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impala-dreamer · 1 month

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It's Fucking Unprofessional

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

2,434 Words

NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking.

For @jacklesversebingo “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions”

JacklesBingo Masterlist

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He was terrifying up close.

It wasn’t just the knowledge that he could rip her apart with a simple flick of his wrist, or shove her so hard she’d splatter against the wall like a bug on a windshield. It was much worse than all that. It was the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His green eyes behind that mask were piercing… the way his muscles pulsed beneath the suit was mesmerizing… the way he walked with that bow-legged swagger was sexy as hell. Being attracted to the epic piece of shit was way more dangerous than the threat of death.

When Y/N got the job at Vought Studios, she made a promise to her diary and herself. In no way would she get so close to him as to give away the fact that her innocent pussy dripped whenever he was around. She would ignore him entirely. Besides, his behavior was reprehensible. His attitude toward women was disgusting. His ass was so perky and tight and… No. She was going to be strong. She was going to steer clear of all that nonsense.

Not that he’d ever pay attention to someone like her. The key aspect of her job was to be neither seen nor heard; just a person waiting in the wings to hand off a prop, run and get coffee, and clean up the dressing rooms. It would be easy to stay in the shadows, completely off his radar.

Soldier Boy was pissed.

He may have actually been pissed as well as just angry: he stank of rye and stale cigarettes, and fumbled over his lines more than a few times.

For over an hour, he held the crew hostage while attempting to film his required Anti-Drug PSA. Vought was trying to score some points with the public by helping out D.A.R.E. by pimping out their celebrity supes for commercial spots. Soldier Boy was next in line and very unhappy about it.

After the twentieth take, he demanded caffeine and production halted until Y/N returned with a styrofoam cup full of black coffee.

Y/N held her breath and tried to walk away without really looking at him, but Soldier Boy flipped. He sniffed the drink and sneered.

“Is this hot?”

Y/N stepped back as he stared into her eyes, daring her to say something. A wave of arousing fear washed over her as he slammed the cup to the floor. It splintered like rotted wood and the hot liquid went everywhere.

“Iced!”

She jumped.

He raged on.

“Iced coffee!” he screamed. “It’s not hard!”

Nerves ran down her spine and Y/N moved to grab a rag from the craft table.

“It’s fucking unprofessional!”

A knot formed in her chest and instead of shying away, she felt a surge of defiance.

“You’re fucking unprofessional,” she ripped under her breath.

Soldier Boy’s head cocked to the side. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck, digging in.

“Excuse me?”

Y/N turned back with the cleaning rag in hand. “Hmm?”

His jaw clenched and his upper lip twitched. “The fuck did you say to me?”

Batting her eyes innocently, Y/N shrugged and bent down to mop up the spill. “I didn’t say anything.”

His anger followed her down, watching as she dabbed at the floor. Leaning close, he whispered a warning. “I have super hearing, you know.”

Y/N hummed as if she found him boring even though she was screaming inside. “That must be fun for you.”

Again, his teeth gnashed together and she swore she could feel the air around them grow hotter. A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat and Y/N met his gaze, unfazed but terrified. He was taken aback by her bravery and somewhat impressed by her attitude.

“You know-”

The director called for attention and Soldier Boy sat back up, getting ready while keeping one eye on the mouthy PA.

“OK! Let’s run again!”

If he got through two lines in a row, it was shocking. More than once, he stopped just to glare at Y/N. She couldn’t tell if he was contemplating snapping her neck or undressing her with his eyes, so she kept her arms crossed and her expression cool.

“If taking drugs is uncool,” he mumbled, laughing at himself, “then I’m the most uncool motherfucker on the planet…”

Some of the crew laughed along, but Y/N sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “You really are,” she muttered.

His laugh died away instantly and he threw daggers with his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Y/N cocked a brow. “Like I’d let you,” she laughed.

Soldier Boy straightened up, surprised. His annoyance turned to interest and he licked his lips. “Oh, I think you’d let me.”

She tongued her cheek and popped a hip. “You think?”

“I know.”

“Pfft.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

His smile faded and she turned away, giving him a literal cold shoulder.

The air shifted and her heart stopped when his big hand wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her back a step.

His lips grazed her ear. “You wanna rethink that last statement, sweetheart?”

Y/N tried to wrench her arm away but his grip was absolute. She spun around to face him and nearly lost her footing. He was impossibly close and regrettably gorgeous. She gasped.

“Get off me.”

He blinked slowly and looked her over. He could hear her heart pounding, see the blood rush to her cheeks, smell her arousal. “You’re so… interesting.”

She swallowed hard. “W-What?”

“Defiant and bitchy, but oh so hot for me.”

“Fuck you, no I’m not.” Again, she twisted her arm to break free but it was no use.

His fingers tightened, bruising her flesh. “You are,” he grinned. “I can smell it.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spat.

Behind them, the director tried to regain control.

“Um- let’s uh- if we could just go one more time-”

Soldier Boy shook his head. “No. We got it.”

“We really didn’t,” the man pleaded. “I really think we should go again from the top.”

“No,” he repeated, dragging his eyes down her trembling body. “That’s a wrap!”

She wasn’t sure if he was carrying her or if they were simply moving too fast for her brain to register her feet on the ground.

Soldier Boy broke the lock on a random office door and shoved Y/N inside. He flipped on the lights and kicked the door shut as he turned to smirk at her.

“Now, where were we?”

Y/N backed away, internally battling her desire and aversion. “I believe I was telling you what a piece of shit you are.”

He laughed at her daring words. “You’re something else, you know that?”

She shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s been said.”

“Yeah, but not by me.” With a smug smile, he pulled the mask from his face and ran a hand through his hair.

Y/N felt her defenses crack. Her vision blurred for a second. “Um… I… really don’t care what you think, actually.”

He clicked his tongue and took a step closer. “I think you do, actually.”

Her heart skipped two beats in a row and then struggled to catch up. “Actually, you can fuck off.”

“Maybe.” Soldier Boy grinned and closed the space between them. “Or…” He reached for her throat and her body tensed. Instead of a death grip, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He was gentle, but she could feel the strength pulsing underneath his touch. “I can fuck you.”

She couldn’t think of a protest that would even remotely come off as true but it didn’t matter anyway. Before she could speak, his lips were on her and her mind melted. He slid his tongue between her lips and her breath stopped. He ran his left hand across her tits and her legs went weak.

When he pulled back, she swayed forward, caught in his pull and utterly on fire for him.

His laugh was smug. His lips were wet and plump.

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased. “But it was a nice try.”

Every bit of resistance faded into his grin and Y/N dove at him, grabbing a fistful of the fabric collar loose around his throat. He laughed into her hungry kiss and set his hands on her hips. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather, and slammed her down onto the desk like she was simply a toy for his amusement.

He rocked into her and Y/N moaned loudly. His cock was hard and she reached down, rubbing him through the spandex tights.

“How- how do these come off?” she whimpered, tugging at his bottoms.

Another deep kiss blew her mind and Soldier Boy held her chin in two fingers, stretching her throat and setting her face where he wanted. She held the pose while he backed away and stripped for her. Layer after layer of forest green and woody brown fell away and Y/N clenched her thighs tight as more muscle was revealed.

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous,” she breathed.

He smirked and spread his feet apart. “I know.” Grabbing his dick, he stroked himself slowly and nodded at her. “Now you.”

Y/N shivered and hopped down from the desk. Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her oversized periwinkle sweater and yanked it up.

Soldier Boy sucked his teeth. “No. Slowly.”

She took a breath and started again, this time lifting away the soft polyester slowly and deliberately. Next came her jeans and he hummed in lustful admiration as she tugged the acid-washed denim down her thighs.

“Very nice.”

Embolden, Y/N turned and shook her ass for him as she unhooked her bra.

“Go on…”

She tossed the garment over her shoulder.

“Keep going.”

Aching with anticipation, she slid her hands into her panties and inched them down, bending at the hips and showing him everything.

“Fucking hell…”

He was on her in a second; big hands tight on her hips, hard cock snug between her thighs. He settled there for a moment, letting her juices drip down onto his throbbing shaft. She leaned back and he scratched his fingers up her sides and scooped her tits into his warm palms.

“Fuck… your hands are so big,” she mewed.

He jerked his hips and the tip of his cock slid against her clit.

“Just my hands?”

Y/N bit her lip and wiggled against him. “Let’s find out.”

He flipped her over like it was nothing and threw her down on the edge of the desk. She spread her legs wide and he set up camp between them.

“You ready?” he asked, already lining up.

She nodded breathlessly and arched her back off the desk, begging. “Do it. Please!”

It was almost painful the way he snapped his hips into her. His thick cock spread her apart and her flesh burned at the pull. She bit back a scream when he pressed all the way in; dropped her jaw when he tugged her hips down off the desk. His blunt nails sunk into her soft curves, nearly drawing blood. She held her breath. He thrust his cock deeper inside. She lost her mind.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” It was all she could say and it amused him like nothing else.

