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munsonsmixtapes · 5 months ago

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Omg I have a Boone request if you’re taking any! reader is a new team member and has a crush on him but he’s so standoffish towards her cuz he also has a crush but he just like shuts down around her. Maybe she ends up confessing cuz she wants to get it over with and it ends w smut where he’s a little more subby 👀 also if you can add something where he like helps her into the truck or just does something w his arms in general 😂 I’ve been obsessing over his arms since the rocket scene 💀

I am absolutely taking Boone requests! Let's give him the respect he deserves!

sub!Boone x dom!fem!reader

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) hurt/comfort

You were nothing but excited when you had gotten the DM from Tyler. He had seen your videos on YouTube. He loved your work and approach to storm chasing that he knew he had to ask you to join the team. Everyone had been excited for your arrival. Well, everyone except Boone.

Well, not at first. At first, he had actually been super on board, looking forward to someone new. But then you showed up on the scene in your short shorts and the man was done for. You were smart and pretty? That was definitely a lethal combination.

And then you reached your hand out for him to shake and it was soft and warm and he immediately wondered what it would have felt in other places. It was as if you were trying to kill him with the bright smile on your face as you introduced yourself. His knees were weak and he didn't like how he was so close to swooning.

And the thing about Boone was that he was not a fan of love. Well, for other people, it was great, but for him? Forget it. He had been burned once and that was enough to swear off romance altogether. He would sleep with countless people, but immediately put it to a stop as soon as feelings were involved.

So, he did the only thing he knew how. He choked his feelings down and began treating you like you were gum on the bottom of his shoe. You'd try to speak to him and he'd just turn the radio up louder or just flat out ignore you. And he felt like a dick for it. You were just being friendly and he completely shut you down.

And what made it worse was when you watched him laugh and joke around with the others, only further proving that he didn't like you even though everyone tried to convince you that it wasn't true. Boone was really just a teddy bear and you were wondering if maybe you had just caught him on a bad day.

But the fact was, Boone just didn't like you. Had even convinced himself of that, in fact. He didn't like how Tyler let you take over without asking for anyone else's approval. You hadn't even been there a year and you were already allowed to take the reigns? Hell, not even Boone was allowed to do that and he was Tyler's right hand for gods sake.

And the worst part of all was when you took his spot in the truck, the front seat now occupied by your ass that he couldn't stop staring at. And it was even worse when your perfume would linger on the interior, that sweet, smoky smell that wrapped around him like a blanket. It was intoxicating and he could just imagine pulling you to him, burying his face into your neck and having a whiff for himself.

"You should tell him," Tyler whispered as you found yourself staring at Boone who had been at the gas pump for the last few minutes. Watching him and the way his arms would flex as he worked made your brain short circuit.

You wanted them to wrap around you tightly as his lips crashed to yours, the thing quick and sloppy, taking his time with you as you were pliant under his touch. You wanted to feel his mustache scrape against your upper lip, making the skin red from how roughly it was moving against it.

"Tell him what?" You asked, finally pulling your gaze from the man to look at your friend who was next to you, leaning against the truck.

"That you like him," Tyler replied in a tone that supposed to make the whole thing obvious. You just laughed in response. You did not like Boone. If anything, you just wanted to fuck him to get him out of your head.

"I don't like him."

"Right, then why were you staring at him like you wanted to climb him like a tree?"

"If anyone needs to admit their feelings, it's you. When are you going to tell Kate?" You looked over your shoulder at the girl who was laughing with Javi and Tyler paused, completely caught off guard by your question.

"This-this isn't about me," he stuttered. "This is about you and Boone and your obvious feeling for each other." You laughed again, wondering where the hell he was getting that from. Boone had made it very obvious that he didn't like you so you didn't know why Tyler kept insisting that it was true.

"Okay, one, I don't see how this is any of your business, and two, I don't like him and he certainly doesn't like me. So let's drop it, okay?" You were now getting frustrated, though you didn't know why. Well, maybe you did know and just didn't want to admit it.

The truth was, you had been crushing on Boone from the very beginning and had honestly thought you had been subtle until Tyler had called you out. Because it was embarrassing admitting that you liked someone who so obviously hated you. You didn't know why, but you actually kind of found it to be attractive.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n," Tyler winked as he nudged your shoulder and opened the passenger side door for you and helped you into the seat just in time for Boone to see.

He finished up with the gas then hurried to get in the truck before it drove off. He was forced to sit in the middle between Lily and Javi. And by some stroke of luck, he looked up just in time to see you pulling down the visor to look in the mirror. You then pulled some lip gloss from your purse, catching Boone’s gaze in the reflection. You made eye contact with him as you swiped the gloss over your lips so slowly, torturing him as his mind was reeling with places where he wanted to leave marks with the brown color.

His mouth went dry, the simple action driving him crazy. You had only done it to see if Tyler was right and now you had the man right where you wanted him, not missing how he had rested his hands in his laps, desperate to cover his cock that was threatening to tent in his pants.

As you tried to sleep that night, all you could think about was Boone. You always tried to push him out of your thoughts, but this time, you let him stay, living absolutely rent free there. Your thoughts were nothing but filthy as you imagined the two of you between the sheets of your bed, in every position possible. And the sounds…the sounds. They were enough to make you orgasm right there. They sounded so real and vivid and all you could hear was your name being uttered through moans and gasps as you took exactly what you wanted from him.

The next morning was rough as you hadn’t gotten any sleep. You had spent most of the night either with your hand down your underwear or staring at Boone’s phone number, trying to get yourself to text him and ask him to come over. You eventually settled for pleasuring yourself and found that even though it had satisfied you, that it was nothing like the real thing.

You watched a truck pull into your driveway and your eyebrows furrowed as Boone got out of the driver’s seat before leaning against the door, looking like he would have rather been anywhere but there. You were really going to have to talk to Tyler since you knew that Boone being your ride had to have been his doing.

You took your sweet time putting on your shoes before fleeing the house, making sure to lock the door before heading over to the truck. The ride hadn’t even started yet and you were already dreading it. Why couldn’t Tyler just leave it alone? Why was he trying so hard to prove that you and Boone had feelings for each other?

Boon was quick to move to your side of the truck and he opened the door for you before holding his hand out for you to take. You just blinked at him, staring down at his hand completely dumbfounded.

“I want to help,” he said, his tone sugary sweet which was not what you were used to hearing. In fact, you were sure that was the most he had ever said to you in the months that you had been working together.

“Oh,” you replied, eyes wide as you slowly put your hand in his before he helped you into the truck, trying to not stare at his arm as it flexed, but you couldn’t help yourself. It was so easy to get distracted by him.

You were so distracted by his muscles that you hadn’t been aware that he was staring at your ass and the way your shorts were hugging it. If he had any more confidence, he would have given it a squeeze, wanting to hear your little yelp as he did so. He wanted to stick his hand into your back pockets as he kissed you senseless, cupping your ass as you pushed him against the side of the truck.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him and he almost didn’t hear you, letting his dirty thoughts get in the way.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled back and once you were in the seat, he closed the door and rounded the front of the truck, muttering to himself about how much of an idiot he was. If he hadn’t been so stuck on treating you like shit, maybe the two of you would have been together. But of course he had gone and fucked up any chance of that.

Boone climbed into the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition before putting the truck in reverse, his hand landing on the back of your head rest as he did so. He then brought it to sit on the center console and you stared at it for a second, trying to figure out if you wanted to hold it or have it wrapped around your throat.

You then turned to look at him as he hummed along the song that was playing softly through the speakers, letting his free hand tap to the beat on the center console. Maybe Tyler was right. Maybe you did like Boone and were just pushing your feelings down so you didn’t have to deal with being rejected.

Considering that the man was consuming your every thought, there was no way that you didn’t like him. In fact, you were beginning to think that you were falling in love with him despite his hatred towards you. And why couldn’t you get the hint? He didn’t like you.

“You have a pretty smile,” you told him before you really thought about what you were saying. And you felt your cheeks heat as you looked down at your hands that were sitting in your lap. You were now embarrassed that you had spoken at all, let alone complimented him.

“I what?” He asked. Boone had heard you just fine, but wanted you to say it again just to make sure that his ears weren’t playing a cruel trick on him.

“I said that you had a pretty smile,” you repeated, your voice louder, more confident, and Boone felt his own cheeks blush at your compliment. “It’s no wonder you don’t do it often because I feel like I would do blind from how bright it is.”

“Jesus, y/n, you’re making me blush,” he replied, his tone nothing but humorous, but he wasn’t joking. His cheeks were warm and he was hoping that you couldn’t see the pink color that was tinting his skin.

“Aww, I really am,” you teased as you reached over and pinched the cheek that was closest to you, causing him to blush even more. He was getting really embarrassed and almost wanted to ask you to stop, but he loved the way your skin felt against his.

You pulled your hand away sooner than he would have liked and silence fell between you again. Good. He was beginning to think that you were getting a little too chummy with him. He didn’t want to be your friend. As much as he convinced himself he wanted to be nothing to you, he had to eventually come to terms with the fact that he wanted to be your boyfriend.

He wanted to be your boyfriend so fucking bad that it hurt. But of course, he had to go and fuck that all up for himself. And you were too nice, still treating him with respect even though it was obvious that he was hurting you. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you. He thought the whole thing would have been easier if you would have just given him the same energy back. Then maybe it wouldn’t have been so easy for him to fall in love with you. With your laugh, with the way that you would always bring everyone coffee you had bought on the way to Tyler’s house where you all usually met before a storm chase.

Because deep down, Boone was his own worst enemy and didn’t think he deserved to be happy. He had convinced himself that he was the reason why he had been cheated on. He hadn’t been there for her, hadn’t been as good in bed as the other guy. But really, Carly was the problem. She was the one who screwed everything up. Had pulled the “it’s not you, it’s me” after Boone had caught her in their shared bed with the guy she had told him not to worry about. Apparently he had every right to worry.

And then there you were, all sweet and perfect, and he was telling himself that he couldn’t have you. That he didn’t deserve you because of a mistake that his ex girlfriend had made. And he’d tell himself that he wasn’t ready, that the wound was still fresh, but the truth was that it had been closed for quite some time, the pain no longer there, the blood all cleaned up. So what was his excuse? He didn’t have one, not really.

The truck rolled to stop at a red light as thunder rumbled in the distance. You rolled down the window and stuck your head out to see the once white clouds were now gray. There was a flash of lightning and you quickly pulled your head back into the truck as you felt a droplet of rain hit your cheek. Then, in the blink of an eye, it began to downpour, the rain pattering against the truck.

Boone pressed on the gas, going a little faster than he probably should have. He’d never admit it, but he hated driving through rain. It was something that scared him as it was always unpredictable and hard to see. Especially now with it coming down in sheets to the point where he couldn’t see at all.

So not only was it complete torture to be in a vehicle alone with you when you looked so,,,perfect, but now he was having trouble doing the thing that was taking his mind off of you. Now he just wanted to get to where Tyler had told him they were meeting just to get away from the torture.

And as if it couldn’t have gotten any worse, the truck stopped again in the middle of the road. Boone was panicking as he turned the key only to hear the engine stutter as he tried over and over.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath as he rested his forehead on the steering wheel. He then turned to you, hating the look of pity that you were giving him. He didn’t need it since he had been pitying himself for years.

“Maybe we can get someone to give you a jump?”

“Nah, I’ll just get a tow. Needs a new battery anyway,” he replied as he got out of the truck, rounding the front to your side to help you out.

So that’s how you ended up at the motel down the road after watching Boone’s truck roll away attached to the back of a tow truck. And of course, because the universe just loved to laugh at you, the room that you were using for the night only had one bed.

You both stood at the edge, staring down at the mattress, the rain water that had soaked through your clothes surely dripping down onto it. You turned to Boone to see that he was already looking at you, a small smile on his lips.

“Guess one of us will have to take the floor,” he said and you shook your head.

“Don’t be silly,” you replied as you removed your shoes before collapsing onto the bed. “We’ll just share it. And I’ll even put a couple pillows between us if that makes you feel better.”

“Sure,” he replied as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“But can I be honest?” You asked, sitting up, looking him directly in the eyes.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, suddenly scared to hear what you had to say.

“I don’t want a divider,” you told him as you stood to your feet. “I’m so fucking cold and I just want you to hold me and kiss me I know I look like an idiot for being in love with someone who doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.”

“Are you kidding?” He asked with a laugh and you stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Why would I kid about that?”

“I don’t know, I just-you-and-you like me?”

“Yes, I thought it was obvious!”

“Well, obviously not. I mean, I like you too. And I-wow, you like me.” This was the most you had ever heard him speak and you honestly thought it was cute that you got him babbling.

“Will you just shut up and come over here?” You asked and he slowly stepped over to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Kiss me,” you commanded and watched his cheeks blush, his eyes widening.

You watched his gaze shift to your lips then back up to your eyes, filled with desire. Boone then wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you in, slowly inching his mouth towards yours. His lips slotted between yours and you were quick to respond, your movements slow at first, but you were getting eager, hungry, trying to make up for months of want.

His hand moved to cup the back of your head as he tried to keep up with you, not expecting it all to go so quickly. But he wasn’t going to stop you, just letting you take what you wanted as he was pliant underneath your touch.

You pressed one more kiss to his lips before motioning for him to turn around. He was about to argue, but you gave him a pointed look and he just knew not to argue with you.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, holding his hands up and turning around to face the door. You turned your back to him and peeled off your shirt and jeans, tired of the way they were sticking to you.

“Okay, you can turn around,” you told him once you were in only your bra and panties, and as soon as he was facing you, his mouth fell open, not expecting you to be in full-on lingerie.

“Fuck,” he rasped, then quickly cleared his throat. “I mean, you look-fuck.”

“That’s a compliment, I hope,” you replied, batting your eyelashes.

“It is,” he nodded, feeling he needed some water to wet his very dry throat. You had looked even better than he had imagined. So pretty that he couldn’t look away.

“Now it’s your turn,” you replied and his eyes widened. Boone wasn’t insecure about his body in the slightest, but thinking about you being the one to see it did make him a little nervous.

“My turn?” He asked and you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip, making his thoughts even more impure.

“Yeah, I’m undressed so it’s only right for you to be. That is, if you want to. I wouldn’t want to make you do something you don’t want to.” But as soon as the words left your mouth, Boone was taking off his shirt, followed by his jeans so he was just left with his underwear where you could clearly see a boner tenting.

