanigans and the own shenanigans you had to deal with this week, amongst other things, you finished the meal before you two knew it. morgan helped place the plates in the sink with the other pots and pans.

you reach to grab small bowls from the cabinets once again in order to serve the dessert you half made, half store-bought. you felt his breath hover over your neck by the sink, kissing you ever so softly below your jaw. your hands seeked him, for his own hands to wrap around your waist and your body.

they did, one arm holding your body closer to his. though, mo’s intrusive thoughts led his free hand to reach for the icing you had freshly whipped up earlier. he dabbed his finger into the container, making sure to catch your nose with his iced finger when you slightly turned back towards his direction.

“morgan!” you playfully shouted, turning around to show your dismay. your boyfriend laughed as he took another scoop with his finger to his mouth. “its really good though.” he mentions, licking his fingers clean.

you repeat the same lighthearted play, making sure to get two lines on his cheeks and on top of his nose. he let you, in all fairness, get your own move back. but just as he was going to go back in the icing you duck and move behind him. squealing and laughing as he chases you around the island and dining table.

you quickly grab the chocolate sauce bottle and threaten to use it against him as you stand on opposite ends of the counter.

“i really want to use it so do not tempt me.”

“i dare you.” he says with a smile. you share one back to him, knowing you could easily get him covered in the—although delicious—sticky substance. he could easily buy another suit. but then you’d feel bad, so you opt away from the fun idea.

“no! im a better person than that.” you mention, moving towards the counter and setting the so-called weapon down.

morgan scoffs, and you shoot him a look. “i mean it! i respect the quality of your suit, it would be offensive to your suit dealer-person-man. and i don't want it spilling on my dress either.”

the man laughs in front of you and appears to agree with you, licking the frosting off his fingers once again. you subtly stare at his action before originally planning to move back to finish what you were doing.

or so you thought. but morgan’s figure still made his way back to yours, body close. his hand parting your hair, his head fit in the crook of your neck before his hands moved down. lingering in the places you love the most. your lips ached for a kiss, and morgan felt the same.

“morgan” you whisper, he hums in response.

“what do you want, love?” he asks gently, his voice low.

you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your lips connect with his own. the kiss was a little more needy than usual, as you give him a small pout when he breaks it.

“i missed you so much ” he sighed on your lips.

“i missed you too” you whispered back. your fingers needingly gripping the nape of his neck.

after being together for three years you were used to the long road trips, or rather you forced yourself to get used to them. but oftentimes it felt lonely and you missed morgan. you missed his voice and his smile, his laugh and his jokes, his arms and chest and his carefully calculated and perfectly executed touch and butterfly-inducing kisses and his love that he would share with you selflessly and endlessly.

is it such a bad thing you love your boyfriend so fucking much that being apart for five days and four nights feels so cruel?

morgan seemed to share the same sentiment as he carried your figure to the bedroom with ease. you stood in front of him, your newly gifted dress threatening to fall down as his hand unzipped the back. mo made his way down to his knees, his eyes looking at yours. he tugged at the hem and the material slipped off your body. he carefully threw it to the side, falling on the dresser.

he looked up to admire you in full glory, his eyes guided by your every curve. the smile on his face made you realise you picked the right lingerie set from the store.

his hands went up your stockings, softly tugging at your little garters around your thighs before moving upward and letting his fingers graze the thin and delicate material covering your core. his hands then moved to lightly squeeze the sides of your breast, the lace and mesh still allowing your nipples to appear through the fabric. mo licked his lips.

“my god, you’re heavenly.” morgan says, looking back up at your eyes, moving to plant a kiss at your core. it was delicate and gentle but his nose bumped perfectly into your clothed cunt and you couldn't hold back the small whimper from your lips. or the blush peeking through your cheeks.

you tugged him by the hair, a signal you want him back up to his feet. he obliged, moving to kiss your cheek before trailing down to kiss on the crook of your neck. his tongue drew a trail down your neck to your collarbone, sucking on a sensitive spot. you bite your lip as you place one of your hands onto his chest while the other trailed up to his hair.

the ice cream long abandoned on the counter now—melting.

morgan turns the two of you around, allowing him to sit on the bed as you follow him, straddling his lap. your hands push off his suit jacket, throwing it wherever the dress ended up on. your lips then connect with his, kissing and kissing and kissing.

it didn't take long to feel a bulge grow in mo’s lap, and instinctively you grind down on it earning a deep moan from your boyfriend. his lips moved to nip at the tops of your breasts while his big hands began kneading your ass.

your fingers swiftly undo his dress pants tugging down at them, morgan assisting in the process. you needingly palmed him through his boxers before kissing his neck in return.