With a grunt, Soldier Boy lifted her legs high and pushed forward, bending her in half. The new angle pushed him in so deep Y/N thought she could feel his cock tap against the base of her throat. She gagged and her eyes rolled. He laughed and dipped down to lick at her lips.

“What a good little bitch,” he teased. “Taking my cock so good.”

She moaned with each hard thrust and her tongue rolled out of her mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing but mindless, pounding pleasure and his bright green eyes.

He ran his tongue up hers and hummed. “That’s a good idea.”

In a flash, she was on her knees, swaying side to side as he stroked his cock. His fist was a blur, her eyes were white.

“Open wide.”

Y/N dropped her jaw and he slid inside.

“Suck.”

Her lips clamped down and she took a deep breath, pulling at his velvety skin. Her tongue undulated against the pulsing vein of his big cock and Soldier Boy fit his giant hand on the back of her head. He held her in place and bucked his hips, jabbing his cock down her throat. She choked on him, moaning in bliss and protest as spit spilled from the corners of her mouth and coated her tits.

“Fucking perfect,” he grit, throwing his head back and enjoying her desperate whimpers and the tightness of her throat.

Her eyes began to water and he could hear her lungs screaming for air. He set her free.

“Fuck!” Y/N wobbled on her weak knees and nearly fell to the floor.

Soldier Boy caught her quickly and set her back on her feet, bent over on the desk. Her tits smashed against the wood and he kicked her legs apart.

“You’re one hell of a PA,” he praised.

Her cunt pulsed as he ran the tip of his cock across its lips. “It’s… my… job…”

He grinned. “Sure is.” He pushed inside. “Gotta give the talent your full attention.” He slapped her ass hard. “Give them anything they want.” He grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her off of the desk, arching her spine awkwardly. “Isn’t that right?”

She moaned. “Yes!”

“Correct.”

He let her go and she fell back down, just a ragdoll for him to fuck to his satisfaction.

When he was done he slapped her ass, leaving a welt behind as a souvenir.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already forgetting about her as he tugged his suit back on and fixed his hair.

Y/N crumbled to the floor, her legs spread wide, her back against the desk. She sat there for a long while, feeling his palm print burn on her bottom and his cum leak from her cunt. He didn’t look back as he left, didn’t even shut the door.

Soldier Boy disappeared down the hall and Y/N shook herself, wondering how the hell she’d broken her promise and let him get to her.

Not that she was mad about it.

Just sore.

#the boys fanfic #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #jacklesversebingo23 #one shot

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

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This estate was custom designed by someone who was clearly impaired. One of the bathrooms, I can't even understand. Built in 1997, in Warren, NJ, it has 8bds, 12ba, and is listed for $3.499M.

The grand entrance. Why open stairs? Looks like an office building.

What is that thing on the wall, art?

The modern sunken living room has commercial carpeting.

Windows in the walls. (Why do people put traditional furniture in an ultra modern home?)

There's a bar. How do you even get back here?

Another sitting room.

Brick dining room with wood floor. Look at the ceiling design.

The kitchen. Look at the spacey ceiling fixture. Who gets up there to clean and shine it when it gets dirty?

Industrial sun room. (With traditional furniture.)

Take the elevator up.

Overlooking the living room.

Vast, plain primary bedroom.

Why is there a hole in the floor of the closet?

Mirrors and doors to the en-suite.

What in the hell is this? It looks like it was once a pool. Who designs a bathroom like this?

Round rec room with a bar opens to the garden.

Another sitting room. Weird ceiling.

Does the ball in the window convey?

A deck with stairs to the garden.

The garden is nice.

Stairs coming down from the deck.

Gazebo?

Tennis, anyone?

Indoor pool.

7.52 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6-Ravinn-Ln-Warren-NJ-07059/53729261_zpid/?

#estates #architecture #weird design #houses #house tours #home tour

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beefromanoff · 1 year

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Project Mockingbird Ch. 2

summary: they arrive at the compound, where some are eager to meet the new girl and others...not so much.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: this got so much more traction than I was expecting with the prologue and chapter one, I tried to get this one up quicker to keep it going! thank you so much for reading, xoxo

chapter list

_________________________________________________________

It turns out that flying on a jet was a hell of a lot faster, and smoother, than flying commercial. Or as a stowaway on a cargo plan. Neither of which Charlotte enjoyed, but sometimes you just have to make do. It was around 7:30am when the jet touched down on a long airstrip in the middle of a vast forest.

Both women had dozed off during the flight, the pancakes and alcohol lulling them to sleep with the hum of the engine making it nearly impossible to resist. They taxied through down the runway under the cover of the woods before entering a clearing. There was a massive hangar open before them, several different types of aircraft visible through the open garage door. This seemed to be the most corporate of the fleet, with the rest ranging from tactical to full blown heavy artillery.

Charlotte sat up in her seat, peering out the window. The nerves were hitting her for the first time. She saw a handful of uniformed men and women working in the hangar, performing maintenance on the aircrafts.

“Good morning sunshine,” Natasha smiled, still tucked under a blanket.

“Morning.”

“Welcome home.”

When the ramp opened, an eager uniformed man scampered into the cabin. “Agent Romanoff.” He saluted, waiting for her to nod before he continued. “How was the flight? Can I take your bags?”

“Don’t know, I slept through most of it.” She gestured to the duffel bag and small suitcase Charlotte had retrieved from the hotel before they left. “You can help Ms. Rossi with her bags.”

Giving a tight-lipped smile, Charlotte followed Natasha down the steps. Unabashedly holding her heels by the straps, Nat strode across the concrete floor to a set of sleek looking doors. Doing her best to ignore the questioning glances, Charlotte kept her eyes straight ahead and followed the one person she knew into unfamiliar territory.

The doors led to a hallway with elevators to their right. The noise coming from the end let her know the hallway opened up to a larger room, one that sounded like it was already bustling with activity. To her relief, Natasha hit a button on the elevator instead of continuing towards the noise.

“I’ll show you to your room first. I figured you’d want to get settled in, get cleaned up.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte nodded. “I think I have glitter in more places than I even knew existed. And I smell like tequila.”

“There are worse things to smell like.” Natasha grinned as they stepped out into another lobby area. “This is the training side of the compound. The hangars, weapons manufacturing, shooting range, training facilities, it’s all over here. This is where the SHIELD agents work. It’s the more…populated side.” She gestured out the window at a dozen trainees jogging. “They don’t live here. The only ones that do are the ones on the team.”

“You mean The Avengers?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“You could say that,” She gave a wry smile. “I prefer to say roommates.”

They stepped out into the fresh air and Nat pointed out a black ATV. The breeze felt nice on her cheeks as they drove down a paved path across the grounds. The entire thing seemed to be completely secluded, as if it were dropped in the middle of the woods. Charlotte couldn’t even see the entrance to the place. They passed a few smaller buildings, which Natasha dubbed storage and “room to grow”; as well as a beautiful lake off to the left. Marveling at the fog spread across the water, she didn’t realize they’d made it to their destination.

The building in front of them had a similar exterior to the last one they’d come from. It was gray, very modern looking, though smaller than the training side. This one seemed to be only three or four stories tall, but it extended out over the water with balconies jutting from the higher levels.

“This is the residential building. Most of us stay here full time, but some of us have rooms at the Tower in New York City, too. You can come next time I go up there, if you want. It’s more peaceful here, though. Personal preference, I guess.” She opened the door for Charlotte to walk through. “First floor is a private training facility, second is storage and a theater room, third and fourth floors are rooms, and the fifth floor is a common area, kitchen, and a meeting room.”

They stepped into another elevator where Natasha punched the button for the fourth floor. “I put you on my floor. Just so you’d have a friendly face.” She paused. “Although, sometimes the team can be a little too friendly in their own right. I don’t see an issue with them warming up to you.”

The doors slid open and they entered a small common area with doors on every side. Natasha led her to a door on the far wall and gestured for her to enter. “We can set up your keypad in a minute, everything here is print based. Some people had trouble keeping track of their keys.” She rolled her eyes, but Charlotte was too enamored with the room to notice.

It was plain, just the bare bones of a room, but it was perfect. A big, king-sized bed bathed in sunlight from the window behind it. Large closet and an even bigger bathroom. She dropped her duffel bag on the floor and looked around.

“You’re welcome to decorate or do whatever you want, it’s all yours.” Natasha smiled as she watched her take everything in. “Here, let’s set up your keypad so I can give you some space. I’ll leave my number, just let me know when you get bored or hungry or feel like socializing.”

She closed the door behind her, leaving Charlotte to settle in.

I think this will do. She thought as she sank into the plush bedding.

__________________________________________________

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” Bucky grunted as he slammed his fist into the punching bag.