His eyes were dark and you were sure that if you had given him permission, he would have taken you right there. And you would have let him. In fact, you were so close to begging him to, or maybe you would have preferred him to be the one to do the begging.

He looked unsure of what to do, suddenly seeming shy so you knew you needed to help him out. You knew about his reputation so you didn’t know why he was so shy around you. You weren’t that intimidating, were you?

You grabbed hold of his hands and pulled him close, your arms wrapping around his neck while his found your waist. You slowly inched your face towards his before slotting your lips together again, this kiss much more soft and gentle.

And in that moment, Boone decided that he could have kissed you for hours, already addicted to the feeling of your lips against his. The way your lip gloss tasted, that fake cherry flavor that normally tasted medicinal, but there, it tasted heavenly and he couldn’t get enough.

Your hands found their way into his hair and he felt like he was going to cream in his pants just from the small tug you gave it as your tongue flicked into his mouth once again. If he hadn’t been able to literally feel your nails digging into his scalp, he would have convinced himself that he was dreaming.

“This is everything I could have dreamed up,” you murmured against his lips and he couldn’t have agreed more. “But I was wondering if you wanted to take it to the next level.”

You pulled away and Boone just nodded furiously, not being able to hide his excitement.

“Gonna need a yes or no.”

“Yes!” He replied, a little too enthusiastically then cleared his throat. “Yes,” he nodded, his tone much more calm and you just laughed in response. He really was cute and felt honored that he was so excited to sleep with you, because from what you had heard, he had sworn off anything of that sort. You supposed now that you were going to have to make it that much more worthwhile.

“Okay, but I think you’re going to have to beg. I just don’t feel like you want it enough.”

“I can beg,” he nodded furiously. “I’m a good begger.”

“Go on, then.”

“Please, y/n,” he whined. “I mean, look at how much I need you,” he pointed to his rock hard cock then dropped to his knees, his hands still holding onto your hips. He buried his face into your stomach and you decided that he wasn’t lying, he really was a good begger.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I don’t think you want it enough.”

You felt his lips against your stomach and began to laugh as he peppered it with kisses between whispered sweet nothings. God, he was good.

“Please,” he begged, resting his chin on the spot right above your belly button as he looked up at you with pleading eyes. “I promise I’ll be a good boy.”

That line seemed to have done something for you because you were quick to help him to his feet before pushing him down onto the mattress, watching a wide grin spread on his face.

“Boxers off,” you commanded and he was quick to listen, pulling them off as quickly as he could as you pulled a condom from your purse. He put it on while you took off your underwear before climbing on top of him.

“Wow, look at you, honey, you’re already leaking and we haven’t done anything yet,” you teased and watched his cheeks turn red. “All that just from kissing? I must be better than I thought.”

“I-I’m a little out of practice,” he replied, feeling his cheeks getting even more warm.

“We don’t have to do this, Boone,” you reached up to twirl some of his hair around your finger and with you sitting on top of him like that, looking like an absolute dream, he could have sworn that he had died and gone to heaven.

“I want you to feel comfortable.”

“I do,” he smiled. “Actually, you’re the only person who I want to do this with. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Well, let me know if I do something you don’t like or just want to stop.” Boone appreciated how accommodating you were about the whole thing, being nothing but gentle with your words. He just wished that other people had reacted the same instead of just laughing in his face.

“I will,” he nodded. “Now please go ahead and do it. I’m dying here.”

You slowly placed yourself onto his cock and took no time to ride him, your hands finding his shoulders as your movements were slow, wanting to be soft and gentle at first to figure out what he liked before you went in the way you wanted to.

But clearly Boone had enjoyed it as his eyes shut tight, multiple moans falling from his lips as you rode him. His hands moved to your hips, digging into the skin as he bucked against you, feeling the need to move with you. And that seemed to work because a moan fell from your own lips and Boone swore that he was going to come just from hearing it.

“More,” he begged. “Faster.” You did as he commanded and moved faster, watching him come undone underneath you as his fingers dug even more into your skin, his hips bucking against yours even harder.

“Are you sure you’re out of practice?” You asked. “Because you’re doing great. I mean, look at you. Already look like you’re going to come, Jesus.”

“I-I think I’m close.”

Your movements got harder and faster and Boone felt an orgasm building already, feeling kind of embarrassed that he hadn’t lasted very long. But the sounds came out before he could stop them, louder than he had ever been and he was wondering why he hadn’t been on the bottom very often.

“That’s it,” you cooed. “Let it out, baby.” You continued to ride him at the same pace, trying to see how many times you could get him to orgasm in one round.

“Got some more in you? We can stop if you want.”

“Don’t. Stop,” he replied in between breaths and that seemed to be enough for you. You picked up your pace, going the fastest and hardest that you could, watching his back arch underneath you as he orgasmed again and again, looking like an absolute mess with the sweat rolling down his body and his hair that looked beyond repair.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “So fucking good.” His hips bucked against yours again and again as you fucked him hard and fast, trying his best to keep up with you.

The answer was four. And each time seemed to be more intense than the last, practical screams escaping his lips and you really hoped the other guests could hear him and know that you had fucked him good. And you had.

And after you had gone all night, you spent the morning in each other’s arms, bare skin to bare skin as you both got the best sleep of your lives, deciding that you were both looking forward to doing that often, deciding that you had to share a bed every night after admitting your feelings to each other. If either of you had anything to say about it, you’d be together forever.

#boone twisters #boone x reader #boone x fem!reader #boone x you #boone x y/n #boone fluff #boone smut #twisters #tyler owens

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ihavethedreamies · 1 year ago

Text

Deserted | Hoshi [NSFW]

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi - Seventeen)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Hoshi x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Sci-Fi AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot, Hookup/One-Night-Stand/Strangers to Fucking

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Sweet Girl, Baby Girl, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), Deepthroating, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom!), Added some piercings for ~flair~

Author's Note: I had my best friend read this the other day and she said it was a little much for her, but still enjoyable and she was sure others would love it.

I am planning on doing something like this for each member, so stay tuned!

-> Series Hub <-

-> Woozi's <-

-> Wonwoo's <-

-> S.Coup's <-

Revised (1/30/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." You groan as your sand-rover grumbles in protest, slowing down before it halts. The engine not only shuts off, but it lets out a giant puff of black smoke. The smell of burning rubber stings your nose and you groan louder, grabbing your bag off the passenger seat. Throwing the door open, you're glad this happened as the sun is setting and not when it was high in the sky. The desert, however, can be very cold at night. A gust of wind blasts against the door, almost slamming it shut on your legs. With a yelp, you swing out your arm to catch the door and sigh when it doesn’t keep going. Unwrapping the thin scarf around your neck, you rewrap it around your head and face to protect you from the blowing sand. Slipping your goggles on over to cover your eyes, you wince when the leather cracks further. Getting another strap will be a pain in the ass. Grabbing the door, you let it slam closed and sling your bag over your shoulder. Walking around the vehicle, you notice that is was hit harder than you anticipated. Since your rover is just that, you have no gun mounted on it, so when the acid-spitting space worm shot out of the ground, you could only flee. The back tire has finally been eaten away enough to go flat and there’s also a hole that leads to the gas tank. Only a bit of the fuel drips out and you know there’s no chance of getting the now wrecked rover anywhere. Climbing up on the other back wheel, you get the hatch in the back open so you can grab your bigger pack. Grunting, you swing it onto your back and cinch the straps tight. Turning back to the last outpost you had been at is a no go. There’s a huge alien monster in the way. You aren’t sure where the next outpost is, so you pull out your old, beaten up holo-tracker. When you turn it on, the holographic screen glitches, so you slam the body of the device against your thigh a few times and then it evens out. Clicking the buttons, one of which keeps getting stuck, you see that the next outpost is miles away. Walking that far will be an absolute drag but at least it’s night.

"Freaking desert planets…" You grumble as if you’ve ever lived on a different one. You grew up on Sierra-Victor-Tango, but after taking a trip to several other human worlds, you learned that your home is…well, a shithole. Everything is old and falling apart. In the cities, crime is rampant, and the smaller outposts and towns are poor. When you told your mother you were going out to scavenge through the desert, she was unsure. Not because she was worried for your safety, but she had no idea what you hoped to find. It’s a sandy wasteland inhabited by weird space bugs and lizards. You’ve never known earth like your grandparents so when you learned Terra animals and bugs look so different, you understood why your grandma was so skeeved out.

Looking back at the wrecked rover, you wonder if it can give you some credits for scrap, but the work to get all the way out to it isn’t worth it. Hiking up your pack again, you set off, holding the scarf to your mouth as a gust of wind blasts you. A little blinking cursor flashes on your holo-tracker indicating where you are as you walk toward the setting sun. Behind you and to the right, the two different moons rise higher and get clearer. Twinkling stars begin to appear and the cold is starting to set in. In the distance, you see a giant rock outcropping and you head for it. It’s off the packed-in road, so you can’t go very fast in the shifting sand. When you reach the rock, you walk around to the other side, looking for a crack or something you could wedge into for shelter. What you’re not expecting is some kind of shelter erected against the stone. It looks semi-permanent and constructed around some kind of indent in the giant rock.

Creeping closer, you see someone sitting at a fire pit, their back to you. What startles you the most though, is a giant feline-like shape lying next to the fire as well. You’ve never seen one that big and it looks like a tiger from the books your grandmother brought from earth. Instead of orange with black stripes, it’s black with white stripes and has long top fangs. The wind shifts; it’s coming straight behind you instead of at you. The beast lifts its head, beginning to growl. At this, the person turns around and you see it’s a man. He has a scar across the bridge of his nose and his ears are heavily pierced. Another piercing accents his right brow, and he has a long narrow tattoo behind his ear and down his neck. You immediately shoot your arms up in surrender and he motions his tiger to lay down.

"Who are you?" He calls and you dare not step closer.

"Uh…(Y/N), of Morgran Town." You’d never seen someone like him before. He’s incredibly attractive, and his poncho-like cloak hits right at his ribs, and he has nothing on under it. His muscles are toned, and his skin is smooth other than a scar near his hip. Tight leather pants cling to thick thighs and his big boots highlight his long legs. Even his arms are well defined, a belt holding some sort of flask wraps around his right bicep. His eyes are bright yellow, and you don’t know if that can happen naturally, and his hair is white with black tips, reminiscent of his tiger.

"Morgran Town? You’re a long way from home." He replies, motioning with his hand for you to come closer. Finally, out of the shadow of the rock, he can see you in the double moonlight. You feel…tiny. He isn’t super big, not like some you've met, but he isn’t short either.

"Well, I'm a traveler, my rover broke down a few miles back." You finally let your arms down and instead move to grip the straps of your pack.

"Headed to Korvo?"

"Yes."

"Don't."

"What? Why?"

"Two weeks ago, they got hit by slavers, it’s a ghost town." The man motions you closer and toward a stump he’s carved into a seat. Slowly, you walk the long way around, avoiding the cold gaze of the animal. You remove your pack, letting it thump next to your seat, but you don’t take off your other bag; just in case you have to flee. Now that you’re closer, you can tell that some kind of meat is being roasted on the fire.

"It won’t taste too good because I can't really cook, but it’ll be cooked." He flashes a smile, and it takes you off guard. He’s…adorable.

"You'll share?" You look at the roast, your mouth watering. You haven't has fresh meat in months, only dried stuff. You wonder if he makes the kill or his pet.

"Don't worry about Horanghae, he won’t bite unless I let him." He waves at the animal, and you nod, still feeling nervous in its gaze.

"I'm Hoshi." He holds out his hand to shake and you shyly return the gesture, and he sits back down at a long bench.

"You're a traveler? What do you do that for?"

"Oh, uh, I'm mostly looking for old wrecks of likes shuttles and ships and stuff." You shrug. It takes forever to find things like that, but you gained a knack for it, and it gets you a crap ton of money sometimes. While not official, you basically work for the International Assembly as a freelancer, so you do jobs at your leisure.

"That must take a long time." He smiles and you shrug.

"Sometimes. What about you?"

"I'm a Ranger." He holds up a medallion hanging around his neck that has an upside-down triangle-like logo on it. You’ve heard of them before, there aren’t too many of them, it’s hard to get accepted. They travel the desert and work as bounty hunters. That's all people really know about them.

"So, if Korvo is a bust, where should I head next?"

"Hm. There's nowhere close really, not that you can get to easily by foot…I can't leave here for a few days, so you can stay with me till then. I'll give you a lift after." He juts his thumb over to a hover bike that’s resting next to his abode.

"Oh! Thank you. That's very generous." You let out a sigh of relief, you were beginning to wonder what you were going to do. You’re really bad at hunting and have only so much water in your canteen. He tells you about his situation as you wait for the meat to be done. He has a well that’s in the back of his tent, which is half in the rock. He had blown a giant cave into it with a grenade and set up his home. Horanghae hunts for him, and he has a communication relay set up as well to talk with the rest of the Rangers.

"I only have one place to sleep though…" He finishes off his explanation and you wave him off.

"I can sleep on the ground, not the first time I've had to."

"No way. What kind of person would I be if I let my guest sleep on the ground?" He shakes his head. Thanking him, he declares the food done and hacks off a chunk for you. Hoshi spears the meat on a wooden skewer and hands it over. Eagerly eating the food, he watches in amusement at your ravenous behavior and then eats himself.

"Thanks. I can't begin to thank you; I would've been a goner." You shudder at the thought. If you had arrived at Korvo and found it wasted, you might have had a breakdown.

"Don't worry about it!" He takes the rest of the meat off the spit and gives it to the tiger. He leads you inside his hut, even carrying your big pack in for you. It’s nice and cozy inside, beautiful colored Afghans and rugs are laid out everywhere. The front room is like a living room and has a pile of pillows to sit at and even has a fairly nice holo-screen set up. There’s a curtain against the left wall that he tells you leads to the bathroom. The next room is the bedroom essentially and he tells you to go in and make yourself comfortable, he’ll sleep in the front room. Thanking him again you scurry into the back. That's where he has his communication equipment set up, and there’s an actual bed in there! Under all the blankets and pelts, there’s not just a sack of straw or even a crate; it’s an actual mattress. You haven't slept on one in almost a year. Taking your boots off, you jump on and groan at the comfort. Pulling the softest Afghan over you, you drift off quickly and sleep better than you had in a while.