“oh fuck,” he softly curses, the end of the word high pitch and breathy.

you yank down his boxers, freeing his needy cock. god did you miss it. you carry on grinding your clothed cunt against him, feeling him swell more and more. his breathing slowly quickened and he tried to hide it, trying to muffle it against the hot skin of your neck but it’s no use. you loved it. you wanted to hear it.

his fingers moved in between your thighs, cuping your pussy and feeling your growing eagerness through the thin material of your panties. he pushes the undergarment aside, letting his thick digits slide in with ease. you moan, moving to kiss his lips as he slowly pumps in and out, trying to find that sensitive spot inside of you.

the wet sounds from your cunt were driving you mad, making you unceasingly whine as morgan kept up his assault. without any warning he hit it, his long fingers pressing hard on that perfect part inside of you. you bite down on his neck before soothing it with your tongue, feeling a bit guilty.

mo didnt mind picking up a few love marks after a homecoming like this. it just goes to show that he did his work right.

your fingers held a good grip on his curls, feeling a delicious wash of euphoria forthcoming. just as your hips buck, morgan stops his actions altogether. you protested with a needy whine.

“s’alright” morgan coos as he lifts your body up, parting your underwear again in order to slip himself in.

“god,” you gasp, clenching as the head of his cock pushes into your pussy. the side of his face comes into view, and he moves to kiss the underside of your jaw. you sit down, taking him all in.

a shiver is sent down your spine. morgan keeps his lips connected to your neck as you pulse and clench around him, rocking your hips. it doesn’t take much longer before that same creeping feeling appears in your body again, and before you know it mo is holding you close as you cry out in pleasure.

your breathing heavy, you can feel morgan’s smile on your cheek soothing you. “that’s my beautiful girl. s’good”

you can’t help but smile in return, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck, your hands folding up to play with his hair. his cock still hugged by your warm wet walls.

his mouth moves to kiss along your clavicle while his fingers unhook your bra, forcing your tits to spill out. gently taking it off and placing it somewhere on the floor, his hands ghosted over your sides, finding their way to your breasts. your back arched, pushing your breasts further into his hands.

“god i love you” you softly cry, feeling yourself clench around his length again.

“i love you more, angel.” morgan voices against your lips. his hands move down to your hips as he takes you both to lay down on the bed. you feel the emptiness as he accidentally slips out of you due to his movements.

he lays to his side, making you mimic his actions. his arm drapes over your body and pulls you close to him. your perked up nipples rubbing against his chest hair—a hum escaping your lips. you drape your leg over his own, as morgan leans in for a kiss. his hand guiding his thick length back into your entrance and slowly pushing himself in.

a low grunt escaped his throat, and your lips were quick to envelop his again. he began to thrust into you, his hand rubbing up your thigh and squeezing your ass. morgan kept his motions slow at the beginning and steadily began to pick up the pace as his own eagerness kicked in. making sure your leg was hooked nicely around his torso in order to guarantee hearing your sweet moans in his ear.

his cock is perfectly hitting the bundle of nerves inside of you. mo presses his forehead to yours as you clench around him, making him moan in sync with you. "fuck i missed your pussy so much" morgan whimpers as you feel his cock pulse inside of you.

“she’s all yours. three years and counting” you whine back to him. your fingers finding their home in between the strands of his hair.

he grunts in return. holding your body in place as the lewd sounds of your act begin to echo further throughout the apartment.

“s’close” you moan.

“i got you, honey” he replies, “think you can ride it out, baby?”

you nod, pushing morgan’s body in order to straddle his lap again. you are quick to begin swaying your hips, aiming to hit every possible angle to drive you to the edge.

“yeah just like that” morgan says with a smile, admiring the way your boobs move with your actions.

not far after, the tremble in your legs begins to travel all over your body. your eyes shutting as your mouth sits agape, pleasure consuming you. morgan sits up, sharing the same noises as you as his grip on your hips helps keep you grounded.

once the high wanes, morgan holds you tight as your body goes limp in his embrace. you’d die here if you could, in his arms wrapped around you, in the comfort of his kisses and his voice in your ear telling you how much he loves you. you can't help but smile and feel ever grateful.

“definitely makes up for the agonisingly long road trip.” you mutter as your body relaxes into his warmth.

“its our three year anniversary, honey. i’m not done with you” morgan says back, a smirk appearing on his face as his finger pulls on your stockings, letting them snap back onto your skin once he lets go. “need some more time with you,”

he kisses your nose, his mouth still capable of tasting the icing that was once smudged at the tip of it. “sweet girl.” he mutters.

[ enjoyed reading? join my taglist! : click here <3 ]

[southparkhcsocs]

I NEED ANGST

Stans gang + butters with an S/O whose like severely injured and in the hospital?

I fucking love angst but I don't know if I did this justice! Sorry I didn't do butters I just don't know how to write him with in anything that isn't fluff!!

Accident

Stan Marsh

He was at home when he got the call. Just playing on his xbox, lounging on the couch. Then his phone rings, "Bebe?" Weird. Why would she be calling

"hello?"

"Stan, oh my god.. we- I'm so sorry! Y/N! They were in an accident!" Bebe voice was breaking with panic and sobs.

Stan sat up, leaning on his knees. "...what?"

"they're in hospital, Stan. I'm so sorry!"

Stans body went cold. "A-are they okay?"

Bebe whimpers through the phone. "I don't know.."

He runs out of the house. Picking up his car keys and running to his car. His hands are shaking and is really wishing he put a new battery in his key fob so he didn't have to fuck about with trying to put the key into the door. He speeds to the hospital, running amber lights. His vision getting blurry with tears. All he can see is your happy face. And that though of any harm to you is killing him. He needs you to be okay.