“I did tell you,” Steve protested before being interrupted.

“No, you told me we found someone with potential HYDRA affiliation. You said the team was working on tracking her down and making contact.” Bucky stopped hitting the bag to snarl his words out. “What you didn’t say was ‘Hey buddy, there’s a chance we found someone kept in the same hellish lab as you and we’re trying to get her to come shack up with us. Oh, and she may or may not have been bred to kill you.’”

Sighing, Steve sat on the bench next to the sparring ring. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

“You mean you didn’t know how I’d take it.” Fists slammed into the bag.

“Well,” He raised an eyebrow. “Is that such a stretch?”

“I think I’m handling it pretty well.” Bucky gave a forced smile as he stepped away from the punching bag, beginning to unwrap his right hand.

“It was my idea to keep the details under wraps,” Nat’s voice echoed from across the training room as she walked toward them, wet hair darkening the collar of her sweatshirt. “I didn’t mean for it to seem like we were keeping things from you. There’s just so much we don’t know.”

Bucky frowned. “Seems like there’s quite a bit you do know.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want.” She smiled, always able to walk the line between cold sarcasm and genuine warmth.

Natasha took a seat on the bench next to Steve, both of them watching Bucky as he threw the sweaty tape away. He stayed quiet for a moment, thinking.

“What’s her name?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Rossi.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“Most recently, the high stakes room at the Wynn.” Nat smirked. “Prior to that, I saw some patterns that caught my interest and dug a little further.”

“I read the file.” Bucky’s face was stoic.

“Do you have any memory of her? Any recollection?”

His brows knit together, thinking. “No. I don’t remember much from that…from those years. Fragments, maybe. If I saw her face it might, I don’t know, might bring something back.”

Steve watched his friend carefully, looking for any sign of distress. Bucky seemed calm, controlled, albeit a little strained.

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs.”

Bucky nodded slowly. “She’s here…for good?”

“To be determined. My offer wasn’t exactly for a week’s vacation.” Natasha stood, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up front with you on this. I promise not to go around you again.”

“I get it.” He looked at Steve. “I know I don’t have the best track record for handling questionable information.”

Grinning, Steve stood to join them. “What? You think throwing Sam out of a moving Quinjet because he told you he’d be leading point on the mission was an overreaction?”

Bucky ran his tongue over his teeth, suppressing a smile.

“No, totally reasonable.” Nat elbowed him. “Just like when he ripped the arm off of Tony’s last suit because he said Bucky’s arm was a ‘war relic’,”

“Alright, point made,” Bucky groaned, shrugging her hand off and walking towards the door.

_____________________________________

Charlotte: is it too late for breakfast?

Natasha: I know I said there are no stupid questions…..but ;)

Charlotte: music to my ears

Natasha: meet me outside the first floor elevators in 5.

Charlotte slipped her phone back in her pocket, grinning. Thank God superheroes have a sense of humor. Well, at least one does. She made a mental note to ask if FedEx delivered to the compound, as she was in dire need of an online shopping spree. The majority of her clothes were tailored to Vegas, where she’d taken up residence the past few weeks. With the way she drifted from place to place, it wasn’t uncommon for her to leave an entire wardrobe’s worth of clothes in a hotel closet when she left town. For this trip in particular, she’d brought a few of her absolute favorite dresses, three sets of heels, and two designer bags she’d treated herself to after a particularly lucrative poker win.

Unfortunately, not much of her attire lent itself to casual daytime wear. She had a pair of jeans and trusty white sneakers, and luckily a plain white tank top shoved deep into her suitcase. Unless there was some kind of Avengers’ gift shop on the premises, she’d be repeating this look pretty much daily.

She made her way to the elevator and when the doors slid open on the first floor, Natasha stood waiting for her. A tall, clean cut blonde man stood next to her, who Charlotte recognized instantly.

“Hi…” She stepped out cautiously as the duo grinned.

“Charlotte, you remember Steve.” Nat seemed to be the most amused of all three of them. The man nodded, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“We were never officially acquainted.” His handshake was firm but his eyes were kind. “Steve Rogers.”

“Sorry about that,” She pursed her lips. “I thought you were coming after me for my lack of patriotism.”

Steve chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, you tried to represent our country too. Maybe we’re not so different.” The sharp look Natasha shot him as he referenced her Team USA mishap didn’t go unnoticed. Charlotte didn’t seem to take offense, simply raising an eyebrow as she carefully considered her response.

“I think I can stick a landing a little better than you.” Her face was blank, but her eyes crinkled at the corners ever so slightly, an almost-smile.

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve smiled. “Welcome to the compound.”

“Thanks.” Charlotte kept her eyes on him as he led the trio through the doors.

Natasha fell into step beside her, showing her unspoken camaraderie. Years of undercover work had honed her ability to read body language and pick up on cues undetectable to anyone else. As she watched Charlotte over the past twenty-four hours, she noticed several things. She was calculated, but not cold. Her humor was dry and she kept a poker face throughout most of her interactions, hints of a smile showing through as she warmed up to someone. She was quick-witted, but seemed to think through her replies thoroughly as she decided if someone was trustworthy or not. A familiar tactic for someone who wasn’t sure who they could rely on. Her persona was confident, relaxed, assured. Her body told another story.

When she stood, her posture was erect. Her weight was slightly shifted forward on her toes, like someone prepared to cut and run at any moment. She could stand still, facing the person in front of her, but her eyes would flick around to every detail happening around her. She presented herself like a predator, but her behavior was that of prey.

It made sense. She was taken, put through horrors beyond comprehension at the hands of HYDRA. Prey. She was altered, trained, brainwashed to be an elite fighter, an assassin. Predator. But now? She was somewhere in between. Not quite a predator, not quite prey.

As Natasha strode down the path towards the main building, she couldn’t help but feel like even Charlotte didn’t know which category she fell into.

“This is the cafe,” Steve gestured when they walked into the largest building. Charlotte recognized it as another entrance to the same place they’d left earlier that morning. This was where all the noise was coming from. It was a large room, flooded with natural light from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There were two dozen circular tables in the middle of the room, most of them empty. A few had small clusters of people in navy blue windbreakers or jackets, all emblazoned with the trademark “A” of the Avengers. There was a kitchen area to the right, a long countertop spanning part of the wall. “They serve three meals here every day, it’s all up for grabs. This is where all the agents and recruits eat while they’re here. We have a kitchen back in our building, but unless one of us feels like cooking, there’s not much more than dry cereal there.”

They walked towards the kitchen, a few agents pausing as they walked through the room, looking at Charlotte over their clipboards and conversation. Natasha pulled open the door to a commercial sized refrigerator, revealing a massive selection of food. Everything from fresh fruit to Smucker’s PB&J sandwiches. Eyes wide, Charlotte glanced at Natasha.

“Have at it,” She nodded, grabbing an apple and biting in.

When they’d sufficiently raided the kitchen, Steve led them out another set of doors to a patio area. To the right, they could see the edge of the lake peeking around the treeline. To the left, there was an open field, the targets on the far end indicating a shooting range. Charlotte lowered her arms and let the barrage of snacks tumble onto the table.

“I didn’t think superheroes ate junk food,” She raised an eyebrow, pulling open a bag of mini-donuts.

“Superheroes don’t, Avengers do.” Nat winked and stole one from the packaging. “Plus, not all of the agents here are combat focused. There are plenty who work in the control room or in tech and engineering and don’t have to give a shit about being mobile.”

“Well here’s to not being mobile.” She held her chocolate milk in the air and the three of them toasted, just in time for a dozen agents to jog by on the path out in front of them.

Bucky stood on the path around the lake, hidden under the cover of long morning shadows. He watched as Steve raised his plastic chocolate milk into the air, appearing to cheers with the two women at the table. One was Natasha, the other he assumed was the new girl. Charlotte.

She was around Natasha’s size, a little more overtly muscular. He could see her toned arms clearly thanks to the tank top she was wearing. They seemed relaxed, talking and laughing. He took a deep breath and looked down at his phone.

Five Minutes Ago

Steve: Come meet us on the patio by the range. You can meet Charlotte. We’re showing her around.

Sighing, Bucky shot back a reply before shoving his phone into his pocket.

Bucky: Sorry - told Sam I’d help him with something. Next time.

He turned and resumed his run around the lake, going the opposite direction of the compound. Steve glanced up from his phone, brow furrowed, just in time to see black hair disappearing around the treeline.