A soft beeping stirs you from your sleep. Glancing at your watch, you see it’s almost sunrise and so you sit up, stretching with a groan. The beeping is coming from the monitor he’s set up. Not wanting to invade his privacy, you get up to go into the other room and inform him. He’s still asleep, spread out across the floor and pillows. His tiger must be outside. It would have been cute to see him sleep like that if it wasn’t for the fact his torso is now completely uncovered and only his lower half is covered by the blanket. Not just that, but his tight pants are thrown over a chair in the corner, and the blanket is tented in a very obvious way. The realization makes you squeak in embarrassment, and you flee back into the other room. While you haven’t been with too many guys before, you know for sure what he’s hiding under there. The soft beeping continues from the monitor, and you wonder what you should do. If he goes in there to check on it, he might not realize he has a…problem. Living alone probably allows him some freedom, but you’re here, and you aren’t sure he’ll think of that.

Dashing from the back room into the bathroom, you realize how bad you have to go. Once that’s done, you realize in shock that the plumbing is…actually plumping. Kind of. It’s one of those high-tech situations that vaporizes the waste into nothingness. The sink actually gives you water and it seems so will the shower. As you’re still in there, staring at your face in the mirror, you keep thinking of how to wake him. All of a sudden, the beeping gets loud enough for you to hear in the other room and when you peak your head out, you see he’s stirring. That solves that problem. Peering through the curtain, you watch him get up and your jaw drops as the blanket falls. Luckily, he’s at least wearing undergarments, but they’re tight and hide very little. He’s very nicely defined, his muscles aren’t huge, but he still looks extremely good. His hair is messy, and you’re enraptured watching him stretch. He trudges into the back room, scratching his chest and seemingly ignoring his morning problem. You hear a ding, and he speaks to whoever’s on the other line. His voice is rough from sleeping and you know you’re in danger. How is it that you managed to find such a gorgeous man out in the middle of the desert? Another voice responds to him, but you can’t pick out any specific words and soon their conversation is over, and you jump back into the bathroom and away from the curtain.

"(Y/N)? You in there?" He’s standing right on the other side, and you swallow before answering in the positive.

"I, uh, need in there, but…" You know why he’s hesitating and for some reason, some stupid little voice in the back of your conscience screams loud enough for it to come out of your mouth.

"I can help you with that." You blurt and gape at yourself in the mirror. He doesn’t say anything, and you kick yourself. Why, why did you say that? Before you can say anything else, the curtain pulls back, and you see him behind you in the reflection of the mirror. His look is much different than the night before. His yellow eyes that shined with laughter have turned sharp. It makes you shudder as you make eye contact with him indirectly through the mirror.

"I-I mean, I don't know how to thank you for helping me…So, I uh, can help with whatever." You’re glad the mirror don’t goes too low, otherwise you’d definitely be staring. You can see him slowly, look you up and down and you freeze under his gaze. It’s like what the tiger did to you last night, but ten times worse. You feel like a deer about to be eaten, and it turns you on to no end. Wandering around the desert for a living doesn't exactly afford many opportunities for romantic or sexual escapades. You figure the case is probably pretty true for him as well, if not more. You realize you’ve shed your shirt in the night; you’re just standing in the wrap-around you use as a bra and your leggings. Because of the heat of the desert and the tightness of said leggings, you usually go commando, and you wonder if you’re wet enough for it to soak through the fabric.

As he steps into the small space, he lets the curtain fall behind him but don’t step completely through the entryway.

"Are you sure?" He stares you in the eye, once again through the mirror, you do not yet have the courage to turn around. While you want to say you’re joking, that it’s just an impulse to tease, you can’t. Seeing him to begin with was enough, let alone in his current state...

"Are you sure?" You shoot back. You think yourself rather plain with no distinctive features. Your freckled skin from years of sun exposure is highlighted strangely by the tan line that formed around your goggles. You’re covered in dirt too because of wandering out in the blowing sand. His poor bed is probably covered in sand too. Not easy to find somewhere with running water, let alone hot water, your hair is pulled back into a braid but isn’t exactly clean. You’re glad that body odor had been genetically eradicated decades ago. Plus, compared to him, you’re painfully average.

When he don’t verbally respond, you grow even more nervous, but he steps in further till he’s standing a few steps behind you. He peers at the mirror from behind, and he’s nearly a head taller than you. His stare is even more intense now and you shiver. Taking a deep breath, you finally work up the courage to turn around, and he’s immediately on you. His kiss is searing, and you immediately groan. Nothing about it is gentle, it does truly feel like he’s trying to eat you. He bites your bottom lip, and you moan, his tongue quickly flicking against your own. Something cold and round hits your teeth and you realize his tongue is pierced. Oh Lord. Hoshi's hand comes to rest around your throat, under your jaw, but in no way harsh or tight. This way, he can angle your head just right. Your neck protests some and so you prop up on your tip toes, tipping your head and allowing the kiss to deepen further. His second arm wraps around you, almost encircling you while his hand grips your ass. The hand on your jaw moves to the back of your head and you wrap your smaller hands over his biceps. Pulling back for air, his fingers bury further in your hair and yanks your head back so he can kiss down the column of your throat. You moan as you feel his teeth bury slightly into the flesh, then he sucks hard, definitely leaving a mark. As he presses you so close to him, you can feel his covered hard-on against your bare stomach. Your head swims as he sucks on your earlobe and his hand leaves your head to wrap around your back.

"Jump." He orders and you follow, his mouth landing on yours again as he leaves the bathroom. The man easily carries you and brings you to the bedroom, "Put me down a sec." You tell him. Hoshi raises his eyebrow in question but does so. You immediately sink to your knees, and he groans before you even touch him.

"You sure?" He asks.

"If I goes to do something, I'm sure." You tell him, implying for him to stop asking. He nods and you nervously but quickly reach for the waistband of his only item of clothing. Exhaling, you remove the garment and gape as he steps out of it. Swallowing a build-up of saliva, you no longer have to imagine. What shocks you the most however is the two metal spheres adorning the head of his cock. A full reverse prince albert. That’s…the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

"Good?"

"Yes." You clear your throat, wiggling your jaw a bit then reach for him, swirling your tongue around the head, the metal imbedded there surprisingly is just as warm as his skin. He swears as you begin to descend. Your jaw protests some, but in the best possible way. You see his eyes widen in shock then narrow as he moans, your nose reaching his pelvis. Swallowing around him - the piercing is an odd sensation- you pull back as little as possible so you could still breathe. Once you find the proper depth, you pull off him and give him a look, spreading your legs more and placing your hands on the floor.

"(Y/N)?" He asks and you simply opens your mouth wide, tongue out.

"Fuck." He practically growls and he adjusts your jaw by the chin and then he slides in. Keeping your teeth covered is a little difficult with his girth, but you manage. You can focus on that while he does all the movement. He’s notices what you’re doing and makes sure not to go too deep but every so often so you can still breathe. Your gag reflex is pretty much gone at that point for several different reasons, but with his size (and the piercing) you let out a small gag every once and a while. Hoshi's hands dig into your hair as he uses your mouth, very quiet but high-pitched moans flowing out. Feeling him twitch, you know he’s close, and he almost pulls out. While part of him wants to see your face covered, he much prefers it when you grab the back of his thighs and bury him completely in your throat.

"Oh, fuck." He groans, throwing his head back as he cums. You moan at the feeling yourself and the vibration rolls his eyes back. When he’s done, you swallow to make sure everything goes down and he pulls out fully, still half-hard. Licking your lips sensually, he huffs and reaches down to lift you up under your arms. You yelp at the ease to which he does this, and he literally tosses you onto the bed. Grabbing the fastener of your breast band, he roughly pulls it open and off, the motion flipping you over onto your stomach. He’s manhandling you with such ease. Hoshi moves your braid out of the way and starts to lay seething kisses along your spine and over your shoulders. His hand comes under you and runs down your stomach till the tips of his fingers reach the waistband of your leggings. He pulls your waist up, his now fully hard cock wedged between the cleft of your ass. You’re definitely leaking through the fabric. Placing a final kiss on your shoulder, his hand hooks into your bottoms, and he tugs hard. You flip over once again and as Hoshi drags the last of your clothes off, he also tugs you to the foot of the bed. Before you can get your bearings, his hands grip your thighs - tight- and presses your legs open. You know you’ll have bruises there in the morning and his hot breath on your core makes your hips seize.

"W-wait-!" You gasp as his tongue licks a hot stripe up to your clit. You’ve never had this done before, just never really cared to. It’s something new for sure and it’s almost too much. The slight cold of the ball piercing his tongue makes you flinch. You can feel his lips curl into a smirk against you at this and catch him looking up at you. The sight is overwhelming, and he sucks hard on your clit, you head slamming back into the bed.

"You taste amazing." He groans against your skin. His hands move from your thighs, and he wraps his arms around your legs and buries in deeper. The holds he’s on you prevents almost all movement and your upper body squirms to compensate. Hoshi's tongue seems like it shouldn't be as long as it is, nor as strong. The piercing brushes right against your entrance and hits your clit over and over. He’s like a man starved, dehydrated, and he’s sucking your soul out.

"Ah!" You almost scream when he comes back to your clit and your orgasm hits you, hard. It’s stronger than you’ve ever experienced and lasts much longer. He groans against you, his continued tongue movements dragging it out. When it finally calms down, he pulls away as the overstimulation begins to sting. The man lets you catch your breath and when you’re able to open your eyes to look at him and he’s drenched.

"Oh my god!" You gasp and he just laughs, wiping his mouth and sucking everything else off his hand and fingers.

"You ever squirted before?" He asks and you shake your head, mortified.

"It’s okay, pretty girl, that was sexy." His smile is too cute for what he just did to you.

"You need a minute?" He asks and you rest back again with a nod. Delicately, instead of what he was doing before, he picks you up and shifts you higher up the bed. His lips come back to yours, gentle at first and growing heated again. There’s something about his kisses; they alone make your head swim. Is it him or his skill? The tongue piercing? Who knows? As he feels your body become less tense, his arms wrap around you and tilt your hips up so he can grind against you. You’re still somewhat sensitive so even just the slight friction is so good. Already knowing this from when he was straining your jaw, you know that his cock’s going to stretch you so good. The sting will be so worth it. It’s been a long time since anyone filled you up and no one ever has as much as you know Hoshi is going to.

"You ready, princess?" He finally lets your tongue go and you can’t form a thought to make words, so you nod. He smirks and the head pokes at your entrance. As he eases in, the sting is more intense than you though it would be, but so, so good. The stretch isn’t the only thing that takes your breath away. That gosh darn piercing perfectly hits your clit and rubs against your walls as eases in. At least he’s self-aware of his size because he goes slow, but knows he isn’t hurting you. Your hard exhales are tinged with a moan, nearly imperceptible. He’s big, you know part of it’s because you’re quite small, but his cock is impressive on its own.

"So tight." He grunts, grinding into you and your clit throbs.

"J-just give me a sec." You grip his shoulders, breathing through the delicious stretch. It feels incredible despite the slight pain. After you sit for a bit, he shifts some and then moves slowly, hiking your leg up over his elbow and he goes even deeper.

"Fuck!" You moan, your head tossed back, and you almost cum again right then.

"You okay?" He chuckles some, he can tell by how you clench that it feels good, not that it hurt. That fucking piercing brushes right against your sweet spot. Hoshi has already ruined you for any other man, and hasn’t even moved yet.

"Ready?" he asks, massaging your hip. You nod and the hand on your hip tightens its grip, and his arm hikes your leg up higher. He barely pulls out, maybe an inch, then his hips snap, and you cum.

"Ohgodohgodohgod." He grunts as you walls clench him tight and he’s growing smug at the pleasure he’s wreaking on you. In truth though, he’s trying really hard not to cum already himself. He knows he’ll have some time before he can again given he’s already came, but it has been a while. However, every other time he’s waited this long, he can go for many, many rounds. If he could, he’d keep you in his bed and in his hold for the rest of the day. He wants to make it so you can’t walk by the time he can bring you to the outpost. Honestly, he wants to make it so you never want to leave. When your orgasm dies down, he waits a bit longer, you lay limp in his arms.

"You're gonna have to do all the work now." You tell him with a tired giggle, likes he wasn’t already doing that. He smirks, notching your other leg up over his arm, then proceeds to fold your legs up to your chest. He presses your thighs down with his hands, forming more bruises and you prepare yourself. His next thrust is almost hard enough (it seems) to dislodge a kidney. It knocks the wind out of you and your sensitive skin burns. You’re in for a ride. His thrusts are not even as hard as they can be, you know. Hoshi only pulls his cock halfway out before he buries as deep as he can go. After every thrust, he grinds down into your clit, the metal ball inside rubbing your g-spot. Your moans are getting harder to contain, you almost want to scream. Drool pools out of the sides of your mouth; your entire body is on fire.

"Don't hold back, baby girl, let me hear you." He grunts out, his thrusts slowing but no less deep. Finally getting permission to be loud, you whine, and he unfolds you and leads you to wrap your legs around his waist. Up on his knees, he positions you to rest your lower back on his thighs and he rolls his hips to snap his cock into you over and over. The new position let that stupid piece of metal scrape perfectly against your walls, the head of his dick probably bruising your cervix. You’re ruined, no thoughts in your head. You’re letting out slurring moans of his name and pleas for…you aren’t even sure at this point. He’s fucked you stupid.

"(Y/N), pretty girl, where can I cum?" His thrusts have gotten more erratic, he isn’t able to hold back anymore.

"I-inside." You moan, able to form a complete thought.

"Yeah?"

"Please~!" You cry out and this sends him over the edge. Getting as deep as he can, he swallows your moan, sliding his tongue back in your mouth, painting your insides white. The hot sensation gives you another orgasm, not nearly as strong though, and it’s a relief. As the spurts of cum stop, he pulls away from your mouth and he chuckles at the fucked-out look you have.

"I'll let you rest, sweet, but then I'm going to fill you up again."

-> Series Hub <-

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Seventeen Master List

Taglist: @gaslysainz

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pculrstate · 3 days ago

Text

the wind keeps blowing somewhere every day.