Once he gets to the hospital he doesn't get out of the car. He just sits there, gripping the wheel tightly. "Just do it. Stop being a pussy. They need you!" He tells himself. He watches as people leave and enter the hospital. But he just sits. Terrified. Not knowing if you're dead or alive. But too scared to leave. What if you die? He doesn't want his last memory of you to be all broken and covered in medical equipment. He sobs alone in his car. Fighting his fear to try and see you. But he can't.

Kyle Broflovski

Kyle's at work at the time. He didn't answer when you called. He's at work, you know he doesn't like being on his phone at work. And then another call. And another. When he answered he was annoyed. And god does he regret it because nothing could of prepared him.

"Hello? What is it? I'm at work." He answered sharply.

"hello, is this Mr. Kyle Broflovski?" An unfamiliar voice. Kyle checked his phone, he didn't even notice is was an unknown number.

"this is he." He replied, now thinking this was a scam.

"I'm calling to inform that Y/N L/N has been involved in a serious accident. Now they are in a stable condition but I would suggest you come in."

"i- what?!? What happened!?" Kyle stood at his desk picking up his car keys.

"this might be something to discuss in person rather other the phone." Kyle hung up. He practically ran to his bosses office and explained. Luckily his boss was a good guy and very understanding.

Kyle ran out of the office building to his car. Luckily for Kyle, he knew the fastest route as he's had a few trips to the hospital for illnesses.

He practically jumped out of his car when he arrived at the hospital. Running to the reception desk. "Hi, what ro-" he's stopped by a finger to his face. The receptionist sat there open mouth chewing her gum. She was slowly typing on her keyboard. It felt like hours had passed by the time she looked up at him and spoke. "Who are you visiting?" Her voice dull. "Y/N L/N." "2nd floor. Ward 6." Kyle didn't even wait for her to finish her sentence before running to the elevator. He pushed the button. Then he pushed it again. "Augh, this is taking too long!" He said to himself before running towards the stairs. Dude was missing steps as he ran to the second floor.

He burst through the doors to the second floor and looked around for a sign pointing to ward 6. Once he found it he charged in that direction. He caught a nurse as he arrived. "Y/N L/N? A-are they here? I'm their boyfriend. Can I see them?" He asked frantically. "Room 264." Kyle ran again, avoiding people and carts. He arrived at you room, hand shaking as he reached for the handle. He entered the room. Seeing you there, covered in wires and tubes. He pulled the visitor chair closer to your bed. You'd looks so peaceful if it weren't for all the medical equipment around you. He took your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. He stayed by your side. Everyday.

Kenny McCormick

I'm exhausted

Kenny was actually on his way to your work to surprise you with lunch he promised you a couple months ago. When he arrived he couldn't find you. He tracked down one of your co-workers. "Uh, hi, do you know where is Y/N is?" "Oh, uh, they've been taken to hospital. I don't know the details. Sorry." Kenny stood there frozen. He took a breath. "They're fine. I'm sure they're fine." He thought. He left you work and headed to the hospital. It started with a stroll. But the more he thought... "Probably something silly." "Why didn't they call me." "They're fine." "They're fine." He was sprinting before he even realised. Kenny of course knows the hospital well. He runs into the building up to the reception desk. "Y/N L/N, where?" "They're in emergency, you'll have to wait." Kenny scrunched up his face and dashed to the emergency ward ignoring the yells to stop. Luckily a nurse was leaving the ward so he managed to get to the door before it shut and locked. "Y/N? Y/N?!" He runs through the busy ward and finds you. "No, no, no, no..." "Sir, you can't be here." Said a doctor. "No! Y/N!" "Someone get him outta here!" "Y/N!!! Y/N!!!" He yelled as he got pulled away by security.

Eric Cartman

Eric was sat at home at the time. He was getting pissed, you were meant to be at his house way over an hour ago. And you're not answering your texts?! "What the hell, Y/N!" He growled. Then he remembered, you have your snap location on! "Bitch, thinks they can avoid me." And that's when he sees you're at the hospital. "Wha.." he raised an eyebrow at this. Now he tried calling you. It rang out and that's when panic set it. He didn't want to care. But god damnit! "Probably just... Something dumb. Dumbass just AUGH!" He pushes himself off the couch and heads out. "You're gonna get it, Y/N. I'm gonna kick your ass." He says to himself as he gets in his car. He doesn't rush. Why would he? You're probably just being dramatic as always. He arrives at the hospital. It's pretty busy. He walks up to a nurse who's running about. "You know where -" "I'm sorry sir, you'll have to take a seat! There's been a serious accident." The nurse runs off. "Rude." He tried getting the attention of another nurse or doctor but nothing. A big accident must of happened. But there's no way his s/o was involved. They're careful. They're... They're fine. Eyes wide, sweat drops form on his forehead. He grabs the arm of a passing doctor. "Y/N L/N. Are they here?" He asked. He wasn't going to let go until he got his answer. "Are you family?" "Yes." He lied. "We managed to stabilise them. Follow me I'll take you to them." The doctor speed walked and Cartman quickly followed. "They're in here. I've got to go. I'll be back." The doctor then ran off. Eric pulled the privacy curtain back and there you were. God, he could kill you for doing this to him. Unconscious, covered in wires, tubes coming out of your mouth. Why would you do this to him? He takes your delicate hand in his. "You better get better... Please..."