#james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan #winter soldier fluff #avenger!reader #avenger!reader x bucky barnes

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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 4 months

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Second Star Chapter Fifteen: The Fireflies

Fandom: The Mandalorian Wordcount: 4.6k Warnings: Description of injury

Okan, Mando and the child land on a forest planet. Okan and the child struggle with the effects of planet-hopping, and to distract herself Okan returns to gardening. After a close call with a bounty hunter, Mando takes care of Okan for a change

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Okan is pursuing a ridiculously frivolous endeavour. Alright, that’s not the phrasing Mando’s going to use when he sees it, but they’re the longest words she can think of to describe the thoughts that will roll around his helmet when he sees it. He’s been gone for almost two weeks now, but he’d sent a message through the commlink he’d given her four planets ago to tell her that he should be back before dark today. He’d been reluctant to give her the comm, it ties him to Okan and the kid, but a couple of months ago he’d come back from a job early in the morning and she’d attacked him out of surprise. She’d landed some good hits, but he thought it best to prevent it from becoming a repeat event.

At least she’s kept the floor of the hull clean, covered in the biggest tarpaulin she could find, he can’t yell at her for that. On the tarp, she’s amassed an impressive collection of paint cans, buckets and empty ration tins. As per Mando’s stipulations, she had waited a week before going to the town market and had only paid with Mon Calamari credits. She’d used her cranky old hoverboard to transport all her purchases herself because Mando had lectured her about trackers on commercial hoverboards. It had taken a while to go back and forth from the market to the ship to the market, meandering aimlessly through the forest for the first three-quarters of an hour to throw off any potential followers, but she’d done it. Four sacks of compost - two dry and crumbly and two moist and dark - packs of draining rocks and drip waterers and plant food, and a crub. The portable kind can rarely be relied on, all spindly metal and plastic, so she’d shored it up with rust-resistant scrap metal and set it up in the kitchen. She’d sacrificed one of Mando’s screwdrivers to punch drainage holes into her chosen containers and spent the last few days potting. Some vegetables she’d found in that same market, some self-seeds she’d pulled out of fruit before giving them to the baby and some flowers she’d uprooted from the woods just outside of the ship. Forest planets are her favourite for the sheer density of life held on the surface.

They’ve been planet-hopping for months. The longest they’ve stayed anywhere is sixteen days, on a ring planet so full of droids and cameras they’d hardly left the ship. Sleep schedules are nonexistent with so many different time zones to keep up with and Okan’s been nursing a headache for the past three days but for now, elbow-deep in dirt, she doesn’t feel too bad. The baby is in the cubby with his wooden snake, still awake. Still. Awake. He’s getting better at sleeping when Mando’s not around, but the constant travel has him all turned around too. Okan’s managed to keep up a steady stream of stories and she’s only hoping he doesn’t notice she’s repeating rhymes. She has no energy for games. At least when she’s doing this she can sit on the floor. Pull one can towards her, fill it with the layers of rock and soil and food and eventually the plant and then shove the can aside to prepare the next one. It’s repetitive work, but it’s nice, using her arms and skills she hasn’t employed for close on nine months.

The hull door creaks and cranks down into position. Okan pulls her hands from the current pot and claps the soil off them, rubbing the back of her hand on her cheek for good measure before she stands and ties her cloak into a sling for the baby.

“What fresh hell is this?” Mando, at the bottom of the ramp. A body is slung over his shoulder like a bag of rice. Okan tries to keep the baby facing in towards her stomach as she settles him in the sling.

“Mando, we talked about this.”

“We did not.”

“About you bringing dead bodies back while the baby’s awake.”

“He’s not dead,” Mando tells her, doing a little jump on the spot to jostle the body. It groans and a leg kicks out, but Mando catches it, “Yet.”

“He doesn’t know that!”

“Would you rather I leave our fuel money in the forest?” Mando counters in that dry, unimpressed way. Okan sighs, blowing air up past her nose and into stray hairs that are propelled upwards for a moment. The baby, fascinated, tries to grab the tendrils of hair. “There’s a clearing about five minutes back. Take him there while I deal with this. Why is he still awake, anyway?”

“It’s the planet-hopping,” Okan answers, pulling off one glove to wrap tendrils of warmth from one of the lights around her fingers. She’s brought this up before and ended up in a bad spat with the Mandalorian. The subject, paired with their tiredness, has made their silences spiky “His little body doesn’t know what time it is anymore, he’s getting overtired and then oversleeping-”

“Now is not the time-”

“-We need to stay somewhere, Mando, actually stay. Just as we adjust we move again, I...we can’t keep up with this.”

“I told you to leave.”

There’s a moment. That swift, silent battle between Mando and Okan that always takes place when he gives her some kind of order. It’s always silent, but it’s always fierce. It always looks so one-sided, too, the tin can not giving any indication of what Mando’s thinking while Okan is utterly unable to hide any emotion she experiences. The being over Mando’s shoulder groans again, and Okan surrenders. Still, she stalks rather irritably past Mando,

“Barshtok.”

“Hu’tuun.”

Insults are traded, and the baby whines in confusion, not understanding why the adults aren’t happy to see each other. Behind her, there’s a scream. Okan flinches, her shoulders hunching over as she holds her hands over the baby’s ears and starts mumbling an old prayer. Her eyes sting. The sound of fists hitting metal fades as the trees do. The clearing’s an illusion of peace, but it’s at least a prettier illusion than the salt flats on the last planet. There’s no peace anymore, not really. Planet-hopping’s no good for anyone. Okan sits down when she reaches the middle of the clearing. She only lets go of the child when he starts writhing and complaining about being held. The little ball of light she’d collected bobs above his head as he explores this new terrain. He might be full of energy, but Okan feels as if her bones are full of freshly-churned cement. There’s a shrill noise, perhaps a bird.

“Bara. Drop it.” The distress call stops, and a sound that’s halfway between guilty and apologetic replaces it before a bird takes off from the ground, squawking. “Thank you,” The orb of light bobs along as the baby flees the scene of his own crime. Okan picks a strand of grass that had been tickling her elbow and tears it into strips as long as her hand. She picks the widest of these, holds it tight between her thumbs, lifts it to her lips and blows hard. The effort brings an edge to the dull pain in her head but she’s rewarded when a high, sharp, almost deafening sound comes from it, like a bird call but less scared than the one she’d just heard. The baby stops in his tracks, makes one of his curious little noises, and starts trundling back towards her, babbling away. As the grass quacks again, he pops up at Okan’s feet. He’s smiling, and there’s no way Okan can’t smile back. She reaches out to rub his head with her gloved hand, but pauses when she notices the little insect trekking its way along the join between his ear and his head. Okan holds a single finger out to it, and the insect crawls onto the glove where her fingernail would be, “See this? It’s a Tuli-bug. Rest of the galaxy calls ‘em fireflies,” Okan tells him, watching as it makes its way up her finger. She waits until the child’s fully focusing on it and then blows gently on the bug. Startled, it takes off, and as it takes flight its rear end glows yellow. The light reflects in the child’s wide eyes, and he watches it like a cat waiting to pounce on a mouse until the insect dives back down into the grass. The child runs after it, wanting to find it, and disturbs other fireflies as he squeals through the grass, leaving a glowing trail behind him. Okan laughs as he runs, but stops when she realises what he’s really running to. Then she turns back around and pulls her knees to her chest, looping her arms around them.

“Hey, kid. Are you, uh, having fun?” The child gabbles on and on, giving Mando an answer he can never understand, “That sounds. Great.” The child, thrilled by the offering of conversation, goes on even louder and more enthusiastically. He’s winding up again and the idea of staying awake for another night cycle has Okan pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. The child scuttles past her when he’s done talking to Mando and back into the grass

“Shik’da, ha’be.” Okan passes her covered hand over his head when he passes and flicks her ungloved fingers to send the ball of warmth after him. Mando shuffles through the grass, hardly lifting his feet. She watches another firefly wander up her arm, battling the headache that’s trying to split her skull in two. Eventually, Mando decides to sit down, and lands maybe two feet away from Okan. The firefly takes off. Fresh silence punctures the faux peace of the clearing while they watch the child trundle about.

“You’re right.” He says. Quietly. Like very distant thunder that may or may not be real.

“I’m right about a lot of things, but you don’t tend to say it.”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“What was I right about?”

“Planet-hopping,” Mando admits. The baby squeals as he races after more fireflies, rustling through the grass and flushing even more of the bugs out, “It’s not good. For the kid,” Okan waits for him to continue in the short, simple sentences she’s used to, “I’ll take the trafficker into the town tomorrow and we can stay here for a while.”

“Stay?” Okan echoes, trying to coax more out of him and letting herself look at him now. He stares resolutely ahead.

“In the woods. Until the money runs out. Or the Guild finds us,” he explains, “Maybe a few months. It’s quiet here. Relatively safe. Out of the way.” Okan lets the following silence hang to show that she recognises this decision and is grateful for it before she speaks,

“Thank you, Mando. For listening.” She doesn’t need to say any more. The best way to respond to Mando is in the way he speaks to her: short statement to short statement, long explanation to long explanation. Silence softens.