In those first days John would drive until Sam’s crying burrowed into his head and triggered a migraine behind his eyes, Dean in the back next to the carseat, sitting still with his eyebrows drawn together and his fingers folded in his lap even though John had told him that when Sammy got fussy it was his job to talk to him and play games with him and try to settle him down because Dad couldn’t do it when they were driving like this, Dad had to keep his eyes on the road. He’d drive until it got worse than he could bear and then he’d pull off at a rest stop and climb in between Dean and the carseat and Dean would wrap himself around John’s arm and John would unclip Sam and lift him out one-handed and he would press his son against his neck and he’d say shh, shh, shh and then Dean would pick up the rhythm with him, shh, shh, shh, and John would bounce him a little and most times Sammy’d fall asleep just like that, lips suckling the skin underneath his ear. Dean was never far behind after that. His meager grip on John’s arm would loosen and he’d slide down the seat till his forehead was against John’s hip. Some days he’d stay right there for hours, feeling their heat and dampness on him, their soft hair, and listening to each breath, counting them, syncing his own to theirs.

***

Because they had nowhere to go he’d drive and drive and the driving gave him purpose or at least some semblance of it and when Sammy was in happier moods the boys actually took well to the road. He told them moving was good. He told them they were going on a trip and then he’d drive from one end of the county line to the other and back. In those days Dean struggled with his Rs and he would press his nose to the window and say tee tee tee because everything outside was endless trees. That’s right buddy. All those trees.

***

He watched them always through the rearview. She’d had the foresight to put one of those mirrors on the backseat over Sammy’s carseat so they’d be able to see him as they drove until he was old enough for the front-facing one. He thanked her every day for that. He watched Sammy gurgle and blink and he watched Dean poke a finger into his brother’s mouth. The way it would make them both giggle and John too and in those moments it felt like they were going to be okay.

***

Nights he spent praying for the morning. Sam refused to take a bottle and he’d start up crying and John would hold it to his mouth and he’d say please Sammy. When that didn’t work he’d dab some of the formula onto his finger and try to get him to suck from there but he knew it wasn’t nearly enough because Sam would fall asleep before a quarter of the bottle was gone. All the while Dean standing next to him wide-eyed and with his hands clutching his neck which John knew meant he was afraid. Let’s get you all tucked in huh? He’d lift Dean and fly him like an airplane into the bed to get him to laugh but he wouldn’t laugh. His chin would quiver and a few tears would fall and he’d wipe them quickly with the back of his wrist and he’d say I didn’t have dinner.

***

By then it was probably too cold for the park but he figured he needed to start conserving gas money and eased off the driving for a while. And anyway the boys had always liked the park so on a sunny day he’d layer them in clothes he found at a thrift store and the sight of them thick and round with fabric and Dean not even able to put his arms down flat to his sides was a tiny spark of delight in his chest. He’d wrap Sam in a blanket and then zip him into his jacket for extra warmth but also because it doubled as a carrier so he could push Dean on the swing or hold his hand as he went down the slide.

***

There were terrible dreams from which he’d wake sweating and out of breath and he’d think he smelled smoke in the room and in his panic he’d reach for them in the dark on the bed next to him and just that touch would startle Dean awake and he’d say daddy? daddy? and sometimes it would be minutes before John could settle the shaking in his limbs enough to palm Dean’s forehead until he fell back to sleep.

***

Dean started asking for the song she always sang to him as she rocked him to sleep and John would look at him for a long time and then say I’m no good at that one buddy. It killed him in those days to deny them anything but he knew even if he tried he wouldn’t make it through. How ‘bout another one? And he’d sing Haggard or Foley or Cash and it didn’t matter that they weren’t lullabies—those guys knew how to soothe the soul. Because for some reason when he sang Sammy took the bottle and he’d watch John with his serious eyes and drink deeply and John thought the gulping little noises he made were the most beautiful he’d ever heard.

***

In those days he tried to talk to them as much as he could so they wouldn’t feel lonely and so he wouldn’t either. He’d tell them stories and he’d ask Dean questions about the things they saw. When they stopped at a gas station he’d take the boys out of their seats and around the back of the car and he’d say I’m taking this nozzle filled with oil and I’m putting it in this hole, see that? And this gives the car what it needs to drive and Dean would look at the numbers ticking up and up and up and when the pump stopped John’d say okay Dean, how much did this one set us back? and he’d lift him so he could read each number.

On the worst days when all he wanted was to hide in his silence he’d think of her and he’d look at them looking at him and he’d keep talking. The road their only friend. And they went on.

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limolib · 10 days ago

Text

01/Flat-line.

7th floor x female reader (the 8 show) Masterlist

WC:4.0K, specific chapter warnings: suicide mention.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅::]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

Sitting back and watching others work their magic was really not your strong suit , and it was most definitely your least favorite part of the job. They were in there for at least 20 minutes and still, no contact or even a report back. Nervousness spread quickly through the smoke-thick air, as they themselves had not returned. You leaned back on the ambulance in silence next to your coworkers, collectively observing the fire lapping up the side of the short apartment building. This was the worst call to be on, you always thought. You didn’t know if it would be worse to live through it or die in it. The extent of burns always make your skin itch and the smell of burning flesh seems to stick to your bones for days. The second team of firefighters headed into the building due to no response from the first team after a few attempts at contact. Other, unharmed, residents huddled around the blocked-off area in their pajamas as bystanders filmed the glowing sight. There was just one apartment affected by this whole thing, but the door to the place seemed to have melted shut and there was no other way in.

“2 kids 2 adults,” your colleague filled you in, eyes unmoving from the residence’s window showcasing bright dancing flames. A shadowy figure finally appeared in the entrance way, 2 men, one standing upright and the other slumped over his shoulder, both firefighters. You immediately went into action with your partner receiving and supporting the injured man. Your curiosity about the situation faded as you began first aid. Smoke inhalation and a few minor burns, nothing major. Shockingly, however, the man was showing signs of acute hysteria. The world began to fade away as you got to resuscitation, everything else becoming just background noise. Airway, breathing, circulation ok. Pain control done. Your hands went on autopilot.

He mumbled something about a collapse and being stuck inside the entire time.

. . .

The reporter on the tv was still talking about the fire, apparently there’s a conspiracy or something. You lie down on your worn-out couch, your face lit up by the glow of your phone, bank account open to show the ever-increasing debt you’ve managed to rack up, which, according to your calculations, you’d be able to pay off in a few hundred years… If you starve and also live in the street. Your eyes shifted from the screen to the degree hung on the wall. So many people had warned you about being a first responder.

“You’ll burn out quickly,”

“It's worse than you could predict,”

You know what, they were right. To hear of death is one thing. To see it in school is another. To live in it every. Single. Day. is suffocating. Hell, even the pay you’d hear of was simply not true. So here you are, elbows deep in one of the most stressful professions with no money to show for it. It was also very isolating. Not only do you get off of work very late (and super tired), so you couldn’t really socialise, but you also can’t confide in your coworkers because they have their own problems to deal with. You were surviving up until pretty recently just fine. Picking up extra shifts and odd jobs to keep up with never–ending payments but you made it work. 3 weeks ago however, a gas leak in your building took the life of your smiley neighbour, along with your cat. It had hit you then, you had very little to live for before this. But now? All gone. You used to look forward to coming home to a very chatty boy and his aftermath of a messy apartment. In fact, the cleaning portion of your day took your mind off of the horrors you’d witness. Your neighbour and her daughter would stop by a few times a week to share food ever since they’d moved in just over a year ago. Although only now you realised you’d never learned her name. Or maybe you’ve forgotten it in grief. This, albeit a bit pathetic, kept a glimmer of sunshine in your otherwise desolate routine. You caught your reflection in the black phone screen, sunken eyes and a gray face. You wondered if this was grief or malnutrition. It has all crumbled so suddenly, although, looking back at things now, the paint has been chipping away for some time. So here you are, in a top tier career but a debt so crushing you’re living just slightly paycheck to paycheck. Neither a failure nor succeeding. Stuck in the in-between. You couldn’t even find it in you to cry. What for…Who to? Your mind will not quiet down to let you sleep and the place was starting to feel stuffy, so you bundled up over your scrubs and went out for a stroll in the brisk autumn night air. Maybe you could fake your death? Move to Thailand under a new name or something… Where would you even get the money for that? How much does faking your death cost? Oh, it's a whole industry! Hmph.

. . .

“Oh my god you again?!” the front-desk nurse laughed. “Any more donations and you’ll be running on empty.”

“Maybe you should stop tempting me with free juice and a cookie,”

“It’s not free, you pay for it by passing out.You can’t give anymore blood.”

“Ok plasma then.”

“Same concept.” She deadpanned.

This little hack had gotten you countless ‘fancy’ dinners, and tonight's no exception. A warm plate of grocery store noodles that would’ve otherwise been out of budget. The rest of the money would be put towards cat food. Would’ve been, anyway. You sat at a bridge slurping your food, eyes observing the bustling city’s skyline in silence. Matter of fact, practically your whole life now is encased in silence. Sigh. It was almost 10pm. Best be heading home.

. . .

You hoped the short walk and treat would rid you of this feeling and when it didn't, you gave a cold shower a chance to do the same. Not that you have the luxury of hot water, but anyway. That didn’t work either. So that’s how you ended up here, pills in hand. They were prescribed to you to help with your insomnia. You stopped taking them because the misery you found yourself in had caused you to sleep more than the normal hours. You strolled over to your tiny balcony, hoping that this would allow your body to be found sooner. Pills in one hand, bottle in the other, you bought your hand up to your mouth but then…hesitated. You shouldn’t…

Why not though? You were not alive, not dead either, just something in the middle. What's a life with no living? There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. Death was something you had become used to, it was almost familiar. Plus, maybe this way you’ll get the relief you've been longing for. Putting some tablets into your mouth, you paused to think, heart racing. How many do I need to take, is this enough? What if they’re expired? Would it be enough or would you just end up a vegetable or something. Your 7 years of medical knowledge had left your body. You don’t have the insurance to cover this. Screw it. Big breath in and

Ping!

The device in your pocket vibrated. A text? From whom? At this hour? Never-mind. Probably just marketing or something.

1…2-

Ping!

Another came

Ping! Ping!

Then another, and another.

You held the pills in your mouth for a minute and fished your phone out of your pocket. It was money transferred into your account. But those numbers caught you very off-guard. Definitely not marketing. You spit the medicine out onto the ground and rinsed your mouth with some water. Each amount was coupled with a text. Something about buying the time you had given up. A suspicious white limousine stopped in front of your building, with windows so deeply tinted that you couldn’t make out if there was someone in the driver’s seat or not. On one hand, you’ve got nothing to lose and clearly this person has plenty to share. But something felt off. Your gut was filled with unease, almost making you throw up the mushy food you had earlier.

It can’t get much worse than this. Actually it can…you clutched your valuable organs. But whatever.

So, swallowing your fears, you ran downstairs, hopped in and took off.

. . .

Two blood red numbered cards in a circle of blank ones stared at you. 2 & 5. You pondered for a minute, but you couldn’t even come up with what they might be for. This was supposed to be a show after all. The paper in the envelope was not any help. Food and water, no one dies, leave now if you want. The second one had caught you off-guard, what a random and odd thing to include, why would anyone die? How odd. You eyed the money, which was, by any means, not a small sum. Added to the money they’d already transferred, you’d be going home with a substantial stack of cash to keep you a little more comfortable for a while. But then again - your eyes went back to the cards- this money doesn’t even put a dent in your debt, and they’re clearly willing to dish more out. An hour-ish ago you were ready to end it all, what more could possibly be there to lose? Your hand reached for 2 but hesitated, your best guess is that this would be a game show. 2 could be a disadvantage of having a turn so early. 5 however, not in the beginning, not at the end, just in the middle. You’ve started to find comfort in the half-way you seem to keep finding yourself in. 5 it is.

The door locked shut behind you and you flinched, only to continue looking around the kids’ playground you strolled into. Cameras decorated the edge of the ceiling, how orwellian. 5 flights of stairs later, you were face to face with your room. It reminded you heavily of your own apartment, so you can't really complain. Show begins at midnight, got it, don't take items out of the room, okay, leave all belongings…including clothes? You have to change infront of all these cameras? That would be quite the show. You didn’t want to think of what kind of sicko was watching right now. You panned over to the cameras to check. Yup, blinking red, so, recording, as far as you can tell anyway. An exasperated sigh escaped your dry lips. What the hell, sure.

A countdown lit up the room as you sat in a corner with your eyes closed. No turning back now.

About a minute of silence and then -tchk- the scoreboard went from 0 to 80,000. Is that…money?

No-way…right? Another minute, another 80,000. What. The. Hell. Your gaze shot to the phone next to the board. Inching towards it carefully, you pondered what you could ask for. A quick look around the room gave you an idea.

“Could I have a pillow please?”

A number flashed on the screen causing your eyes to widen. ‘A special price’ oh okay. Except it was like a thousand times more than usual. Is the show about inflation?

“Uhm, never-mind” you shoved the phone back into its place.

You padded back into the corner you’d found comfort in, sat down and hugged yourself. A deep sigh was let out as you weighed your options. The chill of the room made its way down your poorly covered spine causing a short shiver to shoot through your muscles, making it hard to focus on the task at hand.

500,000 won for a pillow and another 2 million for a blanket.

Right now you're sitting at only 480,000. It would take about half an hour to collect the amount. That’s do-able. But then you’d be shot back down to zero, and who knows how long they're letting you stay in here.

Hmmmm

It’s been a long day. Your eyelids-despite the room temperature- were drooping. You’ve been here before. Sleeping upright with only your own embrace for warmth. Tomorrow you’ll be able to feel the pulse of how the show’s system goes. In the meantime, you focused on slowing your breathing, hoping your dreams would be kinder and warmer than here.

. . .

“Everyone, wake up! Come down here so we can meet each other!” a female voice called from the distance

Another dreamless night, at least it's not a nightmare. Always only half-way. The scoreboard read a whopping 38.4 million! You counted the zeros once, twice, maybe this was the dream. Another voice joined the commotion outside and you thought it best to catch up now, lest you miss something. A quick couple of pats to your bedhead and a few face slaps later, hurried towards your room door and grabbed the knob, but something stopped you there. Since this is a game show, it would be best to be likeable. It won’t be difficult, since, once upon a time, you were way more social and charismatic, you’ll just have to slip back into your old ways. Or rather, new beginnings. The thought filled you with giddy, you could feel your old, confident self crawling out of her cave. Also, it would be an advantage to capture the hearts of the audience, no? Maybe build an alliance. A stupid smile stretched across your face. Okay, you can do this.

After a quick turn of the knob, you made your way down the stairs and to your teammates, or contestants, who knows. A quick headcount told you there were 6 outside, 7 including you, making you second to last to show up. Stupid details, nevermind.