[catsofcalifornia]

Genie from Cats In Need in Yorba Linda, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to Cats In Need's main website.

Meet beautiful Genie! "Senior seeking Senior"

Genie is ready to grant her new family three wishes: companionship, playfulness, and love

Genie is the perfect companion cat for someone seeking a pleasant, laid-back, friendly kitty

She is an 8-year-old white & tabby stunner with enormous green eyes, who is seeking a soft, snuggly home to spend her twilight years in

Genie would love a home where she could get a lot of human attention and love. She loves to be near you and especially likes to sleep in your bed next to you and sleep with you on the couch

Genie was initially adopted by a college student who returned her after their schooling as done and they had to move home. Her next owner passed away after 5 years. Genie is overdue to find her forever home where she'll receive lots of unconditional love in her twilight years

She's a great companion cat and would make the perfect kitty for someone seeking a little old lady to chat with and offer unconditional love to

Genie does have diabetes and she gets an insulin shot twice a day and is an excellent patient! Her initial supply of insulin and all equipment will be provided at adoption, as well as instructions on how to administer her insulin- it's a piece of cake! Cats in Need can also help support with the cost of future insulin supplies if needed

Genie had a past issue with her gums so she had to have her teeth removed. Her mouth is now in great shape (albeit missing teeth haha!) and all this means now is that Genie enjoys wet cat food best!

Because of her diabetes, the adoption donation will be $1 for the perfect home for little Genie

We think Genie would be an excellent companion Kitty for a Senior or pair of Seniors looking for a sweet, easy-going kitty to take care of and offer some sweetness and purpose to their days

Genie prefers to be the only spoiled animal in the home and because she prefers a quiet home she would not be well suited to young children

[tornadotame]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐄

WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE. standing at 5’6”, kate’s build can be described as deceptively delicate. with long legs and arms, thin wrists, and not much in terms of curves, she holds a wiry sort of strength, built from a childhood of farm-chores and a young adulthood of hefting around at times heavy meteorological equipment. her hair’s natural shade is a dark golden brown, though she’s been lightening it for years. it’s thick, and holds a gentle wave when she doesn’t straighten it. very large, very dark brown eyes framed with thick lashes peer out of a somewhat sharply formed face, with a pointed nose, squared off chin, high cheekbones and ears that are a touch prominent. her mouth is wide in her face, with a lower lip slightly more full than the upper, often slicked with a hint of sheer pink lipstick.

kate doesn’t tan, she freckles and burns, so she wears sunscreen religiously and can occasionally look very washed-out and pale.

one thing most do notice about kate, especially when wearing shorts or sundresses, is the long, prominent scar dragging down her left thigh, caused by flying debris, cut deep enough to reach bone. starting just below her hip, and ending an inch or so above her knee, she has only recently started showing it, though the injury is five years old. she also has smaller scars littered across her body, and a botched stick-&-poke tattoo in the shape of a twister on her ribs, just below her right breast.

WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE. kate has a preference for clean, fresh scents. bergamot and citrus, patchouli and fresh grass, that sort. she enjoys wearing rain by clean when it comes to perfume, and likes lemon scented shampoos and soaps. coffee and cigarette smoke also clings faintly to her, as well as hay and old wood whenever she’s back home in sapulpa. when she’s out in the field damp earth, grass and ozone tends to linger on her clothes, mixed with sweat.

WHAT THEY TASTE LIKE. sweet tea, coffee and mint. she’s trying to quit smoking, a habit she picked up in her years living in new york, so she’s frequently chewing gum or sucking on mints or guzzling caffeine. she isn’t picky when it comes to alcohol, she tried the assortment of cocktails and high-end drinks when she was in the city and going out on perfunctory friday nights with co-workers, but she genuinely just prefers beer.

WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE. kate worked hard to mask her natural oaklahoman accent, to avoid people asking her where she was from, so at times her voice can come across a touch flat and emotionless. but it slips out regardless when she’s back home, especially when talking with other southerners. the elongated vowels, the slight drawl. her voice is a touch breathy and girlish, though she can easily turn sharp and blunt in a snap.

WHAT THEY FEEL LIKE. kate has poor circulation in her legs, especially her left, so her feet are almost always cold. her hands though, are small and warm, with faint scars on her palms from her nails digging into them when she held onto the overpass during the ef5. she does keep her nails trimmed neat and short, and uses hand cream religiously so her skin doesn’t crack. she’s very lean, somewhat bony to the touch, and the scar on her thigh feels knotted and raised. when kate hugs someone, she holds on for dear life, throwing her entire heart and soul into it, and it shows.

[askganon]

A "gym" is a designated place of excercise for those who do not have room or equipment to do it in their homes or occupations. It usually contains weights for strength training, equipment for cardio training, metal bars to excercise muscles by pulling yourself up...and sometimes fancier ones have a pool for swimming.

The person who three days ago asked about your "gum routine" is asking what you typically do to keep yourself in peak physical condition. It is both a question and a compliment.