A giggling, squirming, weight slams into her. The child, trying to hop up and onto her legs or into her arms and instead knocking her over. There are twin shrieks as she tips, both from Okan and from the surprised baby. The shrieks turn to laughter, loud, genuine, joyful laughter as Okan catches hold of the baby and falls back into the grass. As they disappear into the green, a cloud of glowing yellow fireflies billows up around them. Okan stays where she falls, laughing hysterically. The child, figuring out that this is a happy reaction, squeals with her. Okan misses trees. She misses rolling around in the long grass and flattening it, unable to shake of the giggles. She misses making Tuli-bugs light up and making grass whistles. So that’s what she does.

***

The moons have risen fully now. Okan knows she’ll be in almost complete darkness, but Mandalorian armour isn’t so easily disguised under moonlight. There are four or five black dots on his helmet. Okan adjusts her bag and moves closer to him, “Can I touch your helmet? Not to remove it. Don’t nod or shake, just...yes or no.”

“Yes.” He sounds confused, but he agrees, so Okan shuffles closer and slowly reaches towards the tin can. She rests the back of her hand against the helmet until the little family of fireflies crawls onto her knuckles.

“Tiene-tuli,” Okan taps the left side of her chest, where a human heart would be, and holds the insects up for Mando to see as they travel up to her thumbnail, “Tuli-bugs.” She does the same thing for him as she’d done for the baby, blowing air towards the insects until they glow yellow and take off, looking for a more sheltered place to land. Another firefly drifts lazily between Okan and Mando, their heads turning to follow its path. Mando’s head turns. Okan watches the side of the helmet and wonders what his face is doing. Not what it looks like, but what emotion it’s conveying. When he’s annoyed his knee pops out and his head tilts to the right and when she confuses him the helmet twitches left. When he’s angry he looks down at her with his hands on his hips like an elder giving her a good scolding. When she’s done something right he gives one of his tiny nods and sometimes when she makes him laugh she hears cracks of it through the modulator. She still doesn’t know his tell for when he’s smiling.

“What exactly were you doing in the hull?” he asks a short while later. It’s too dark for them to remain outdoors and they’re almost back to the ship.

“They won’t stay in the hull. There’s a space marked out in the galley for them. It’s food, mostly…” Okan stoops to allow her fingers to follow the curl of a fern, “I wanted something to do with my hands, and I missed using them with the earth. They’ll freshen the air on the ship, and they’ll look nice,” she can’t quite come up with a reason for the plants that she thinks Mando will agree with, but she looks at him all the same with her plea. Her eyes are dark and deep and hold the image of more fireflies that are crawling over Mando’s helmet, “Can I keep them?”

“You used your wages on the plants?”

“Well, on the soil and the-” she stops herself and backtracks, “Yes. Yes, I did. But I followed all the rules. Calamari credits, misdirection in the woods.”

“Then it would be a waste of money to get rid of them. And a waste of your time potting them.” There’s the nod. Agreement. Okan smiles and the firefly reflections in her eyes squish into stars. Her hand finds his elbow, the fabric between plates of armour, and she squeezes it tight for a split second before letting go to tap the column of her neck twice with two fingers. The latter gesture is Nokanish and shows gratitude, conveying deeper thanks than the words themselves. The other gesture, the hand on his elbow, carries no cultural message that he’s aware of. It’s something she likes to do on rare occasions: a squeeze of the elbow, nudge of a foot, flicking her fingers against his beskar to hear the ting sound and smile at it. In the cockpit, when she wants to look at what he’s doing, she sets her forearms on the back of his chair and leans over him, and once or twice her fingers have trailed over his shoulder and onto the fabric of the cowl that sits about his neck. He hasn’t been able to find the reason behind it yet, hasn’t asked. She’s learned how to read the movement of his shoulders for the most part and always withdraws the moment he tenses, taking the baby with her if he’s sitting on Mando. At this moment, as the Razor Crest comes into view and Okan sends her light back to its source, the baby flops over Mando’s arm and waves his hands in the air. Still awake, damn him.

“I’m not lifting all those pots for you.” Mando tells Okan as they step back into the hull. He throws the switch to close the door and lights flicker on.

“I’ll manage,” Okan assures him, adjusting her cloak. When she turns her back on Mando he sees she’s modified it into yet another iteration of a sling, one he’s seen before that holds the baby close to her back, “Pop him in so he won’t bother you.”

“I can take him while you do this.”

“It’s alright, he might fall asleep if I keep him still and warm,” Mando slots the baby into place, then holds him there while Okan tightens the straps to secure him, “Might. Besides, you’ve been gone for almost two weeks, you need rest too.” Well, the child does seem content. He’s not complaining about his new perch at least, making small ooh sounds when Okan squats to pick up a bucket. She doesn’t show any struggle with the weight, and by the looks of the containers none of them should be too heavy for her by Mando’s estimations. She’s strong, but she knows her limits. She turns back to Mando with a pleased expression and the large bucket held in front of her, “Goodnight, Mandalorian.”

Mando tracks through the ship to resume routine, checking on every crate and door and tool. He doesn’t move them from wherever Okan has put them, he’s just making sure they’re still there. There’s a screwdriver he’d left on the workbench he can’t see anymore, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. She doesn’t touch the cockpit when he’s gone, so his tour through it before he retires to his room is brief. During his scans of the ship he does pass Okan several times, but she doesn’t try to engage him in conversation. She has said goodnight and marked the end of their time together - they exist in their own individual space until the morning. Her exchanges with the child are low and lilting, trying to lull him into sleep. Mando can hear them pass his door when he’s in his room. Okan goes back and forth and back and forth from hull to galley and back again with each plant while Mando strips himself of armour and settles to studying his datapad. He can tell when the baby finally falls asleep, because Okan finally stops talking. She shuffles up and down for a few hours yet before the door to her own room slides open and closed, and then Mando can’t hear anything.

***

The plants are restricted to the galley for about a month to adjust to their new homes and surroundings before Okan starts to move them around. The first is a plant in the refresher, a tiny thing in a ration tin she suspends from a hook in the ceiling that releases a pleasing smell when the water showers run. Then a second ration tin set between the two sinks in the same room that’s only allowed to stay because Okan has promised it won’t climb up the wall as it grows. Several have been relocated to Okan’s own room, the ones that will produce colourful buds, lined up along the blank wall opposite the door. A couple of pots, heavier ones that can be attached to the walls via hooks or ropes and trusted not to slide around during jumps, have made it into the corridors. Between them, the child’s toys and Okan’s blankets, it’s now fairly obvious that other people live on the Razor Crest. Mando’s been avoiding thinking about how he feels about that in case it’s angry. He doesn’t have reason to be angry at them.

He’d listened to Okan and they’d stayed on the forest planet for several weeks more. For the most part, they stay on the ship in the woods. After completing each job he manages to root out Mando moves the ship to a new region of the planet so they don’t risk becoming fixtures as they had in Sorgan. Unfortunately, there aren’t many jobs to be had but he and Okan are experts at the art of laying low and finding menial tasks to fill their days. She doesn’t object to moving over the planet’s surface as much as he’d worried she would, rather she relishes having new spaces to explore. She always does, no matter what sort of planet they land on, but he can see forest planets are something special to her. He’d have to be blind not to see that.

Once she has their routine down, she sticks to it like glue. Every morning, the first Mando hears of her is when a door creaks open and he leaves what he’s doing to find her sitting on the hull door or directly on the grass in her nightclothes, her eyes closed and her face upturned to the sun to absorb the light and warmth. If uninterrupted, she’ll sit like that until the child wakes up. Mando never interrupts her. Through the rest of the day he can mostly track her by sound as she talks to the baby, and if she goes out of earshot she tends to leave her commlink open so Mando can hear if there’s any trouble. So far, there hasn’t been. Mando himself does as he always does: tidies the ship, cleans his armour, maintains the repairs, works out their next three or four bolt holes for whenever they have to leave this place.

Today he’s woken from a few hours of stolen sleep in the cockpit by Okan’s voice, as he so often is. The difference this time is that it’s coming through the commlink. She’d left with the child in the morning, but now the sun hangs low and blood-red in the sky.

Mando. Mando, she stretches out the first syllable in the sing-song voice she uses when she doesn’t want to alarm the baby, wake up and let us in…I really hope you’re asleep and not just ignoring us, the comm is in her chair so he pushes himself upright to twist around for it, but spies movement out of the windows ahead of him, Aha! You moved. You see us? She’s waving from where she stands at the treeline, big arcs of her arm over her head. It’s a good thing her cloak is red, it’s what distinguishes her from the woods. Mando scoops up the comm her voice is still filtering through,

“I see you. Disengaging ground safety protocols.” he tells her. Confusion sprouts when he sees Okan check her surroundings before she moves, and when she does she darts from tree to tree. It’s odd.

Got a blaster on you? Just in case? She asks, as though there’s any world in which Mando isn’t armed at all times. The question is more than enough to alarm him. He doesn’t ask why, just drops down the ladder and triggers the door. He slinks down the ramp, pulse rifle ready. Okan moves quickly, zig-zagging through the trees.