“Good morning!” the cheerful voice from earlier said to you, it belonged to the girl in floor 4.

“Good morning,” you replied with a soft smile. “I’m-”

“Why bother?” A rougher female voice cut you off. “We won’t see each other after this anyway”

Floor 2, noted.

“That's a bit bleak but sure haha,” you replied playfully.

You looked around to take note of everyone else here. Floor 3 was an awkward, dorky looking dude, nothing really special. His gaze was fixed on his nails anyway. Floor 8 was a very pretty girl, her outfit, however caught your eye but you made sure not to stare. Your eyes then met hers and she winked, to which you let out a quiet giggle. Floor 6 was a tall, intimidating man. He had a few bruises peppered across his face, it filled you with heavy unease. He was layed back on a lounge chair with his eyes closed. Finally, 7th floor, who still had his back to you, but you could tell he was very confident in himself from how he was stood. He was looking up at the giant clock on the opposite wall. Or maybe he was focused on the timer below it. His head turned slightly to glance at you. He shot you a quick up and down before turning his attention back to the clock.

Okay four eyes, I see how it is. You thought. I don’t get along with sassy men.

That concludes the headcount, leaving only-

“Sorry I’m a bit slow,” an older man limped slowly towards the group. 1st floor, he seemed kind.

That makes 8.

After some more brief greetings, you turned your attention back to 7, whose eyes were still fixed on the timer. It hit you then. Last night that timer said 24 hours. Now it said a bit over 30. Time was added? But why? We haven’t even played any games or done anything. Then, it hit you like a shockwave. The cameras, the money, the time…they want a show. It must have been entertaining to watch everyone settle in last night with the surprise of money and all. Oh my, you felt bile rise up your stomach. For some reason your mind drifted to the stanford prison experiment and how that turned out. It's clear that there are no rules here, it's a lawless wasteland. 8 people locked in one place where seemingly anything goes…you looked down to 7, who had in turn, turned around and now had his eyes fixed on you, finally giving you a good look at him. Hello gorgeous or however you spell it.

No. Stop.

You exchanged a glance, it almost felt like he figured it out too. You quickly turned your attention back to the group, he was a very difficult person to read and if you held more eye contact you’d probably fold. Who knows if you’re supposed to be working with or against each-other. Besides, you’re probably reading too much into this. There’s likely another dozen theories as to why they added time. No need to fret over something you can neither control nor figure-out. You didn’t see it then, but 7 smiled a very tiny smile at the sight of your fluster.

“Was time added?” 3 spoke up. “I could swear last night it only said 24hrs”

“Woah, does that mean we’ll be here forever?” 8 teased with bright eyes, to which 6th chuckled.

“Uhm, does anyone know where the bathroom is?” 4 asked.

“There is none.” replied 2 with a sigh as she walked towards the hot dog shop. Everyone's eyes were fixed on her as she picked up one of the sandwiches.

“Wha-” 3 was cut off by 2 tossing -more throwing at- him the hotdog.

“It’s all fake.” She gave a demonstration of all the other shops which were also filled with plastic food figures.

Huh

“It seems that they went out of their way to remove basic infrastructure, sewage pipes and all.” 7th finally spoke up, his voice eerily monotone. It sent chills up your arm.

Girl stand up.

“What are we supposed to do then!” 4 exclaimed desperately.

“Last night, I thought we’d only be here for one day so I bought one of those things for camping and long distance driving-waste bags- I think.” 1st suggested “But does that mean we have to keep buying them at 100 times the price?”

“Not necessarily, no” 7 added. “We could always use the square for a ‘special price’”

“But what if it's more expensive?” You joined

“Guess there’s one way to find out,” 6 sighed as he stalked towards the phone. “One Marlboro and a lighter.”

“What the hell are you doing?” 2nd yelled, to which 6 only threw a cocky smirk.

Your eyes shot up to the time, 2 minutes were deducted. After some calculations, 7 came to the conclusion of it being around 2,500 won/minute, and 4 confirmed excitedly that in fact, no money had been deducted. That prompted a discussion on what should be bought using the shared money/time considering it looks like you will be here a while. And after a handful of insane suggestions -like lotion, pens, etc- they came to the conclusion of buying supplies for a makeshift toilet; a bucket and some bags, tissue, sanitary pads for the women and cigarettes for the smokers. Upon receiving the stuff, they each scurried back to their rooms to do their business. You however, weren’t really in any rush, so you waited till everyone had taken their things, leaving only you and 7.

He wordlessly handed you your share of the grand prize, while holding your gaze. In other circumstances, you’d swoon. Almost like he’s trying to figure some secret out just by how you’re moving. You took the items and went back up to your room.

. . .

Hunger had been making itself known, hypoglycemia had begun seeping through with a nasty headache that you couldn’t ignore. You wondered if you could ask for meds from the shared time. No, best not to piss anyone off with a personal problem. It turned out that the food was delivered to 8th floor only and she’d been conveniently keeping that to herself. All the other floors, hangry and all, were almost ready to beat 8 up. When asked about sharing, 8 just let out a suspicious hum. They accused her of eating it all alone, the only logical explanation as to why she was acting like this. She then got up, almost seductively, and took off her jacket leaving her only in a nude bra. She rubbed her stomach tenderly and for a second you thought she was gonna announce a pregnancy from the absurdity of her movements.

“I only eat one meal a day, I was just thinking of how I would share the food if I can’t get it out of the room. Hmm”

Do you want a prize? You want a cookie cause you eat just one meal a day? Want me to invite Bella hadid? My god are you insufferable, and who are you trying to impress here? You all but rolled your eyes. 2nd floor looked like she was one breath away from gouging 8th’s eyes out, so you stepped in.

“It was our first night, she didn't know any better,” You spoke up. “I would've done the same thing, it's not a big deal just a little miscommunication,”

The argument seemed to die down a bit after that. 7 looked at you and nodded as if telling you good job or something. What is this guy’s problem?

“The chute,” he suggested. “It runs down the building to each floor, that’s how we’re supposed to share.”

“Okay!” 8 said with an earily cheerful smile but as she turned to leave, 7 interrupted her.

You were a little taken aback when he asked to come up to the room with her, was he accusing her of being a liar? Hell, 4 caught that too.

“How could we be sure there were actually 12 meals?” she accused.

With tongue in cheek, 8 agreed to have all come see the food in her room, and the group eagerly made their way to the stairs in silence. You were pretty far behind, and by the time you got to the top everyone had become frozen solid in their places. The sight of 8th floor’s room had you choking on a gasp. You could not believe what you were seeing. A room three times more spacious than yours, decorated with furniture you would not even dream of buying in real life. In the far corner sat a hot pink bathtub of which you would unlikely be able to guess the price of. Dread began creeping down your chest. What the hell is this? Opposite to the door was a fancy dining set -you didn't even buy a pillow- what in the world could she possibly need this for. Who in their right mind would spend so much money making themselves comfortable in a place they don't know how long they are staying for. You panned over to her prize board fully expecting it to be a rudimentary number, since clearly she has trouble saving her money. Instead, you saw…hell you couldn’t even comprehend what you saw. The number must have been in the billions. Just then, it went up, causing your eyes to widen.

“How much did that just go up by?” 4 stuttered.

“It was like 340 thousand,” You mumbled, but the silence in the room allowed it to be heard.

“I’m-...only making 80 thousand.”

“80?? I’m making 30!” 3rd panted. “And I thought it was a lot!”

“30? I’m only making 10…” 1st floor said in an exasperated tone slightly above a whisper.

Your heart dropped as you -and everyone else- turned to meet his very defeated face.

Ch.02/Up & Down

A/N: I forgot to say that this is a slowwwwwww burn whew.

#the 8 show #7th floor #The 8 show x reader #7th floor x reader #Phillip Yu x reader #kdrama

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bonefall · 2 years ago

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Could a more advanced clan use tar as a glue replacement? It's made using wood from what I heard.

It's possible, but only for an advanced Clan. It might even be a little beyond what BB cats are capable of.

What you're thinking of is probably birch pitch, though pine can be used as well. Birch is better though, it makes a finer tar, but if you have English Clans they may want to use pine pitch because it's one of the few uses for the detested sitka.

(Also "pitch" tends to refer to more viscous material, where "tar" refers to thinner, more watery liquids.)

There's two things that makes it hard to collect. First, and most importantly,

TREE OIL IS FULL OF PHENOL. Your cats CANNOT breathe in the smoke or aroma that's going to be produced by making this. It is a deadly, toxic gas to cats. In humans, we're so resistant to this that we've used it as an antiseptic, dumped it right into our wounds. Cats CANNOT ingest or smell this without getting sick. Phenol causes a LOT of poisonings because of the popularity of essential oil.

Think of it as the kitty equivalent of lead paint. We used it for years because it's cheap, easy, and works good... and never realized that it was lead in the water and walls giving people brain damage.

And, secondly, what also keeps it hard to get is that it needs to undergo dry distillation. Basically, it needs to be sweated out of the wood, drained, and then processed a second time..

So only a Clan that has FIRE and POTTERY SKILLS will be able to do this. At bare minimum, you will need THREE POTS and CONTINUOUSLY BURNING KINDLE. Here's a basic diagram for you;

[ID: 3 pots, labelled and color coded. Pot 1, the green pot on top, has a lid. It rests inside of Pot 2, which is the largest one and has fire burning inside it. Pot 3 is purple and underground, below the others.]

Pot 1 and Pot 2 have holes cut in the bottom, for the liquid to leak out. This could work with just flowerpots, but historically, special structures are made for this purpose so you collect all the oil.

Also protip stand the bark upright and against the sides of the pot, not laying flat down. This isn't a sauna, stand up birch.

ONCE YOU'VE DONE THIS, YOU HAVE OIL. You do NOT have tar or pitch yet. The liquid you have collected is OIL.

Oil can be used as a water-repellant when applied to leather and wood, a heavy-duty cleaning agent (but watch out), and birch oil specifically can repel gastropods.

So now we need to turn that oil into pitch. This is the most dangerous part for a Clan cat, as it involves a LOT of smoke. If your Clan could make a gas mask, it would be helpful here

[ID: A cat with a gas mask sits next to a burning pit with toxic smoke rising out of it. Like the diagram above, Pot 1 is green and nestled within Pot 2, which is red and contains fire.]

Oil is reduced to pitch through evaporating the moisture out. Toxic fumes are BILLOWING out during this entire process, and there is a point in this process where you've gone too far and just burnt it into useless carbon.

So if your cats can create a gas mask then that's very helpful. Otherwise... you'd better do this on a windy day.

(I made this mask based on the P-helm of WW1 and Plague Doctor masks, feel free to run with it... but you will need Glassworking Skills unlocked for it, something BB cats don't have.)

Once you've done this, you have pitch or tar, depending on the thickness you reduced it to. This can be used for MANY things, and is the best adhesive that Clan cats could naturally access. It's especially useful for weaponry, keeping blades on shafts or sticking extenders to claws, but it's also VERY useful for preserving leather and wood as well.

So as you can see, this is a pretty high-tier process! BB Cats will very, very rarely do this. I imagine it was briefly popular while they were trading with BloodClan, but fell back into disuse. As a water-repellent, they prefer beeswax.

#clan culture #pitch #tar #glue #clan crafting

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making-room-for-more · 8 days ago

Text

PART TIME SLOB: ADJUSTING

This one is more eprocto heavy, just a warning. Also this is my very first kink fic, so let me know what you think of it?

Miyako found her curse was not only... weird. And gross. But it also caused problems real fast.

The first time she got back home, finding her necklace filled to nearly a third, she panicked. Oh, well. At least she was home, she could just relax and be her new, cursed self without any seeing eyes. She sat on the sofa, unbuttoned her pants and opened her vest before taking off the necklace.

Turns out that wasn't enough. Her flesh expanded with fat, growing tighter and tighter in those jeans and as she tried bending over to take them off with her fattening arms, it was too late.

RIIIIIP!

"Aw, come on! I bought those two months agoooo!" She whined, a bit more lazily than she would normally do. She put herself back deep into her sofa, her top rising to barely cover more than her boobs, and there she was. The new slob. Her immense gut topped with all those layers of fat practically covered the sofa, and her thighs... oof, yeah, she would need to take off her jeans beforehand.

"Just a moment to wait out." She said, laying back. "I'll just make myself comfortab-"

Pppprrfffffttttttttttt!!!

The sofa nearly rumbled with that one. Uuurg, god, she forgot about the gas part... oh, well. It's not that bad. She tried lifting a leg to direct the next bombs of gas toward the window, and lo and behold...

PPPPPRRRRRRRFFFFFFFTTTTTTPRRRRRPRPFFFF!!!

"Jeeeeesus." Not only could that be heard from the other side of her flat, it lasted a good six seconds. She'll have to find a better spot to lay ba-

PpppppppRRRRRGRRRRGRRRgghhhhh

"Uurg, i'm so gross!! ... excu- UUURROP-se me." She said, ashamed, to no one because there wasn't anyone other than her. Was this room close to her neighbour's flat? .. oh lord.

She checked the clock, 15h45. She had 30 minutes before they came back from work.

"Well, better make it count... HHRP! Ooof, that one was- OUURP! Good... I mean gross!"

It took her 20 minutes to empty her necklace, ripping ass every other second and burping every five breath. And yet despite all that, her gut did not flatten a single inch.

"Fucking cu- UUUUUUUOHHHHRR-Se. What do you gain making me this... freakshow?!-" She closed her eyes as a particularly vehement fart exploded out of her, an actual explosion that lasted 'only' one second, but whose stink washed up over the entire room and could probably be heard two stories up and down. "Fuckin' hell... well that must have been a- MMMRRHP... fuuu, a finale." She checked her necklace and fair enough, it was empty. She bent down to reach it, naturally causing a couple toots, and after a couple failed attempts, it was back around her neck.

One, two and three! She opened her eyes to a slim body... and BURNING EYES, OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT SMELL!!?!

She rushed to open all the windows in her appartment, the thing could have been filled with toxic fumes and it would be more mercifull. Urg, she was gonna PUKE!! THAT WAS PUTRID!! Even breathing outside didn't help, the gas was leaking out.

She grabbed a dress from her room and sprinted out of her appartment, even locked it to be sure that... DANGER ZONE stayed out of the public. No one was in the corridor, so she dropped her torn out clothes and changed to that dress immediately. God. Even the fabric had been stained with the smell.