Ah I see, so the training grounds then.

My training regiment is not one to be undertaken by lesser bodies. This is not a boast, but a warning. I push my body to my known limits, each session pushing further and further.

If it is difficult for me, imagine what such a trial would do to you.

[calinaannehart]

the parts we play - chapter 2

Buck’s fifth day shadowing the 118 is one of those rare days when the bell stays silent.

It gives Buck a chance to learn about the less thrilling aspects of the job, ones that Eddie is sure won’t be included in the movie, but are good for Buck to experience. He works the man hard, giving him job, after job, after job, everything from topping up the engine fluids and polishing the trucks to checking stock and refilling the oxygen tanks. To give Buck his credit he follows every instruction, completes every task Eddie gives him without complaint, and even takes notes, scribbling in a little black notebook that Eddie has noticed him keeping in his pants pocket. 

By mid-afternoon they hadn’t had a single call, all the maintenance chores are done and the crew have dispersed around the station, some working out in the gym, others playing pool or ping pong, and the rest are lounging in the upstairs loft. Hen has out a medical textbook while Eddie and Buck are going head to head on Street Fighter, and they’re evenly matched for wins and losses.

“Bobby always says it’s strange to hope for boring, but we do,” Eddie tells him after Buck has complained about being bored for the fourth time.

“It’s not like I want like a big disaster or something,” Buck laments, sinking back into the cushions of the couch, thumbs mashing the buttons of the gaming control in his hand as his character gets in another punch on Eddie’s. “Just like a cat in a tree or something, anything to just get out of this place.”

“Well, it’s a good lesson for you that being a firefighter isn’t always as exhilarating as people think it is,” Hen pipes in without lifting her eyes from the medical textbook in her hands. “There’s a lot of other parts to the job that people don’t see.”

“Paperwork, polishing the truck, restocking the ambulance,” Chim lists, shoving a fresh piece of chewing gum into his mouth to join the wad already wedged between his teeth. 

“All of which you’ve done today,” Eddie adds, grinning mirthlessly at Buck over the rim of his coffee cup.

“Yeah, and now I hurt in places I didn’t know existed,” Buck grumbles as he kneads at his right shoulder blade as though demonstrating just how sore he is. “I mean, I keep fit, right? I hit the gym, I followed a strict workout regime when I played The Knave, but man, today was something else.”

“And that’s just the in-house stuff,” Bobby chimes in from the kitchen where he’s prepping the crew dinner for that evening. “Imagine how your body would feel after handling all the heavy equipment during a large-scale emergency.”

“Ladders, hoses, saws, jaws,” Chimney rattles off, counting on his fingers. “Axes, Halligan’s, oxygen tanks, spreaders, rams, Jafco’s, med kits, winches—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point,” Buck chuckles. “You guys are badass.”

“It’s not about being badass, it’s just a different type of fitness level,” Bobby continues, waving a spatula as he talks. “For you, fitness is about staying healthy and looking good for a particular role. For us, fitness is a matter of life or death, if we don’t develop our strength and endurance to a high enough level we won’t survive.”

The amusement drops quickly from Buck’s face, a somber expression replacing it. “I never thought of it that way,” He admits, looking round at them all in turn. “That’s…that must be a heavy feeling.”

“It’s the life we chose.” Bobby declares proudly. “That’s the firefighting gig for you. We knew the risks when we joined the department, but it’s up to us to minimize those risks as best we can so that we can go home to our families at the end of every shift.”

“Well, I still think you’re all badass.” Buck grins, raising his coffee mug and saluting them all.

“The point is,” Chim lifts his arms over his head, cracking his spine over the back of the couch. “Some days we get all the action and some days are just Q word”

“Q word?” Buck squints in confusion, and Eddie takes advantage of the lapse in concentration to get the upper hand and finally manages to knock out Buck’s character.

“You know,” Buck looks at Chim in time to catch the man lifting a finger to his lips.

“Oh, you mean quie—”

read on ao3

[guentzel]

omg can i suggest one of ur prompts??

“ you were going to leave without saying goodbye? ”  with maybe like bader being traded away 🤭

Harrison felt dizzy. Like he'd been standing at second and a runner spiked him, taking his legs out from under him. He hadn't felt this disconnected from reality in years--not since his very first years in the minors, where he felt he was simultaneously doing every thing right and wrong.

You've been traded to the Yankees.

Which, okay. Yeah. He should've seen it coming. He should've maybe mentally prepared himself a little more. He's been injured, and the Cardinals needed to add pitching, so he should've suspected. Hell, he should be happy, he was being traded to his childhood team, he was getting to go home--

So, why did he feel like his world was crumbling around him, like took a breath or blinked, everything he knew would cease to exist?

Harrison shifted from foot to foot, ignoring the pain that spiked through his right foot when he put too much weight on it. If he just didn't have this, he'd get to stay. If he didn't--

What was he doing? Someone was going to get traded. Someone else's day was going to be ruined, their life turned upside down with no care as to how they'd feel. He needed to get over it, it was just a part of life.