“What am I looking for?” he asks when she steps onto the ramp. He chances a single glance at his companion - the child is held tight to her side and seems fine, but Okan’s hair is falling messily out of her hood and past the shadow of the fabric he can see bruises. “Who?”

“A hunter,” her voice still warbles up and down and he understands now, if she sounds panicked the baby will panic. She moves swiftly past Mando to put the child in the cubby, up in his hammock, and closes the door on him before taking up position behind Mando and peering over his shoulder. With the close of the cubby door her voice straightens out again, “Guild. She’s dead, but I don’t know if there’s anyone else. I’m not sure we weren’t followed, so I thought I should get you out here-”

“You thought right.” Mando tells her. He steps backwards, and she moves with him. She closes the door when she’s told to do so and Mando climbs up into the cockpit. They’re off the ground within three minutes, and sub-light within seven. Okan opens the door to the cubby but the baby’s comfortable in his hammock so she leaves him in favour of sinking down onto the bench by the hole in the wall herself. Steadying her breathing, she pulls her bag onto her lap. When she hears the rattle that signals Mando dropping back down into the hull she lifts her head and lets her hood fall. Blood leaks from a cut through her eyebrow like oil.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Mando asks.

“We went back to the pond. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have gone back and we stayed too long-”

“Okan.” He doesn’t sound upset or angry, just trying to keep her on track.

“It wasn’t that we’d been seen and reported, she had a fob,” Okan finds the thing in her bag and tosses it to Mando. She’d crushed it under the heel of her boot but he can still see what it was. Her medical pack follows the fob’s path out of her bag and she starts probing uncertainly at her face with one hand to find where the most pain is. There’s a bad scratch on her leg just above her knee, her trousers ripped, “Sprout didn’t get hurt, just scared,” The third item to be pulled from the bag is undoubtedly the weapon that had inflicted the wounds, complete with Okan’s black blood drying on the blade. The handle is slightly curved for ease of grip and the blade is roughly the length of Okan’s arm. It holds three waves in the metal. Mando’s heard various names for these types of swords of course, but the simplest that Okan will understand is a flame-blade, the metal imitating the wiggling of a lively candle. She hands the sword over to Mando, who puts it in the weaponry case on the wall. Out of the baby’s reach. “Oh damn.” Okan has found the cut on her face and seems surprised by the blood. She pokes around it to try and figure out how big and how deep it is, but she’ll struggle without a mirror. Mando steps from being in front of the weapons cabinet to standing in front of Okan and holds out his hand. Her eyes flick up to the helmet, a little confused, but then she tilts her head further up and lets Mando prop the orange ends of his gloved fingers under her chin.

Her medpack is open and well organised, it’s not difficult to find what he’s looking for: clean cloth, damp wipes, something in a dropper that prevents infection that he can’t remember the name of at this precise moment. With one hand he holds her chin and with the other he cleans her face. Wipes away the dirt of the day to better see the evolving colours of the bruises, harder to make out through brown skin. She lets him. She doesn’t even say anything, just looks up at him and stares at the helmet in that way that almost tricks him into thinking she can see his eyes. She does her best not to frown when he reaches the cut through her eyebrow and instead clenches her jaw, purses her lips. He’s gentle, pausing between wipes and drops to let her breathe the pain out. He has to clean that side of her face again once he’s smoothed a sticking plaster over the scratch because of how much it had bled.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” Okan can count on one hand the amount of times Mando has outright apologised, said the words I’m sorry in the time she’s known him. His voice is as soft as the movements of his hands. He’s got that caring tone about him again. She lifts two fingers and taps her neck. Thanks.

#rae's writing #second star #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian oc #okan the unknown #mando #grogu #baby yoda

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whitehallcarpetcleaners · 7 months

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Wood Flooring

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dramatic-shitpost-poet · 1 year

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Guinea Pig

Enclosure:

They need fresh water daily and it can be supplied either in a bowl or in a sipper water container you can hang on the cage.

Guinea pigs can be housed in enclosures made of wire, stainless steel, durable plastic or glass. Wood should not be used because it is difficult to clean and easy for guinea pigs to chew on and destroy the enclosure. There should be one side of the enclosure open to promote air ventilation. It should obviously be escape proof and have no sharp edges or potential hazards for your guinea pig.

The flooring or substrate should be mostly solid as to avoid injury and acceptable bedding include wood shavings, shredded paper, processed ground corn cob, newspaper, aspen shavings, pine shavings, and commercial pellets.

Make sure the enclosure is away from any danger or other animals for safety and the sides need to be at least 10 inches tall to avoid them jumping out

The ENVIRONMENT in which you house your guinea pig should be in a quiet spot away from noise, excitement and stress. You should avoid direct sunlight, as well as cold damp areas. They are nocturnal, so they need quiet periods of light to rest. Guinea pigs do best in dry, cool environments with adequate ventilation.

They do not do well alone as they are social animals (read personality section) and should be housed together in the same enclosure. Females can be housed together along with both sexes, but 2 males might just fight so be wary.

Larger is better when it comes to housing guinea pigs, but 47 x 24 x 14 inches is good for 2 guinea pigs.

They need hiding places for comfort and one should be there for each guinea pig

Their teeth also grow continuously throughout their life so chew toys are needed, but hay grass also helps keep their teeth a good size

The habitat needs to be cleaned once a week minimum and bedding should be replaced along with it. Wet spots should be removed daily as well.

Diet/feeding habits:

They are herbivores like most prey animals and the majority of their diet is hay grass. You can use any hay grass, but avoid legume hay grass as it’s high in calories. You can supply the hay grass by a hay feeder or in the corner of the enclosure. It should be supplied daily.

Dark leafy greens such as kale, collard greens, mustard greens and dandelion greens are particularly good sources of vitamin C, but you can also try offering sweet peppers, apples, pears, berries, broccoli, cucumbers, parsley and basil. You should feed your pig around ¼ to ½ packed cup of fresh food daily. Fruits are a once a week thing though and veggies are daily or every other day.

Specific guinea pig pellets can be given as well, but only ¼ a cup a day max and keep an eye on their weight.

AVOID FEEDING foods high in starch, like peas, beans, corn, nuts, cakes, cookies, cereal, grains and bread along with chocolate or caffeine

Personality:

The sight, smell, taste, texture of your guinea pig’s food can be mentally stimulating for them, as well as the sound of the food preparation, which can provide a joyful anticipation for what is to come. To increase mental stimulation, you can put hay or fresh foods in empty toilet paper or paper towel rolls, non-toxic baskets or in little pieces of crumpled paper. You can also put pellets in a small hollow plastic ball with holes in the side.

Guinea pigs love a good cuddle but on the first day home, make sure to give your guinea pig time to settle in. Speak with your new furry friend in soft, soothing tones. They also like it when you gently stroke their head. Give your guinea pig 15 minutes and then try again if seems anxious

They are very social animals and need to be housed together otherwise they’ll get lonely

If they aren’t used to being handled then they may try to scratch or jump, but frequent handlings may help.

When they are happy they “popcorn” or jump around, sometimes into the air. They also zoom around their cage sometimes when incredibly happy

They are naturally prey animals, so they need places to hide to feel secure.

prefers a routine and similar time for playing, feeding and resting each day

They can get territorial, so it is better to introduce them all at once than later on.

Physical traits:

Average adult size is 8-11 inches long

Teeth are mostly yellow and grow endlessly throughout their lives

Some have fur and some are hairless as well (read grooming section)

Their nails are sharp and need to be trimmed sometimes

Types: Abyssinian, alpaca, american, skinny/baldwin, coronet, himalayan, lunkarya, merino, peruvian, rex, sheba, silkie, teddy, texel, white-crested, etc.

Life span and age:

They can live up to 8 years with proper care, but typical lifespan is 4-8 years

Health concerns:

Diarrhea: Loose stool caused by poor diet, stress, internal parasites, unclean housing or other illness

Malocclusion: overgrown teeth

Mites/lice: External parasites that cause guinea pigs to lose patches of hair.