Had she.. really been the source of this horrid gas?? This petulent vomit indulcing violence? ... WHAT WAS THIS CURSE'S PROBLEM!!

"Ok, so letting it fill up to a third is a no go. I need to take it off before... I'm gonna have to do it every other day." Who new Miyako, the polite reserved girl, would one day blast farts so devastating she would need evacuating out of her own flat??

(End of part 1)

#part time slob #slob kink #eprocto kink #eructo kink #burping kink #farting kink #gassy #slob #piggy #txt #eructophilia #eproctophilia

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evolutionsvoid · 2 years ago

Photo

It is kind of funny how many gauge the deadliness of an animal by things like teeth and claw. Have someone describe their idea of dangerous beast, and most descriptions will have vicious predators with maws full of fangs and shredding talons. While indeed these animals are designed to kill, as that is how they eat, the real image of a common killer is often a "lazy" and "peaceful" herbivore. No fangs or claws in sight, but they can take a person down in seconds if they feel the slightest bit threatened. At other times, the deadly critters of the world are ones you can't see, or at least ones you don't pay attention to. A little bug with a sting that can stop a heart, a floating bag of membranes that can leave a person in agony for days, or the hiding slug whose spines can scramble your brain. Or in this case, the floating piece of "cloth" that tends to leave corpses in its wake. You would never think much of it if you ever saw it, as tends to happen to outsiders who visit this region. They don't fully know the flora and fauna of the area, so they don't know what to look for. In most cases, they observe a "piece of cloth" or a "scroll of paper" passing by in the breeze. The brain usually interprets this as trash being blown about by the wind, or someone's laundry being pulled loose from its drying lines. A mere glimpse of something long and pale, then forgotten once it is gone from sight. Those new to these lands never really think it an animal, and that is their first mistake. It is no cloth, but a creature known as an Ittan-momen. They are a gastropod, but one that is extremely flat. Their whole body has been stretched and thinned out until they seem to be the thickness of a piece of fabric. Thankfully there are no bones to worry about, but it still has organs. These vital pieces of been flattened and stretched too, arranged in such a way that they still work despite being mere noodles. Some have been replaced, their roles taken over by its wet sticky skin. Breathing, smelling and tasting can be done by its sensitive hide, which is coated with a sticky mucus. It can even absorb nutrients through its skin, but we will get more into that later. The other thing to note is that it is extremely light and can manipulate gas flow through its body to allow it to float. With this it can hover in the air, but its flight is quite slow. The reason you see them fluttering in the breeze is because they rely on these air currents to get them moving at a decent speed. They will happily ride the gust and gales, as it means less work for them. While its lightweight body makes it easy to be carried by the wind, the Ittan-momen is not helpless against its power. It can move and undulate its form to better catch the breeze and direct its flight the way it wants. Various flat tendrils at the front and back also help with steering, as well as for latching onto branches and posts as an anchor if things get too blustery. If the weather is too strong, or the flat slug is feeling tired, they will wrap themselves around tree limbs so that they can rest. At the head are some extra tendrils for tasting and smelling the air, as well as two eye stalks. These organs can extend or retract depending on its needs, and they also have a faint glow to them. This can be seen at night, as the Ittan-momen tends to be a nocturnal creature. As for the reason for the glow, we aren't really sure at the moment. Some suggest it is to scare away predators, giving the impression of big glowing eyes in the dark. Others say it is to signal to others of its kind, as a way of finding a mate. Another theory is that this light in the blackness attracts bugs and other small morsels that the Ittan-momen feeds on. Though this animal does eat, you would be hard pressed to find any real mouth. When you are flat as paper, working jaws or mandibles can be a bit tricky. Instead, the Ittan-momen relies on numerous pores that run down its underbelly, which secrete this sticky mucus. This thin film on its body is not just to keep itself moisturized, but it helps it eat. In truth, this stuff is a digestive fluid, which slowly breaks down whatever it touches. Before you start panicking, it isn't that strong. It is only a threat to things like flies, spores, pollen and other small organic stuff that is carried by the wind. The acid doesn't eat through flesh or rind, as it is only meant to digest small morsels. If you were to get a bunch of stuff slathered on you, the worst that would happen is something similar to a light sunburn. Redness, itchy and it stings when you touch it. That's it. For the unfortunate insects fluttering about, it is a death sentence. The Ittan-momen flies about, using its undulating body to collide with airborne critters and trap them in its sticky layer. Over time, they will be digested and the porous skin will absorb the nutrients. They may even go after food that isn't in flight, slapping their body down on clusters of insect eggs or bugs resting on branches and reeds. Some Ittan-momen have been seen visiting carrion, landing briefly on the corpse to get some of the juices then flying off before a scavenger takes a bite out of them.

So a sticky flying piece of cloth that only eats bugs, seems harmless enough. At first I bet you folks thought that it would be coated in a burning acid or deadly poison that would kill you on contact, eh? That it would coil around you and melt you down to the bone! I know it is a bit disappointing, but no. Ittan-momen do not have any toxins that kill you instantly. So how does such a flat, billowing piece of flesh defend itself? How does it keep other animals from slurping it up like kishimen? Well the sticky mucus has a bitter taste to it, so the creature isn't really a delicious thing to snack on. It is also surprisingly tough and flexible, making it hard to bite through. Those who attack an Ittan-momen will find it growing in length, as it tends to compress some of its body when trying to navigate harsh wings. It can be pulled and yanked without any real damage, and the creature has a powerful regenerative ability that lets it survive with missing chunks. So it survives predation by being annoying? Since it is bitter tasting and tough to chew, then no one messes with them because it is a waste time, right? Partly right, as the other reason is that these things are actually incredibly aggressive when threatened. This noodle doesn't taste good and it also won't hesitate in turning you into a corpse. The Ittan-momen spends most of its life in flight, so when it comes down to dealing with a predator, all they can do is switch to "fight." When threatened, the Ittan-momen pretty much launches itself at its attacker, usually startling the hunter. You don't expect prey like this to throw down so eagerly. They slap their bodies onto their foe and unwind their length, using powerful muscles and sticky mucus to keep hold. They move like serpents, seeking to tangle limbs and coil around whatever they can grab. Most of all, though, is the fact that they start aiming for the face. Their sensitive tendrils can detect one's breath, and they know such a thing is pretty important for most animals. When tangled with their attacker, the Ittan-momen will look to wrap its body around the mouth and face, as it wants to stop that breath. Foes will go from angered lashing to panicked thrashing when they notice the slug coiling around their heads, making it harder to breath with each constriction. Clawing and biting at it won't do much, as the flesh is rubbery and difficult to pierce. Its muscles tighten and the body spreads where it needs to properly cover up breathing holes. If the predator is unlucky, the Ittan-momen will literally suffocate them with its body, sometimes even strangle them if its gets around the neck. However, it does not always follow through with these efforts. The creature responds to threats and violence, continuing to fight back if it feels attacked. If the foe ceases its struggles, then the slug starts losing its hostility. What usually happens is that the animal starts to run blindly in a panic, and the Ittan-momen uses this moment to let go and be thrown free into the breeze. If they don't stop clawing and thrashing, then the slug may keep tightening its hold until these movements cease for good. Hopefully by now you see the danger. An angry piece of sticky paper that responds to threats by suffocation. Add in the fact that it only lets go if the creature caught within stops panicking, and you have the recipe for a deadly encounter. Like I said, Ittan-momen eat bugs, they have no use for a whole corpse. They don't look to kill people or animals, they just have really good defenses and a heavy dose of paranoia. I won't mince words: these things can kill humans. They have killed humans. They can strangle dryads too, though some of us have breathable rinds that can help avoid this fate. These slugs fly about at night, with only a faint light to give them away. Those blundering about in the dark may accidentally collide with one, and the creature will instantly go into defense mode. Human heads are conveniently sized for an Ittan-momen to completely coil around and smother, all while the victim pulls and tears uselessly at its body. The advice is to quit your struggling and relax, so that the slug calms down and releases its grip. This advice is also pretty difficult to follow when you suddenly find your face filled with sticky strands of writhing flesh. Most deaths occur by accident, when someone goes out at night alone and runs into one. Sometimes they can occur in your own home, if you leave the windows open and the Ittan-momen sees a tasty cloud of bugs gathered around your lamps. Victims get too close, either by accident or trying to shoo it away, and the slug retaliates with lethal force. My advice is to travel with a buddy and keep a blade close at hand. Your best chance is to remain calm, but when that obviously fails, your friend will have to cut the thing off your face. Or at least carve yourself a breathing hole. Some locals wear masks when walking at night, to help keep the coiling slug away from their mouth if it tries to latch on. This is a pretty good tactic, but also a good way to scare other people when they see a masked figure lurking in the darkness. You try to avoid becoming the victim in a scary story, but then wind up being the star of another person's tale of horror. And since I have made the noodle comparison and people can't help to ask: no, you can't eat them. They taste awful and their body is like a thin sheet of rubber. And even if they were edible, I wouldn't tell you because that would only encourage people to seek out the flying strangle slug. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Ittan-momen”

How about another yokai? Felt in the mood for it.

#Ittan-momen #ittan momen #yokai #monster #creature #slug #art #drawing

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ask-hannah-blog · 1 year ago

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Honkers hiiiiii!!!! 🤡🤡🤡🤡 It's ya girl Pretzel!!!!! 🥨🥨🥨🥨🥨 Just had the craziest dream the other night! I think I've found my calling!

So, there I was, at a carnival like I used to go to as a kid, just walking around, enjoying myself. Then I started to smell the most wonderful thing: Delicious delicious food! Warm, salty, mouth-watering smells of freshly prepared junk food!

I notice myself drifting off toward it in a daze, literally lifting off the ground like a cartoon character, and when I get there, I realize something. No one is manning the stand!

Oh no! We can't just leave all this food unattended! Luckily, there's an employee uniform on standby for me to take over. I hurriedly put it on, not questioning why the shirt just had a gaping hole where my tits would be, or why my huge weiner was hanging out of my skirt. The shoes were weird too, they were big long sneakers with a hole for my toes to pop out of, so they're just wriggling around waiting for a customer to suck on them. Soon enough a bunch of other guests (they're probably fellow clowns to be!) show up and I start serving food! I'm so good at juggling different orders all at once and making the guests laugh with my antics! Then someone shows up, a bloated thing I only recognized as a fellow clown further along on her transformation, and asks for the "special menu"...

A switch flips in my head and I present myself to her. She starts sucking my dick and I watch her visibly swell from how much I unload into her. A bunch of other clowns start to surround me and get working on my toes and tits. Sucking and licking, sucking and licking. Gosh, I was in heaven! I couldn't stop farting, and to my surprise, I realized that my farts had the exact same smell as that of the food stand.

I woke up with my bed covered in mayo jizz. I tend to sleep naked so there was absolutely nothing to protect my stuff from the onslaught of my shower of cum. If my plushies weren't cum stained before they sure are now. I was too groggy to get myself ready to lick up that much jizz on all my babies so I resolved myself to give them an actual cleaning later on. The thing is, I tend to get thirsty when I wake up, and as I got up to grab a drink, I realized that my tits were audibly sloshing. Weird! I figured,

"Well, I already ate my own cum, why not sample my breasts too?"

To my surprise, it tasted like cola. You'd think the carbonation would be uncomfortable, but no, it feels kind of fizzy and silly! Gives me the giggles heheheh...

So yeah, it was a pretty wacky start to the day for me. I read what you said about my previous messages by the way and if you guys have any advice to get rid of that lady's pictures I'm open!

(I'm also open to some good foot porn suggestions! Hannah hit me up with your faves, I can tell you're a woman of culture. I'd also be very interested in seeing Brittany's tootsies up close, but I understand if you're a little possessive with them!)

Also, love love love love the shirt hahaha! I was laughing so hard when I saw it, I let out a gas bomb of a fart, it smelled like nacho cheese all over the flat! I would totally get one IRL if I could, you're the funniest girl I know!

BTW If you're looking for bigger feet, take it from me, you can get your toes to grow a bit by just really pulling on them when you're sucking them, same thing with your soles! Just give your foot a nice longggg drag of the tongue and it grows for the gag! Saw a clown do it in a video and I've been thinking of trying it out for myself soon! I might record a vid, I dunno. It's the exhibitionist urge giving me ideas.

Lots and lots of love and kisses and hugsssss!!! Love ya lots Hannah!🤡🤗🤗🤗😘💖💖💖💖💖💖💗💗💗💓

Uh oh! Look out! Incoming message from Pretzel! Gotta prepare myself.

*closes door*

*sits down*

*pants off*

*cuts cheese*

*Starts masturbating*

🥨

Oh my god Pretzel you greasy little freak you’re becoming so hot! What an amazing dream.

Normally I would warn people against those circus dreams, but your was just sooooo perfect for you, and those shoes sound hot!

I think what we need to do is set you up a snack stand in front of my office or in my lobby so you can entertain my guests before they get in!

Hehe Hyuk!

Gosh so hot. I’m imagining your big musky wiener turning all red and ruddy, a proper hot dog, hyuck!

And UUUUUUUUUGH you feeding that clown your mayo until she was a flat bloated whale? That’s so perfect for a junk food clown like you! The whole circus is going to be filled with fat lady clowns if they don’t keep you on a leash! Hehe, I’d like to keep your greasy ass on a leash, my little wiener dog…

You may want to consider sleeping with a condom on, or an empty condiment bottle hyuck! If you’re having night emissions. Should make clean up a lot easier.

If you even want to clean up! Having a bunch of crusty stuffies with matted fur seems perfect for you! Give them a smooch for me, or a good fucking, whatever you think I deserve!

And I know I’m not the only one thinking about what a funny clown mommy you’d be! Filling your babies up with soda, making them the gassiest little cuties on the fair grounds! Hyuck if nothing else I want to grab those tatas and shake em up real good until they speeeeew!

As for foot porn? Gosh where to begin. Kink dot com has some great stuff, ever since I woke up in a nylon bodysuit I’ve been really into encasement, mmmmm yummy yummy nylon. Socks, shoes, ughn I just can’t choose I’m a total foot freak, I’ll take it all honk honk! Hehehehyuck!

And it is so great that you’re thinking of filming yourself and posting it! When we first started talking a month ago you were too shy to even leave your room, and had to perform for your stuffies, now you’re thinking of licking your feet in front of the whole internet! So proud of you!