Harrison stared into his locker. Most of his stuff was already gone, the equipment managers having packed up what they needed to and shipped it to the Bronx. There was a couple of things still leftover, all shit that the team had deemed of unimportance. It was interesting to see what the team thought he'd care about having and what he didn't: a signed Nolan Arenado card that he made Nolan sign as a joke, an origami crane made from a gum wrapper from Tommy, soap samples that he'd gotten on recommendation from Matt Carpenter that he kept forgetting to take home. There was other random things scattered about, and as he slowly slid them into his bag, he felt his stomach twist into knots. A Yadier Molina bobblehead that he'd gotten purely to make fun of Yadi, because there was virtually no resemblance. Lizard skins from Tyler O'Neill. A polaroid that he forced everyone to take last year after the seventeen game winning streak.

Packing up what remained of his life into a backpack devastated him more than finding out he was being traded. Those words at the time had no meaning; doing this made it reality.

At least he was home when he got traded. He couldn't imagine being on a roadie and just having to up and leave. Not even collect his things, just... go. This was a little easier.

Harrison shouldered his bag, and took in the Cardinals clubhouse. His nameplate was already gone from his stall. He wondered if Montgomery was going to take his spot, or if they were going to leave it empty.

He hoped they did, at least for a while. He didn't think they'd forget him so soon, but he couldn't squash that niggling fear. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he made his way towards the door, the sounds of the ballpark leaking in from the tunnel.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye?"

Harrison stilled, hand resting along the push bar, the lock clicking out of place.

Yadi stood at the mouth of the tunnel, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. He wasn't wearing his catcher's gear, and must have just wrapped up his BP session. It was hard to read his face from so far across the clubhouse, but Harrison knew there'd be hurt there. Yadi never handled it well when teammates left without a word.

"Didn't want to make it harder than it had to be," he finally said, turning around, the door sliding shut again. Yadi swiped a hand over his tanned face and stepped into the clubhouse, his cleats clicking against the floor. "You know I'm bad at this sort of shit."

"Of course I do," Yadi said, "I just hoped that you'd say bye to me, at least."

Shame washed over Harrison, similar to when he's disappointed his parents. This was almost worse, though, because at least his parents would love him unconditionally. "Sorry," Harrison said, "I just..."

"It's hard," Yadi replied, kindly, "to know what to do, to say goodbye. To know what to say and to who."

"But I should've said something to you. And to Waino."

"Well," Yadi grinned, "Good I caught you, then."

Awkwardness began to settle in Harrison's bones. He was never really good with goodbyes, and how did you explain to a man who meant so much to you how much you were going to miss them? How you didn't want to go, how you had the strong urge to lay down and die right here on the clubhouse floor, just so you didn't have to be apart? How do you explain to the man who helped raise you, who helped mold you into the man that you are now, how much you love them?

"Yeah," Harrison said, frog in his throat, "Good thing."

Something funny crossed Yadi's features, and embarrassment flooded Harrison's veins. He loved Yadi, he appreciated him in a way that was hard to describe, more than the fact that he was a future HOF, but the man didn't know what it was like to be traded. Didn't know what it was like to have your world turned upside down. He was going to get to retire where he'd been drafted, where he'd been brought up, and would never have to face the unknown.

"Harrison," Yadi said, voice taking on that weird parental tone he only ever seemed to get with him, "It doesn't have to be forever. Or a bad thing."

Harrison frowned, shifting on his feet and crossing his arms over his chest. "I know." Unable to stop himself, he added, "It feels like it is, though."

"It's not. But if you treat it that way, it will be." Yadi placed a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. "It's not like they traded you for prospects or virtually nothing. You got traded for Montgomery, a good pitcher, and to a team that is going for a playoff push. They wanted you, and the Cardinals didn't just give you up for anyone. You're wanted, both here and there, and the front office made them work for you."

The praise made Harrison squirm, and he suddenly wished he had something to chew on. He always did interviews with wads of Dubble Bubble in his mouth, so he had something to distract himself if an interviewer laid the praise on too thick. The fact it was Yadi made everything worse. Who was he to deserve this sort of praise?

"And if you aren't happy in New York," Yadi continued, either unaware of Harrison's discomfort or choosing to ignore it, "You can always leave. Whatever you choose, it's your choice."

"I know," Harrison said, finally feeling a little bit of himself crumble, "I know, I really do, but it's..." He closed his eyes. "I'm going to miss being here, y'know?" Gonna miss you.

"I know," Yadi's hand moved, sliding down his shoulder blade and cupping the back of his neck, pulling him in close. Harrison shuddered, wrapping his arms around Yadi and hugging him so tight he could feel the catcher's spine crack beneath his hands. "I know, mijo, and I'm going to miss you too."

With watery eyes, Harrison buried his face against Yadi's shoulder and willed himself to not actually spill any tears. Yadi's habit of calling him mijo had been so endearing at the time, made Harrison feel special, but now it was tearing him apart, and he felt so incredibly raw and tender inside.

Yadi was the type to become incredibly close to teammates, but terms of endearment was something else entirely--it meant that you meant something to him, that you were more than just a teammate: you were a brother, a son. Harrison had heard Yadi call Waino hermano for years before he'd ever been called mijo, and seeing the way the two acted around each other, he knew Yadi meant it. They were more than teammates, they were brothers. Harrison was more to Yadi than that--he was like a son.