Ringworm: skin infection caused by a fungus

Scurvy: A disease caused by vitamin C deficiency resulting in poor appetite, sore joints and chest and bleeding from the gums

Exercises to do:

Placing a hand into the cage will often cause the guinea pig to approach. They can then be easily scooped up. One hand should cup the hind end while the other hand cradles the midsection. Two hands are always recommended when picking up and handling a guinea pig so that there is less risk of dropping them. This will help them get used to handling

Never approach from above because that mimics predators, always approach from the side

Grooming needs:

They do not need baths that often, but if they have mites they may need to be cleaned more regularly. You can often just use a wet washcloth or unscented baby wipes to spot clean though

Their nails need to be clipped about once a month, but give or take and just keep an eye

Fur may be brushed with a soft-backed brush. Hairless guinea pigs benefit from a small amount of non-toxic aloe-based lotion rubbed onto skin to keep it soft

Teeth is normal to be yellow and does not need to be cleaned

Grooming them is also a great way to bond as well

#guinea pig #piggies #guinea piggies #dsp care sheet #dsp care sheets #research #mammals #care #animal #animals

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petbitsy · 1 year

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🐇🏠 Creating a Safe and Cozy Home for Your Pet Rabbit! 🏠🐇

If you're a proud rabbit owner, you know how important it is to provide a safe and comfortable environment for your furry friend. Here are some tips to create the perfect home for your pet rabbit:

1️⃣ Provide ample space: Rabbits love to hop and explore! Ensure your rabbit has enough room to move around freely. A spacious cage or hutch is essential. If possible, consider giving them access to a larger area or an enclosed bunny-proofed room for exercise.

2️⃣ Soft bedding: Line the floor of your rabbit's enclosure with comfortable bedding. Avoid materials like cedar or pine shavings, as they can be harmful to rabbits' respiratory systems. Opt for soft hay, straw, or specialized rabbit bedding instead.

3️⃣ Hideouts and tunnels: Rabbits enjoy having their own cozy spaces to retreat to. Place hideouts or tunnels in their enclosure, allowing them to feel secure and have a sense of privacy. Cardboard boxes or commercially available rabbit tunnels work well for this purpose.

4️⃣ Safe chewing options: Rabbits' teeth grow continuously, so providing appropriate chew toys is crucial. Offer sturdy, rabbit-safe toys made from untreated wood, cardboard, or safe chewable materials. This will help keep their teeth healthy and prevent destructive chewing.

5️⃣ Bunny-proofing: Just like curious toddlers, rabbits love to explore and nibble on things they shouldn't. Protect your furry friend by bunny-proofing your home. Secure electrical cords, move toxic plants out of reach, and block off any hazardous areas or small openings they could squeeze into.

6️⃣ Balanced diet: A healthy diet is essential for your rabbit's well-being. Provide a variety of fresh hay, high-quality rabbit pellets, and a mix of leafy greens and vegetables. Always ensure they have access to clean, fresh water.

7️⃣ Social interaction: Rabbits are social animals and need companionship. Spend quality time with your bunny, provide mental stimulation through play, and consider getting them a rabbit buddy if it's feasible for your situation.

Remember, each rabbit has unique needs, so observe your pet's behavior and make adjustments accordingly. Regular veterinary check-ups and lots of love and attention are also key to keeping your pet rabbit happy and healthy! 🥰🐰

#animals #pets #puppies #petblr #kittens #ratblr #dogs #reptiblr #kitty #baby animals

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ammg-old2 · 1 year

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The west coast of Ireland is famed for its wave-beaten shores and bare, stony mountains, where only a few stunted trees grow in hollows and valleys, bent by harsh storms blowing in from the North Atlantic.

The coastline, with its cold, clean winds and ever-changing skies, gives an impression of unspoiled, primal nature. In 2014, the Irish government designated a 1,550-mile tourist route along the coast, and called it “The Wild Atlantic Way.”

Yet, where generations of painters, poets and visitors have rhapsodized about the sublimity of nature and the scenic Irish countryside, ecologists see a man-made desert of grass, heather and ferns, cleared of most native species by close-grazing sheep that often pull grasses out by the roots.

As climate change threatens even more ecological disruption, a growing Irish “rewilding” movement is calling for the restoration of the native forests that once covered these lands, both as natural machines to capture atmospheric carbon, and to preserve and extend what remains of Ireland’s dwindling biodiversity.

Rewilding, the practice of bringing ravaged landscapes back to their original states, is well established in Britain, where numerous projects are underway. For Ireland, this would mean the re-creation of temperate forests of oak, birch, hazel and yew that once covered 80 percent of the land but now — after centuries of timber extraction, overgrazing and intensive farming — have been reduced to only 1 percent.

For some, rewilding began with a personal choice.

In 2009, Eoghan Daltún, a sculpture restorer, sold his house in Dublin to buy 33 acres of gnarled oaks and rugged hillside on the Beara Peninsula in County Cork, in the far southwest. Where local farmers had once raised a few cattle and sheep, he erected a fence to keep out feral goats and sika deer, two nonnative, invasive species that nibble undergrowth and saplings down to the roots, and kill older trees by gnawing away their bark.

One day in late spring, with the wind driving rain off the foaming ocean, he proudly showed off the results. Wood sorrel, dog violet and celandine were already in flower beneath the twisted branches of mature oak and birch, thickly draped in mosses, ferns and epiphytic plants. New shoots of oak, hawthorn and ash pushed up through the grass and dead ferns.

“The sheep and deer would eat those little saplings before they even started on the grass, so when the old trees eventually died, there’d be no new ones to replace them,” said Mr. Daltún, who wrote about his experiment in “An Irish Atlantic Rainforest,” a memoir. “But the native forest is returning here, all by itself. I don’t have to plant anything.”

Ireland has committed to increasing the total proportion of forested areas to 18 percent by 2050, from 11 percent currently. Yet this would still be well below the European Union average of 38 percent, and most of it would consist of commercial spruce and pine plantations that make up more than 90 percent of Ireland’s current woodlands.

Grown to be harvested within 30 to 40 years, these nonnative conifers are treated with chemicals that pollute groundwater and rivers. Ecologists say little can grow on a forest floor carpeted with dead needles and a desert for insects and native wildlife. And much of the carbon they store is released again when they are harvested.

It would be better for biodiversity and carbon sequestration to pay farmers and landowners to grow native trees and leave them unharvested, according to Padraic Fogarty, the campaign officer for the Irish Wildlife Trust. He cited the example of Costa Rica, which has reversed the Central American trend of deforestation by paying farmers to preserve and extend the rainforest.

Ray Ó Foghlú of Hometree, another rewilding organization, believes farmers could be paid not to plow or graze strips land that border remaining pockets of native woodland — often only a few trees and bushes — that cling to inaccessible hillsides or in the awkward corners of fields. Biologically rich, these microforests would, if left to themselves, quickly recolonize neighboring areas, Mr. Ó Foghlú believes. He himself recently bought nine acres of “scrubland” — home to sessile oaks (Ireland’s national tree), hazels, wood sorrel, blue bells and anemones.

“I pinch myself still that I own it,” he said. “It has a river running through it, and I can’t believe it’s mine, for the price of a second hand car these days.”

Irish rewilding enthusiasts look enviously at the highlands of Scotland, ecologically very similar to the west of Ireland, but where the concentration of ownership in the hands of a few hundred aristocrats and magnates allows rewilding at much greater scale.

Ecologically minded figures like the Danish billionaire Anders Holch Povlsen, Scotland’s largest private landowner, with 220,000 acres, can clear deer and livestock from tens of thousands of acres, allowing native growth to quickly regenerate. Eradicated native species, notably the European beaver, have also been reintroduced to Scotland to restore ecological balance.

In Ireland, where the average farm size is 83 acres, such large-scale rewilding would seem to be unfeasible. The big exception, so far, has been in the unlikely setting of County Meath, in the flat, highly fertile and intensively farmed east of the island, and in the unlikely person of Randal Plunkett, a New York-born filmmaker, vegan and death metal enthusiast.

Since Mr. Plunkett — better known, to some, as the 21st Baron of Dunsany — inherited his 1,700 acre ancestral estate in 2011, he has cleared it of livestock and left one-third to revert to unmanaged forest, complete with a wild herd of native red deer.

“Biodiversity is expanding dramatically,” said Mr. Plunkett, 30, standing in thick woodlands humming with bees and other busy insects. “At least one species has returned every year since we started. Pine martens. Red kites. Corncrakes. Peregrine falcons. Kestrels. Stoats. Woodpeckers. Otter. We think there’s salmon in the river again, for the first time in my life.”

One of his forebears, Sir Horace Plunkett, pioneered modern, industrial farming in Ireland early last century, encouraging small farmers to set up cooperatives and to mechanize their operations and use fertilizers and chemicals. Today, Randal Plunkett says, not everyone in this rich farming area is happy about his decision to abandon intensive agriculture, or to ban all hunting on the estate.

“It’s safe to say I’m not popular with the hunting crowd,” he said. “I’ve had death threats.”

Rewilding has its opponents. Ireland’s influential agribusiness lobbies are economically and culturally suspicious of suggestions that farmland should be allowed to revert to what they traditionally derided as “scrub.” People will always need food, they point out. In more marginal areas in the uplands and west, farmers argue recent regulations have reduced the numbers of sheep they can graze per acre, and that removing them altogether would harm existing biodiversity.

“If you leave an area ungrazed and unmanaged, you leave an area that’s at risk of being burned,” said Vincent Doddy, the president of the Irish Natura and Hill Farmers Association. “I think cattle and sheep are the most cost effective way of managing the land.”