Make you a deal, I’ll send you pics of me swallowing Brittany’s feets if I can get pics of you licking yours!

Toe Clevage better look out, next time that that slut flashes her feet in public she might just get a gallon of mayo dumped on her feet from our small town clown! Our pretzel is going to be a loud and proud exhibitionist!

Can’t wait to hear more of your adventures! I love ya girl! Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just such a great low class clown. Just a perfect gross little greasy freak for me to add to my stable. ❤️❤️❤️

Oh yeah advice… hyuck!

Um I dunno…

Oh wait!

Keep being gorgeous!

- Ms. Hannah

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takemycptsd-blog · 4 days ago

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remembering, memory, and memories

I have memories of memories. I don't know how other people's brains / minds work so I sort of assumed as a younger person that it was similar but many years of bumping into situations where it is demonstrably not the case that our brain / minds work the same have taught me to not assume shared cognitive experiences.

So I will expand. Clarify. Over-explain.

I mean a strong clear recollection of the first time you had a moment of reflection on something that (seems to have) happened.

For example: maybe on your first day of middle school, you sat waiting for the bus and you were looking at your new book bag and your mind drifted to your last day of elementary school with a strong immersive vibe. Maybe something triggered the association. Maybe it was a new pencil. Doesn't matter. You're just sitting there in September and your brain is time traveling back to June, to the color of after-school hours sunlight filtered through a tinted pizza place window where you some classmates were pooling money and deciding if you could afford a whole small pizza. Waiting for the pizza to be done, you and your schoolmates (a collection of friends, siblings, and neighborhood kids) all crammed into two booths each sized for 4 small adults. People were promising they'd still hang out once they were split up across the city into different schools. You remember the song on the radio and the noise of an arcade machine. The colors of a fresh friendship bracelet, your fascination with the beaded safety pins on someone's shoelaces. The plants that trailed around the walls. The smell of the pizza and the cold semi-flat sweetness of the fountain soda you were splitting. The texture of a plastic tray beneath your fingers.

You remember all this months later while at the bus stop on your first day of middle school, and this is the first time you've had this particular memory in this particular form that it will forever be fixed in. It is the first time your brain has served it to you as a Memory of a definite done thing.

Now we are here. Present. 2025. Now, and in all the years since that day at the bus stop, you have both the last day of elementary school memory, but also the first day of middle school memory of remembering the last day of elementary school for the first time.

A memory of a memory. A memory of remembering. It doesn't have to be past, for me. Or a done thing. Or a thing. It turns out.

I have these memories of memories a lot. With some of them, the thing I remember "remembering" is a thing that didn't happen. This isn't a false memory issue or some shit like that. It's not implanted. It's not misfiled, or misremembered. I "remember" a scene as clearly as I remember the one from the last day of elementary school. And I remember "remembering" it for years. The non-memories though are different in that they tend to be shorter snippets, just as vivid, but lacking a whole narrative context. I've wondered if they were from my very young childhood, a time from which I have very low conscious recall.

The non-memories are also different in that sometimes I can't recall the first time I remembered them. It's like they were always there. They're few. But they're distinct.

Over time, as I accumulated these "memories", these I assumed they were amalgams of pieces of actual memories. Scenes my brain constructed for me out of scraps of events and circumstances only half remembered, or maybe only half encoded to start with.

A snowy street near the gas station that was just off the ramp from the south east expressway to my childhood home. The taste of ribbon candy. The sense that airplanes were involved, maybe we were coming back from the airport? Not common in my childhood but possible I guess. An association with a family member who we tended to see around that time of year. A feeling of change. The look of January light and bare trees in snow, a view from a window. The knowledge that someone had died or was dying.

I have had that one for a long time.

What's kind of creepy about these things is that more than a couple of them have turned out to be things I encountered later.

A low iron fence outside a window or step I know is mine, I know I live there. I'm recently independent from someone or something. I'm in a chapter that feels uncertain, but also that feels amazing from the spectator view because it is so different from my life when I first "remembered" it. I filed that one as wishful thinking pulled together from half-registered things in my past.

Until the day it was there in front of me and it was like two parts of an image coming together and converging into a full three dimensional experience. In that moment. It was an apartment I lived in when I was 33 that I had been "remembering" since I was at least 10 years old.

I didn't recognize it when I first moved in. It took a few months for the final set up, the light to get to the time of year light I remember. The colors and temperature, the length and tone of shadows. And then one day I was at the back door I hardly ever used and knelt down to pat a neighbor cat and realized "oh, this!" This was the time I remembered.

So these things are odd. I don't expect you to believe me. I don't believe me. I try to test them out, but there's no real way to do that. I don't control when they come as "memories" and I don't go looking to recreate them in the real immediate present world. They are hardly ever consciously top of my mind, except now and then when something seems close, they're evoked. I have throughout my life taken them as sorts of small signs that I'm on the path I am meant to be on. When I encounter one of the moments of which I had a memory but a memory that lacked an actual contextualized antecedent event, situation, or circumstance, I think "Oh, hey, here I am. This was it." It's sort of like deja vu except I have had the "vu" part for years and years prior to the event.

I mention all this now because for as long as I have had a narrative memory, I have had one of a night time scene out a hospital window. I didn't realize it was a hospital at first. And the scene was really fucking weird because there was stuff I didn't recognize in it at all. I now do, it's tech like smartphones and laptops, it's light fixtures that are modern (more so than the period in which I first had this "memory"). It's night time, there's a city outside, and something ominous. And I or someone I love deeply is dying. It is a troubled vigil. A death-bed with terror outside, a death-bed where death is inevitable but is not actually the most alarming or scary or upsetting thing happening, except for the upset of leaving someone to face the rest of it (what's outside) alone.

I mention all this now because I got medical news recently that is potentially putting me into the place that I "remembered" and I'm feeling uneasy, but also like this was just the inevitable path of me. If that makes sense.

#chronic illness #trauma #supernatural #memory #tw death #death and dying #hospital #childhood #childhood memories

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daedaesimmer · 12 days ago

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30 minutes later...

Malcolm reached for his gun, but Penny appeared at the entrance, a shadow carrying a Foxbury backpack. Penny wasn't dressed like that when Malcolm dropped her off. She was dressed like she was going to a party at the Mayor's House.

Now, she rocked a freezer bunny hoodie, skinny jeans, colorful socks, and some Goth galore skippies. Mal assumed the elegant wear was in the backpack. He turned the timer off as Penny stopped mid-driveway. A woman caught up with her.

Minorities standing around in one of SM's preferred zip codes... turned into a white sims bullhorn. Mal waved for Penny to hurry the fuck up. Penny headed towards the car, the other woman right on her heels, carrying a suitcase. The woman looked Latina.

She also wore a freezer bunny hoodie, black jeans, and ballet flats. She had dark eyebrows; her hair was bleach blonde.

"Good evening." Alex smiled.

Penny: Alex, this is Malcolm Landgraab. Alex nodded and evaluated Malcolm very quickly, then yielded a dazzling smile.

Her smile could lure a sim to the watcher or to the gallows. Alex laughed, "Penny, is this handsome sim your partner?"

Penny: We're just neighbors. I hire him as a chauffer-bodyguard when I work. Malcolm didn't see another ride pull up, so he asked.

Mal: What's going on?

Penny turned to Malcolm, "She's rolling with us."

Mal: Ass, gas, or cash, and I don't accept the first two.

Penny: Stop popping off at the mouth and open the trunk so we can put our stuff in Miss Man. Malcolm stuffed their bags in the trunk and regarded the females.

They both smelled freshly showered and sweet like trouble. Alex took the backseat while Penny sat upfront.

Westbound traffic in the Spice District was horrible, which was par for the course, day or night. "Hope you don't mind my coworker tagging along."

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harrison-abbott · 8 months ago

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Hands down the worst place I ever stayed in was this flat on Justice Street on Aberdeen. I only signed the lease in the first place because it was cheap, and right in the city centre. So it was a good location and didn’t cost much.

The first night I was there, whilst I was doing up my new room, I caught this strong smell of what I thought was gas. It smelled like gas, but, it had a stagnant, old vibe to it as well. Like it was stale gas. So I panicked a bit because I thought there was a gas leak. And I left the flat because I didn’t want to be inhaling it.

I went down the stairs and out of the main building, and just then my new flat mate, who was called Kamilla, showed up, just having finished work. I told her the problem. “Oh shit,” she said, “but I think what your smelling is the piping.”

She had smelled the same thing. But it wasn’t gas. It was just the rancid piping of the building that gave off this harsh smell.

I emailed my landlady about it. She confirmed, that it was ‘nothing to worry about’.

My landlady was called Blanka. She had lived in Aberdeen for her bachelor’s degree, and had owned this flat. Or rather, her parents will have bought her this flat. And then she rented it out to, well, me and Kamilla, after she moved to Europe to study a master’s.

So, Blanka wasn’t in Scotland. I think she was studying in Italy, I believe.

Later, I found that, indeed, there was a pipe in my room. It’d been hidden behind one of the bookshelves, and somebody had tied a plastic bag around the open end of it. As in, the pipe was essentially open: and it was emitting that funky air.

My room was also not a proper room. Because the flat itself was a three room flat, consisting of a main bedroom, where Kamilla stayed, a bathroom, and a kitchen. In order to make my ‘room’, Blanka had put up a wall half way between the kitchen, to make it into two rooms.

I still wasn’t really that bothered because it was cheap and I had a place to study for my course.

But then the boiler broke. It went bust, one day. And we had to call Blanka in Italy to pay for a guy to come fix it. And, two weeks later it bust again, and another chap was called over. When it happened a third time, the newest guy told us that this boiler basically needed a complete replacement, or else it would just keep failing.

So we kept telling Blanka in Italy. Her communication was very sparse and vague.

Kamilla stayed over at her boyfriend’s, and stopped paying her rent, because she wasn’t living here.

Oh, and, then the shower got broken as well. It just gave out this little dribble of water rather than a proper spray.

So I emailed Blanka and told her about the various problems. Again.

She said that she could cut the rent for me, if I could bear staying? And, that made it ever more cheaper. So I thought I would cling on for some time. It was only £200 a month.

Then the boiler broke a fourth time. And Kamilla went nuts at Blanka.

Blanka then emailed me saying that she was so sorry, but she had no other option than to sell the flat. She was really so very apologetic, since she knew I was studying and so on. She said I could stay until I was able to move out. So I stayed for another six weeks or so, and moved into Kamilla’s bigger room (where she was no longer staying). And I didn’t pay Blanka rent for those extra months. The Hell with that.

So yeah, eventually I moved elsewhere in the city. Which caused a whole load of other problems.

But, do you know what the final insult with Blanka was? She never sold the flat. She basically just got me to leave, after Kamilla did, because she couldn’t be bothered dealing with the broken boiler, the shitty smells with the piping, or the shower that didn’t work, because she had her own life in Italy.

I know that she didn’t sell it, because, fastforward a few months in the following Autumn, this property had been put up for rent on Justice Street, Aberdeen, by Blanka. She had posted it on the Facebook ‘looking for places’ page thing.

That was pretty crummy of her, I thought.

But, Hell. I live in Edinburgh now. Fat chance I’m ever going back to Aberdeen.

Despite all this, Blanka was not the worst landlady/landlord. I know people who have way worse stories with landlords. People getting kicked out of the property when they’re trying to study, or, having their rent hiked up out of the blue when they can’t afford it. I’ve never understood why landlords, in these cases, can’t sympathise with the people who are living in the place.

People need a roof over their heads. And to just rip it away from them is pretty scandalous.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #real life stories

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superdupernutrition · 8 months ago

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Cantaloupe is Ripe for Your Menu!

By: Paul Claybrook, MS, MBA

A juicy cantaloupe is a delicious summer fruit. You can find it in most grocery stores all year, pre-cut and packaged. But the real sweet, summertime goodness comes from biting into a peak-season melon. When you're off to buy a melon, figuring out if a cantaloupe is ripe or rotten can be a bit tricky. Unlike pre-cut ones with visible signs, the inside of a whole melon is more of a mystery. Produce managers and farmers don't like it when you cut open a cantaloupe before buying or taking it home. So, it's a good idea to learn some tricks for recognizing ripeness.

Here's How You Can Tell if a Cantaloupe is Ripe

Picking Time

Choosing the right time to pick a cantaloupe is crucial. In warm and fertile soil, it's usually ready about 30 days after the flowers bloom on the vine. In cooler areas, it might take closer to 45 days. To check if it's ready, examine how the stem is attached to the fruit. If it resists when you try to pull it off, wait a couple of days. If it comes off easily, it's good to go!

Appearance

When checking melons at the store or farm stand, look at the rind. A green color means it's not ripe yet. If it's in the beige family—like tan, sandy gold, or yellow—and has some discoloration from resting on the ground, it's likely juicy and sweet.Check the end with the stem; it should have a slight dip, not be flat. If there's still a stem attached, it wasn't ready to be picked. When cut open or already pre-cut, the inside should have a bright and even orange color.

Feel

Use your thumb to press where the stem was attached. It should be firm – not too hard or too soft. Like Goldilocks, you want it just right. Press on the opposite end, the blossom end, and it should give a bit. If it's hard, it's not ready. A perfect cantaloupe should be fairly firm all over and feel heavier than it looks. Pick up a few, compare weights, and choose the heaviest one. It should be firm like a pineapple, not like a watermelon.

Sound

Cantaloupe is ripe if it sounds right. Give the melon a knock, like you would on a door. If it sounds high and hollow, it might disappoint you. But if it's low, deep, and solid, that's the sound of a juicy situation.

Smell

Smell the blossom end, which is the opposite side from where the stem was attached. You want a sweet, floral, almost musky scent. If there's barely any smell or none at all, it's not ripe. If you detect an alcohol or acetone smell, the fruit is fermenting inside and is past the point of consumption.

What to do if Your Cantaloupe is Not Ripe

It's a sad affair to get home and realize your gamble didn't pay off. If you haven't cut it yet, leave it on the counter at room temperature for a bit. If you've cut it, just put the fruit in a sealed container for 4 or more days. You can't make it any riper, but you can make it a bit softer. You can place it in a paper bag for a day or so in hopes the ethylene gas will help you out, but it won't do too much — once the fruit is at the market, what you see is pretty much what you get. Use your unripe melon in other applications besides eating it raw. Put it in a smoothie with some other fruits, perhaps, or slice it and stick it on the grill – the heat will release more juices and make for a smoky summer treat.