"Shit," Harrison said, pulling back and swiping at his eyes, "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," Yadi said, a little teary-eyed but nowhere close to Harrison's current state. "I know, I get it. But you will be great in New York, just like you were great here. You will be fine."

But I won't have you. He won't have the same memories with his new teammates like he did, the same level of trust. He couldn't go to his new teammates the same way he'd got to Waino or Yadi or Matt Carpenter, or any of the other vets. His new teammates wouldn't allow him to stay over at their house during the pandemic so he didn't have to be alone, staying up all night playing video games or talking or watching movies. He could get there eventually, he knew he could, but he could never get back what he had here; never recover from what he lost.

Yadi thumped his fist against Harrison's chest, right above his heart, rubbing the knuckles in. "And you'll always have my number," Yadi said, tension immediately bleeding from Harrison's bones and muscles, relief sweeping through him like cold winds after a storm, "And Waino's. Just because you're on a different team doesn't mean you stop being my teammate."

"Come on, man," Harrison said, fighting embarrassed by how watery his voice was, "You got me all fucked up right now."

"I know, you always been a big baby."

Harrison laughed and pulled Yadi into a big bear hug, unsurprised when the catcher hugged back just as hard. Harrison sniffed, snot clogging his nostrils and dripping down his nose. God, he felt like a child, not a grown ass man.

The sound of cleats thumping against the concrete down the tunnel echoed in the clubhouse. Harrison looked up to see Waino making his way towards them, hat pulled firmly down his forehead. Relief flooded Waino's expression at the sight. "You're still here," Waino said, "Good."

"He was just going to leave without saying goodbye," Yadi said as Waino approached, Harrison pulling him into a big hear, enjoying the quiet oomph sound that he made. "Can you believe this asshole?"

"Unfortunately, I can." Waino pulled back, ruffling Harrison's hair, which did not help to the child-like feeling at all. "You'll be all right."

"Yeah," Harrison said, "Yeah, I know. Yadi's already given me a pep talk."

"Of course he has," Waino acquiesced, "But unlike you and me, he's never been traded before, he doesn't quite get it. But, I can tell you personally, it's gonna be hard, but you're going to be okay."

Harrison swallowed thickly, and looked down at his shoes. It doesn't feel like it will be, he wanted to say, but he knew Waino would have something for that, too. Because he was right: he had been traded before, and look at him now.

"Thanks, man," Harrison finally gathered himself together enough to say something, "I really appreciate you both. Everything you've done for me, I'll never be able to repay it." Fuck, he'd practically lived in their house during the pandemic. He was alone and had virtually no socialization before they shortened the season, and if they hadn't allowed him to stay with them... he probably would've went crazy. Fuck, there was also everything else they'd ever done for him. Talking to him about contracts, mentoring him on how to be a major leaguer. Hell, Waino even went with him to look at cars and figure out all the legal shit.

"No repayment necessary," Waino said, "Just don't be a stranger, all right?"

"I won't. I promise, I won't."

"Good," Yadi lightly punched his shoulder, "Because I will find you."

Despite it being a thinly veiled threat, Harrison felt his chest growing warm. Who knew threats of violence could make one feel so loved.

"You heading out now?" Waino broke him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Harrison shifted his bag, "My plane's in a couple of hours."

"We'll walk you out."

"You don't have too--"

"No," Yadi stepped past, pushing down on the metal bar and propping the door open, "We will."

Harrison just smiled, awkwardly, and stepped through the door, Waino and Yadi following suit. Together, the three of them made their way through the bowels of Busch until they reached the player's parking lot. They didn't stop there--Yadi and Waino followed him to his car, chatting along the way.

"In three days we'll be in New York," Waino pointed out as they reached his car, circling around his driver's side door. "So, it won't be so long till we see each other again."

That made Harrison feel better, if even a miniscule amount.

"You'll have to show us your new digs," Yadi said, nudging him. "Whatever fancy new apartment you'll get."

Which, that was something to look forward too. At least he'll have something to do, aside from going from one IL to the next.

"Yeah, of course." Harrison looked between them, and swallowed. "I don't know how to--"

Waino held up a palm, smiling. "Good luck, Harrison." Then, they were hugging again, Harrison trying to put each moment to memory.

Harrison took a deep breath. "See you in New York."

Both smiled. "See you in New York."

As they bid each other farewell again, gave each other one last hug, he felt settled for the first time in hours.

It wasn't a permanent goodbye--just a goodbye for now.

[spooniechef]

Poorman's Ice Cream (0 spoons)

If you're anything like me, you've noticed how godsawful expensive things have got lately. When budgeting for food, it's harder and harder to justify treats. The thing is, treats are kind of necessary. I mean, if nothing else, living with only the bare essentials is a sure-fire route to depression - or existing depression getting worse. No one can just ... survive like that. Believe me, I've tried - it did not go well.

That leaves making one's own treats, and that has its own costs. Some are the financial, depending on how well your kitchen is equipped and if there are any speciality ingredients needed in your treat of choice, but mostly the costs are time and effort. For a spoonie, something quick and easy is really important. That generally leaves out ice cream, since it tends to take a lot of churning and ice cream machines are not exactly a staple household item.