Even on poor soil and small farms, where livestock production is sustainable only through government grants and second jobs, the title of farmer is still prized beyond its cash value.

“You’d have some of them who’d say, ‘Sheep are a part of my family tradition, and my identity, and it’s what I want to do,’” said Mr. Daltún, who himself keeps some cattle on his 33 acres. “But others would see the benefit of being paid for looking after the land, and letting it regenerate, and to have time to focus more on their other work or business.”

#current events #environmentalism #ecology #agriculture #rewilding #ireland

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charlesandmartine · 1 year

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Friday 23rd June 2023

Breakfast this morning again in the hallowed surroundings of the main dining room where starched white linen table cloths abound and riff raff don't. Eggs Benedict tailored to one's needs with the requisite smoked salmon, all most civilised and above all, peaceful; no harsh and shrill American voice nor screeming children. Tranquility focused entirely on starting a new day with a meal to break the fast of the night now passed. Then the customary jaunt around the deck at speed, with a more chill but highly refreshing sea breeze direct from the arctic today. The sun not far away but not quite managing to clear a way through the clouds. Not many to share the experience with on deck apart from a few optimistic whale watchers excitedly exclaiming at a suspicious parting of the calm waters and a flourish of binoculars and telephoto lenses. Often to be disappointed and equipment stood down.

Today we docked (nautical term) at Ketchikan, Alaska. We were booked on the Rainforest Wildlife Sanctuary , Eagles and Totems tour.

Ketchikan we liked a lot. It was a frontier's town again set on yet another island. Together as an archipelago in SE Alaska it accounts for an area of rainforest the second largest in the world. The majority is not now commercially felled and is protected from logging. We were shown through a section of rainforest and native species of trees; Cedars, Red-Alders, Spruces and Hemlock most common. Interestingly felled trees on the forest floor provided sustenance for propagating seeds; a substitute for topsoil. With competition for light, the strongest will succeed. Our guide told us that bears inhabit these woods, and we suspect the code words 'ham sandwich' whispered into her radio related to a sighting of one close by which she wished the group to avoid. Certainly fresh bear poo in various sites might substantiate this. We saw spawned salmon in the river that when a certain size will make their way to the sea via Herring Cove; the route their parents will have taken a fews weeks previously and generations before them. More bald eagles, purple and blue swifts circling the river, a couple of owls in a sanctuary where they will stay for the rest of their lives because of injuries sustained in the wild rendering them unable to hunt for themselves. Oh, then there were totem poles. Bit of a mystery with this one. It would appear that the two main First Nation's tribes in this area have symbols of the Raven and the Eagle. A totem pole will have one or the other carved on it and it will be placed prominently in their village. A Raven wanting to marry must marry an Eagle and vise versa. We were introduced to an Indian chipping away at a new pole and we asked him if the pole told a story. Yes he said. What is it? We asked. Can't tell you, it would take too long. Give us the quick version then. That will take at least 10 minutes and I haven't got that amount of time. With that he resumed chipping.

The bus returned us to Ketchikan where we partook of an Alaskan beer or two in a seedy downtown bar called Asylum. The clientele on the rough and ready spectrum, part American, part Indian; the atmosphere heavy with the sweet aroma of cannabis. The thick set barmaid, possibly of Russian descent decidedly dismissive of our tourist credentials and indecisive approach to beer selection. We chose one described as Amber on the recommendation of the drunk on the barstool. With our integrity still intact we held our beers and heads aloft and found somewhere to sit in the courtyard. Unfortunately I had to return and grovel to Greta for the WiFi password. Replete and refreshed we strolled the high street to the old Red Light District, Creek Street. The sign said, 'If you can't find your husband, he's in here'. Well at least that clears that one up!

We very much enjoyed Ketchikan so much so I bought the tee shirt. It was agreeable, clean, well presented and perhaps with the exception of Greta, friendly considering 3 cruise ships dominated this small town of just 14,000 souls that day.

ps. The whole gang was here today, Brilliance of the Seas, Celebrity Eclipse, and Holland and Barrett (Holland America)

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reynobondindia · 2 years

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nemejialee · 2 years

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( . the weight of a crown . )

she didn't talk about it much in the way she tended to share jokes when conversations required more serious responses. it was always at the forefront of her mind but no matter how much she avoided the truth in her everyday life, she was only but constantly reminded at every turn.

even the simplest of tasks became forays into a foreign jungle.

it was time for practice just as any other day. everyone had yet to arrive and the vast emptiness of the practice space would soon be filled with the hustle and bustle of members catching up with lively conversation, warming up their bodies and the gurgling of the water dispensers at the back as water bottles filled up. however, at the moment, chaera had the entire place to herself and only her thoughts filled it.

the soles of her low top nike dunks thudded quietly across the wood lacquered floor, her eyes fixated on herself in the mirror that spanned the entire far wall. it all seemed like such a blur and she was the only one that couldn't seem to catch up with the wave. other members settled into the brand sponsorships and television appearances as if they'd been waiting for it their entire lives. it wasn't as if their work had changed but the scale had certainly shifted tides. no matter which way she looked at it... she was looking at a celebrity.

she lifted her arm above her head to bend it at the elbow and stretch the limb back until the tension felt comfortably worked. it had all started just like this. a few girls joining together to dance and post some videos on youtube and instagram. just a little bit of exposure. nothing too crazy. she wanted a team of like-minded people who loved to do what she loved to do and as members seemed to come out of the woodworks and the chemistry was built like a dream. that's not to say it didn't have hiccups. you get a lot of people together and make them work together, there is bound to be disagreement. but even through the knots, they worked together and worked it out. with a group this big there was a lot of conceding for the greater good but it was paramount to have no one left unheard. now there were so many more ears that listened, so many more eyes that were watching, so many more voices that had something to say.

she released an exhale as she released the tension in her arm to transfer it to the other -- one that sounded more like a sigh than a simple breath. she wasn't easily daunted. she didn't have cold feet. but she did feel the effects of being catapulted into a world only her mother knew so intimately. chaera consulted her often. every piece of advice helped and was incorporated into the strict public management of cløckwørk beginning with each member. it was foreign to her having to think twice about what she said on social media. as their fame grew with each airing of street woman fighter, her mother was quick to bring in a public relations team to do a clean sweep of every members public profiles. any potentially problematic content erased from existence, true thoughts and feelings hidden behind private accounts, any controversial connections for chaera immediately severed. she wasn't scared. simply traversing uncharted waters with an entire crew relying on her decisions. her eyes closed and she exhaled(sighed) again.

would that tension ever actually leave her back?

her eyes flickered to the clock above the center mirror. everyone would be arriving soon.

she'd have to smile through it.

she sat herself down and crossed her legs... and paused. this was nice. a moment of nothing but her sitting on her ass. she stared at herself almost dumbly in the mirror. how rare it was that she got to do this anymore. even before arriving to practice, she had two commercial shoots and a contract signing with a room full of lawyers for several opportunities that she was prepared to announce to the team. she wasn't complaining. this was an absolute dream to the members who had trusted in such ambitious teenage wishes but those rose colored glasses faded quickly to bifocals needed to read the fine print of reality. it was a lot of work. even with a team to help, it was a lot of work. and sometimes she was just tired. but breaks like these were shortlived. stretching one leg out, she extended into a half middle split and lowered her chest to the ground towards her clasped hands. she had to keep going.

the way her hair fell around her, blocking out the rest of the world around her, there weren't many spaces that allowed that for her anymore. or people even. the amount of people who came out of the woodworks with her name in their mouths when her face started to appear on daytime television - people she'd not had more than a ten second conversation with. suddenly everyone was her best friend and wanted to catch up. it was nauseating. had they all really been that fake to begin with? fuck 'em then. she switched legs and re-assumed her position. and just like that her circle became a microscope - always scrutinizing and erring on the side of caution with everyone she spoke to aside from the few that got the real her. all she craved was the freedom to be her and she only entertained those who let her be just that. it was a privilege now but she didn't keep herself guarded. the best lies had hints of truth in them. she wasn't an open book but more translucent.

she lowered her hips into a split and pushed back into it, the ankles of her adidas sweatpants rising at the ankles briefly as she stretched her chest to the sky and let her hair cascade back behind her in a soft rippling waterfall. the final stretch, the final moments to herself signaled by the bustling of voices down the hallway coming closer. she exhaled one last undeniable sigh and looked at herself in the mirror. what was that?

a genuine smile.

even when the weight of the world felt like it was on her shoulders, at the end of the day, she loved what she did. she didn't complain about a single thing to anyone other than her mother and she didn't let her exhaustion show anywhere else except in the empty dance practice room.

"fuck." a coarse word on a light laugh.

"and we're back at it again."

though her words were drowned out by the bursting doors and chatter of rest of her life coming at her full force... as usual.

#( . eye of the storm . )#[[ excuse how trash. knocking off cobwebs. ;;

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