Good Uses If Your Cantaloupe is Ripe

Cantaloupe and its juice can elevate various recipes, sweet or savory. Pair it with prosciutto for a tasty appetizer, add it to fruit salads and salsas, or blend it into juices, smoothies, or mimosas. It's also great as a topping for yogurt or granola, and you can simply enjoy slices with a sprinkle of salt. Loaded with antioxidants, electrolytes, and numerous nutrients, cantaloupe is high in fiber for good digestive health. However you decide to savor it, you'll be happy you did.

Here are the Main Health Benefits of Cantaloupe

Rich in Antioxidants:

Cantaloupe contains antioxidants like beta-carotene and vitamin C, which help neutralize free radicals in the body. This can contribute to reducing oxidative stress and lowering the risk of chronic diseases.

Electrolyte Source:

The high potassium content in cantaloupe serves as an electrolyte, helping to maintain proper fluid balance in the body. This is essential for nerve function, muscle contractions, and overall hydration.

Nutrient-Dense for Skin Health:

Vitamins A and C in cantaloupe support collagen production, promoting healthy skin. These nutrients play a vital role in maintaining skin elasticity and protecting against premature aging.

Digestive Health Support:

Cantaloupe is rich in dietary fiber, aiding in digestion and promoting regular bowel movements. Adequate fiber intake contributes to a healthy digestive system and helps prevent constipation.

Hydration Boost:

With its high water content, cantaloupe helps keep the body hydrated. Proper hydration is essential for various bodily functions, including temperature regulation and nutrient transport.

Eye Health Improvement:

Beta-carotene in cantaloupe is converted into vitamin A, which is crucial for maintaining eye health. It helps protect the eyes from age-related macular degeneration and supports overall vision.

Weight Management Aid:

Cantaloupe is low in calories and fat while being high in water and fiber. This makes it a satisfying and nutritious snack that can aid in weight management by promoting a feeling of fullness.

Boosts Immune Function:

The combination of vitamins A and C, along with other antioxidants, supports the immune system. Cantaloupe consumption may help the body fend off infections and illnesses.

Heart Health Support:

Potassium and fiber in cantaloupe contribute to heart health by helping to regulate blood pressure and cholesterol levels. These factors are essential for reducing the risk of cardiovascular diseases.

Natural Anti-Inflammatory Properties:

Cantaloupe contains anti-inflammatory compounds, such as choline and beta-carotene. These can help reduce inflammation in the body, which is associated with various chronic diseases.

Conclusion

Cantaloupe emerges as a nutritional powerhouse with a host of health benefits. Its rich antioxidant content, including beta-carotene and vitamin C, contributes to overall well-being by combating oxidative stress and supporting immune function. Beyond flavor, cantaloupe proves to be a versatile addition to a range of dishes, from sweet to savory, enhancing both taste and nutritional value. The melon's electrolyte content, primarily potassium, aids in hydration and supports essential bodily functions, such as nerve and muscle activity. With its high fiber content, cantaloupe promotes digestive health and weight management, offering a satisfying and nutritious option for those seeking a balanced diet.

Moreover, cantaloupe's positive impact extends to skin health, eye care, heart health, and inflammation reduction, showcasing its holistic influence on various aspects of our well-being. As a hydrating, nutrient-dense fruit, cantaloupe stands out not just for its delicious taste but for the myriad ways it contributes to a healthier lifestyle. Whether enjoyed on its own or incorporated into a variety of recipes, the benefits of cantaloupe make it a valuable and enjoyable addition to a well-rounded diet. When cantaloupe is ripe, it's ripe for your health!

#healthylifestyle #nutrition #superdupernutrition

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 2 years ago

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Any headcanons about TF2 sneezes? :⁰

Ah, yes, TF2…one of my not so secret loves! I must say, this is a fantastic ask to come back to!

Scout:

He has a pretty standard sneeze - one or two into the back of the hand.

However, covering or stifling isn’t in his vocabulary, which means that his sneezes can get pretty loud if it’s been coming for a while. He is also very vocal, no matter how much he needs to sneeze.

He’s also the kind of person that will commentate on his sneeze, both before and after.

“H-hold on, I’m gonna - HTCH’CHOO!”

“Snf! Ugh, I’ve been waitin’ for that all day.”

He’s not allergic to anything in particular, but his number one reason for sneezing is all the dust, dirt, and sand that’s kicked up during a mission.

Scout has a great sense of smell - just like his dad - so strong perfumes and spices bothers his nose more than he’d like to admit.

His sneezes become even more wet when he’s sick, which he cleans up with the bottom or collar of his shirt instead.

Because his skin is so pale, his nose and ears become dark red when he’s come down with a cold.

When it comes to other people’s sneezes, he was raised to say “bless ya” so he often does without even thinking about it.

However, it’s often followed up by teasing, especially if it’s Spy.

“Aw, gross!” is usually his go-to.

Heavy:

You would think that such a big guy would have a huge sneeze, and you may be right.

However, Heavy makes it a point to not fully sneeze any chance he can.

This leads to his sneezes usually sounding more like he’s being strangled.

He also religiously uses his handkerchief, putting it fully over his nose and turning away before every sneeze.

After he’s finished, he blesses himself in Russian while he blows his nose.

Heavy only has one allergy, and it’s quite a strange one: ladybugs.

Luckily, with how hot it is, ladybug sightings are few and far between.

But Medic using ladybug serum for tear gas had some…not so great results for Heavy, who is often in the lab.

Because Heavy takes good care of himself, sickness is rare. When he does catch a cold, though, his sneezes grow more and more desperate and messy.

Even still, no merc has ever seen him sneeze without pinching his nose or his handkerchief firmly over his nostrils.

This means it takes him a bit longer to recover than most, as he doesn’t allow himself to release the illness.

When other people sneeze, he’ll quickly bless them. After learning more about his comrades, he has also taken to blessing them in their native languages.

He is also the mercs main caretaker, always noticing sickness first and helping the person get better. He gets almost comically fussy, worrying about the the sick merc like a mother hen.

It is also one of the many times Heavy likes to cook for the mercs, usually a hearty stew with small, round, flat “cakes”.

Soldier:

This man SCREAMS his sneezes. You can hear his nose from across the base.

However, he at least tries to sneeze in the crook of his elbow…sometimes.

He only uses tissues if he’s congested, and he never has any on-hand.

He usually wipes his nose on the back of his hand, especially on the field. However, he refuses to wipe it on his uniform - something about “wiping his nose on America”?

His biggest allergy is pollen. Growing up around a power plant doesn’t give you a whole lot of opportunities for your body to accumulate to nature. Luckily, not much blooms near the base.

However, the occasional dandelion seed or cut flowers will send him sniffling.

It’s not too difficult to tell when Soldier is getting sick - unlike his normal, unnecessarily loud sneezes, his sick sneezes are pretty quiet, but still just as harsh.

This leads most of the mercs to believe that him sneezing loudly is on purpose - honestly, it wouldn’t surprise them, since Soldier is booming in every other aspect.

His nose gets less red than the paler mercs, but it does get very swollen and painful. Not to mention extremely congested.

When other people sneeze, instead of saying the normal “bless you,” he’ll say, “God bless America!” Eh, close enough.

He refers to any time one of the mercs are sick as “sick leave” or “shore leave”.

He also has to be kept from using different “army remedies” on the sick merc - one of which is covering the chest with peanut butter and lighting it on fire.

Demo:

Due to his almost continuous drunkenness, Demo’s nose is pretty sensitive.

It tingles and buzzes when he’s tipsy, meaning that anything can set him off.

He has loud, rough sneezes, and they get louder the more alcohol is in his system.

It’s also very clear when he’s about to sneeze, as he usually has to focus all of his energy on getting it out.

A lot of mercs tease him about this, even to the point of him losing the sneeze entirely.

When he does sneeze, he uses the back of his hand to cover (as best he can), and a rag in his pocket to blow his nose.

He doesn’t have any allergies, but his nose is generally sensitive because of the alcohol he drinks.

When he catches a cold, his face becomes even more swollen the usual, and his sneezes are more forthcoming.

If he’s drunk and sick, which is usually the case, he sneezes CONSTANTLY. Anything from gunpowder to rubbing alcohol to dirt to sunlight can render him a sneezy mess.

If one of the mercs sneeze, he usually says, “gesundheit” or “dia leat.” If someone sneezes more than twice, it’s usually accompanied with, “Don’t blow yer head off!”

If anyone comes down with a cold, you better bet that Demo will give you some good scrumpy - even against Medic’s orders.

Sniper:

Sniper has mastered the art of stifling, even to the point where his unstifled sneezes are rarely ever vocal.

If he’s trying to hold back, his sneezes are completely silent.

He usually sneezes into the crook of his arm, especially when he’s on the field and that’s the closest part of the body to his face when he’s holding a rifle.

When he’s not working, he’ll often dip the front of his hat down with every sneeze, turning away if necessary.

He also grits his teeth, making a harsh “CHHH!” sound.

He doesn’t have any allergies, but he does have a photic sneeze response, which is one of the reasons he wears a large-brimmed hat and dark sunglasses.

When he’s ill - which is pretty rare - his nostrils are so slender that, though he can stifle his sneezes pretty easily, he sniffles relentlessly.

This means that his nose is often irritated and red if he catches a cold, both from rubbing it with his finger and the tissues he keeps on hand.

When someone sneezes around him, he’s usually in the chorus of “bless yous”. He doesn’t usually pay too much attention unless it sounds like someone is getting sick.

Since Sniper hates catching colds, or any other illness, he avoids sick mercs like the literal plague. He has been known to take revenge on people he suspects had gotten him sick.

Medic:

Medic, for all his terrifying traits, has an almost comical sneeze.

It’s higher pitched, and usually come in multiples, each one getting higher than the last.

Heavy teases him for it often, but only good-naturedly as he offers him a handkerchief.

Medic himself keeps tissues in his pockets, but often forgets to replace them, meaning that he usually just has a pocket full of used ones.

If he doesn’t have a tissue, the crook of his arm works just fine. Or inside of a surgical mask.

He has a ferocious allergy to cats - one of the many reasons he doesn’t like them - and just being near one will cause several sneezing fits. When Scout found a stray kitten and decided to keep it in the lab, you can guess how well that went.

Medic gets sick every year along with the rest of the mercs (the yearly “Merc Flu” as they call it), and would usually ignore his symptoms.

However, it’s gotten to the point where he takes sick days immediately - not because he isn’t willing to risk his health, but because Heavy would throttle him.

He gets very, very red in the cheeks, ears, and nose when he’s sick, and it’s one of the only times he wears a mask.

When someone else sneezes, he usually says, “gesundheit” or “salut”. He can also usually tell with one sneeze whether or not they need to stop by the lab.

When mercs are sick, they are usually sent to the lab to quarantine, sleeping on a cot in the sick bay. Medic will usually take up his knitting hobby or read so that he won’t wake them up with experiments, and they’ll be available if needed.

Pyro:

Because of the mask they wear, Pyro doesn’t sneeze very often.

But whether a bit of hair tickles their nostrils or a speck of dust makes it through their mask, when they sneeze, it’s a doozy.

It’s very loud, very wet, and very messy.

They usually have to take their mask off to clean afterwards.

However, most of the time, things like allergies don’t bother them, as the mask protects them from most pathogens.

This also goes for illnesses - most of the time. On the off-chance that Pyro does get sick, there is an entire protocol dedicated to such an event.

Pyro will stay in their room, not the sick bay. No one will come in, as they are likely to be unmasked. A whole week will be set aside for their recovery.

When someone else sneezes, Pyro mumbled their blessings. Or, well, something. No one is quite sure what they say after someone sneezes.

Because of their mask, they are very handy in the lab with Medic if someone is ill. However, they never take direct care of a patient - imagine looking up and seeing a gas mask stare back at you!

Engineer:

His sneezes are very vocal, both before, during, and after.

Before a sneeze, even if he’s alone, he’ll say, “‘Scuse me-!”

Even though he isn’t particularly loud, Engie’s sneezes are very distinct, with a jump near the end: “hhhh’tchIEW!”

And afterwards, he’ll usually say, “Phew!” or “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Because he’s worked in dusty, dark, and musty places all his life, Engie doesn’t have any major allergies.

The closest thing is when he sneezes after opening a new bottle of oil or any other strong-smelling chemical.

However, he does get sick just as much as the rest of the mercs, if not more.

The reason is that he’s one of the more willing people to get near sick people, especially if they need his help.

One day he helps Scout get to the sick bay, the next, he’s sniffling and sneezing in the cot next to him!

He always blesses people when they sneeze. He usually has the loudest, “Bless ya!” out of everyone.

And if anyone is sick, he’d take the shirt off his back just so they could use it as a handkerchief. Is it any wonder he’s usually one of the first people sick?

Spy:

Like Sniper, Spy is a master stifler. If you aren’t paying close attention to him, you might wonder if he ever sneezes at all.

He usually grimaces, wrinkles his nose, and squeezes his eyes shut, only moving slightly.

He also always keeps a handkerchief handy in case he needs to get rid of any evidence.

Spy, like his son, has a fantastic sense of smell. This is useful in espionage, but terrible for allergies.

If a perfume is too strong, a wine too potent, a powder too fine, he’ll have a very quick reaction.

But, due to his extensive training and experience, he is very good at hiding this fact.

Almost like a pet bird, Medic needs to keep a special eye on Spy when it comes to illness.

The details of his sickness are so minute that most won’t even notice - a slight nasal tone, fatigue, harsh swallowing. His sneezes are still controlled as ever, but his face becomes more and more pained after each one.

Usually it’s Engineer who will delicately suggest - or even deceive - that Spy take a day off. However, instead of the sick bay, Spy will spend it in his smoking room, wearing a robe and listening to old records.

Spy usually says “salut” if no one else is there to say bless you, but only out of politeness. If it’s Scout or Demo, this might be followed up with, “Disgusting.”

If he has an inkling that someone is sick, he will stay as far away from them as possible. He abhors getting sick, and will take any measures necessary to stay healthy.

However, he has been known to go into the sick bay with a cup of chamomile tea after a merc has been coughing or sneezing, hand it to them, and say, “Now please. Shut up.” However, this is the extent of his kindness

#ohnos ideas #snz headcanons #snz #snz kink #snzblr #snezblr #snz things #snzario #snez kink #snz scenario #snezario #whump

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orionwhispers · 4 years ago

Text

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals.

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

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