B Dylan Hollis to the rescue! Back in August, his TikTok featured a neat little recipe from an unnamed "dead lady" for a three-ingredient ice cream 'substitute' that turned out remarkably well. And all the equipment you need is a hand mixer.

Here's what you'll need:

1 can evaporated milk

1 1/2 cups powdered sugar

Dash of vanilla extract (see notes)

The comments are full of people flagging up how you could add other flavours to your ice cream - everything from a teaspoon of cocoa powder or some chocolate syrup for chocolate to a teaspoon of instant espresso powder for coffee to a dash of mint extract and some chocolate chips for mint chocolate chip. One option I intend to try is to keep the vanilla but add egg-free chocolate chip cookie dough (because salmonella is no one's friend) from a recipe like this one from Flippin' Delicious. Given that this one doesn't require xanthan gum, you can probably use regular flour in it if you can tolerate gluten. Also, if you want hot chocolate ice cream (which is a different beast from chocolate ice cream altogether), you can probably add some home-made instant hot chocolate mix, though you probably want to reduce the powdered sugar in the main recipe to a half-cup since so much of the hot chocolate mix is powdered sugar anyway.

Here's what you do:

Take your can of evaporated milk and a mid-sized bowl (glass is best) and store it in the fridge overnight

Put all ingredients in the bowl and whip until smooth and foamy; put it in the freezer for an hour or so

Whip again until smooth with a soft-serve consistency; either eat as is or put it back in the freezer for a few hours to set

Now, there are a few notes, because a lot depends on your fridge and freezer. For example, my fridge isn't hugely efficient, so I put my bowl into the freezer for an extra half-hour before I started, because starting with a cold bowl is important. I also had to take a fairly broad definition of "or so" when waiting for it to set a bit the first time; if it doesn't have the soft-serve consistency you want after the first hour, whip it anyway, put it back in the freezer for another hour, and then whip again. Obviously an electric hand mixer is essential to making this a zero-spoon recipe.

However you manage it, the result is a really smooth ice cream. Now, for the vegans among us, vegan evaporated milk is hard to find in a tin but can actually be made. Though I'd recommend that those of us who don't tolerate lactose well just stock up on the Lactaid because making vegan evaporated milk requires simmering oat milk for two hours.

[fall-of-achilles]

Dorm Essentials

Here is a super comprehensive list of every item I could think someone would need in a dorm. Obviously this will differ from person to person and room to room.

*Check your university's rules surrounding these items

Uni Essentials- a comprehensive list of electronics, stationary and clothing

Storage

Carts that roll under your bed

Loft equipment to add extra space

Collapsible fabric bins

coffee cart

desk organizer

If you have a private bathroom

over toilet shelving

shelving for shower

hand soap

Toilet Plunger

toilet brush and cleaner

speaker (don't bother your neighbours)

toothbrush holder

shower mats

toilet paper

small trash can

shower curtain

If you have a communal bathroom

shower caddy

shower shoes/ slides

General Bathroom needs

towels

shampoo

conditioner

body wash

skincare

makeup

toothbrush

toothpaste

body wash

loofah/ wash rag/ body scrub

Q-tips

Cotton balls/ pads

Hand soap

If you have a microwave/ kitchen area

Ice cube trays

microwave ramen cooker

single cup coffee maker*

plates/bowls/silverware/cups

rice cooker*

Hot plate*

milk frother wand thing

paper towel holder

salt and pepper grinder

Pitcher

Brita

french press

measuring cups/spoons (liquid measure)

toaster*

tupperware

lunch box

Chip clips

Mayo, ranch, salad dressing

Popcorn popper* my dorm allows a hot air popper

Snacks and Food

granola bars

trail mix

Chips

instant matcha/coffee

Kcups

peanut butter (or other nut/soy butter)

jam/jelly

candy

mints

gum

Brita water filter

reusable water bottle

olive oil

vinegar

cookies

salt/pepper

instant coffee

honey

Popcorn kernels

Butter/ margarine

Cleaning Supplies

Broom

swiffer/ mop

disinfecting wipes

all purpose cleaner

duster

scrub daddy

dish soap

laundry detergent

dryer balls

baking soda

vinegar

cleaning rags

Pinsol/Fabuloso

small steamer/ iron*

stain remover

Medicine/First Aid

bandaids

gauze

tape

liquid bandaid

nyquil

ibuprophen/tylenol

cough drops

cough medcine

pepto bismol

covid tests

hand sanitizer

Neosporin or my personal favourite PRID

Cooling and heating packs

Antacid ( tums)

Other

Nightstand

area rug

Desk lamp

Night light/ small lamp

large trash can

room spray/ oil diffuser

desk chair

laundry hamper

sheets

pillows

curtains

towels

wash cloths

paper towels

tissues

Pads/tampons

hangers

Command hooks

heated blanket*/ weighted blanket

extension cord*

printer*

small fireproof safe (with all your legal documents in it)

tool kit

flashlight

Bedside organiser

Door draft/ window draft stopper

Clothing shaver

Batteries

pepper spray

security birdie

Condoms

From home

Photos

blankets

stuffed animals

decorations