#grain bin house

[rollerman1]

#grain bin house #farmhouse #tiny house

[turtlesandfrogs]

Ok, now I'm really concerned that how to prevent rats isn't common knowledge like I thought it was. So, to anyone whose parents/guardians/adults didn't teach you, here's the basics of prevention*:

Rats, like you, need three things: food, water, and shelter. If they don't get these things, they don't bother sticking around. Access to food is probably the biggest draw, and the one you can do the most about.

Rats eat the same foods you do, and the same food that most pets eat. You don't want them to have access to this food, so:

Don't leave dirty dishes laying around, the smell will attract rats. Don't put leave dirty dishes in your bed room, or under the couch, or in your car, or whatever. Dishwashers are great, but if you don't have a functional one, and you're low on energy/executive function, at a minimum cover your dirty dishes with soapy water instead of leaving them out. Rats can't eat soapy food.

Work to minimize food waste, because the smell of tasty food in your compost or garbage will attract rats.

Don't put food scraps in your indoor garbage unless your garbage can is rat proof. Take it outside asap, to a rat-proof bin.

When composting, if you're composting food that would be attractive to rats (grains, fats/oils, dairy, meat) it's best to: bury the food down in the center of the pile, try out bokashi composting, or have a rat-proof composter. Generally people do tell you not to compost dairy and meat, but I do know that some people do it anyway.

Keep your grains & legumes in rodent proof-containers. Glass jars, metal trash cans, etc.

If you have dogs, put their food away at night. If you have birds or other animals that eat a seed-based diet, then it pays to make their food/enclosures inaccessible to rats as well. Cats are rat deterrents so leaving dry food out for them is probably the one exception.

Clean up spilled foods immediately.

If you have fruit trees (like those apple trees everyone has that were planted 3 or more decades ago) and notice that something besides a deer is eating them, it's really best to pick all the fruit. You probably can't eat it all, so giving it away is a good option. Compost the rotten/icky ones fallowing the advice above, or dig a hole and do some trench composting.

Rats also need water, which is another reason to make sure you don't have any leaks anywhere, and to not leave beverages out in open containers.

Beyond that, thoroughly looking around your house, inside and out, to make sure there's no access points. Vents can be covered with wire mesh, holes the size of a dime need to be patched (because mice exist, too). Keep vegetation clear from around the base of your house, and make sure there's no trees or shrubs growing close enough to your house that a rat could make the leap to your roof. Keep an eye out for tunnels near your house's foundation, because they will tunnel underneath.

Also, while I'm at it, for the love of your house's structural integrity, DO NOT store wood piles against your house. Termites people!!!

And yes, there's a reason why cats are such a common pet. Not only do they hunt rats, the very smell of a cat is enough to deter rats. Do not just get a cat for rat prevention though, only get a cat if you're going to provide it a good home and are able to take on the additional care tasks without over extending yourself. Getting a housemate that comes with a cat is a great alternative to getting your own cat (and I'm only halfway joking).

*because prevention is much easier and much less terrible than dealing with an infestation. Prevention is so, so, so much easier than getting rid of them, particularly because once they're there, they'll start eating other things that wouldn't have been enough by themselves to draw them in.

#adulting #cleanliness is in large part pest prevention

[realmennnnn]

With Connor away on his 5-mile hike, you thoroughly clean everything in sight. You start with his laundry, including each of the glorious socks he had worn over the past week. You give all of them a brief sniff before placing them in the laundry machine. While sniffing, you become terrified that you may not have a single item of clothing to sleep with that night. You pray that Connor will give you the clothes he wore on his hike or at least his destroyed Nike sneakers to sleep with. Next, you clean the entire home, scrubbing every room and organizing any out of place items, including Connor’s massive stack of dirty dishes. You also spend a particularly long amount of time in both his mudroom and bathroom, using your tongue to clean his muddy footprints off the floor as well as all of his pee off the toilet. Afterwards, you give each of his sneakers a good cleaning, yet again using your tongue with impeccable detail while savoring each blade of grass and splotch of dirt.

With the first load of laundry done, you throw all of his bedding in the washer. You iron and fold each clothing item and can’t help but stare at his XL sized shirts, shorts, underwear, and socks once they’ve been perfectly cleaned and pressed. You recognize how lucky you are to even be in the presence of these items.

By now, it’s been three hours, and you’ve heard nothing from Connor. You become nervous that something may have happened but neglect to reach out since it’s not your place to bother your potential alpha. Instead, you move outside, mowing the entire lawn and weeding Connor’s select number of plants.

With sweat running down your entire body, you head back inside to make Connor’s bed with his freshly cleaned and pressed sheets. Finally, you head out of the house on your way to grocery store, dropping the trash into the necessary bin on your way out. You hope you’ll be allowed to wash his car tomorrow since you weren’t given access today.

Halfway to the store, and nearly five hours after Connor left, you receive a message from your Lord. “Hey, faggy. The lads wanted to do some day drinking, so I’m out with them. I’ll be home in a couple hours. You better be keeping yourself busy. By the way, pick up some dog food if you make it to the grocery store.”

You have no idea why Connor would need dog food. He certainly doesn’t have a dog. However, you refuse to question your master. You’re certain that if Connor says he needs dog food, then he needs dog food. He’s an alpha after all, so he knows best! You’re just happy that you had anticipated Connor’s desire for you to grocery shop.

As you enter the store, you couldn’t help but look at every possible item. You needed to make sure that you bought every item Connor could possibly want. You pick up six varieties of fresh meat and fish, a large helping of fruits and vegetables, and several hearty grains. Finally, you make your way to the dog food. As you look into your cart, you realize that you were likely to spend more than $200 on Connor’s food alone. You hoped he’d share some of his scraps since you hadn’t bought anything for yourself. With finances in mind, you went for the cheapest dog food possible, made with purely synthetic materials. After all, Connor didn’t have a dog, so you didn’t see a point in overspending on this item - your mistake.

After checking out at a whopping $275, you walk home, carrying an obscene amount of groceries. With four bags hanging off either arm and a bag of dog food wrapped between them, your body aches by the time you reach the grocery store parking lot! You walk as fast as you can, making it back to Connor’s house in roughly 25 minutes. You breathe heavily the entire way and nearly start crying. You remind yourself that this is only true since you’re a weak, pathetic faggot.

As soon as your home, you start your final chore of the day, cooking Connor’s glorious Sunday night meal. You realize he could be home any moment, so you get to work rapidly. You carefully put together a salad and start cooking a box of pasta. Then, you cut up even more vegetables, making a batch of tomato sauce from scratch. You don’t dare prepare a subpar dinner, and you know you must have it done on time. Connor comes first after all! You race to the finish line, hearing keys jingling in the door nearly 40 minutes later. With only the food done, you realize the dishes will have to wait until later, and you pray Connor won’t be upset.

You run over to the front door and drop to your knees. You bow your head as anticipation grows within you. You hope Connor will be pleased with your housework and cooking. Even more, though, you simply cannot wait to see your 6’3” and 220 pound master as well as his glorious size 13s. Connor steps through the front door, and you stare down at his beautiful sneakers and socks. They’re caked in dirt, and their pungent smell hits your nose with gusto. You’re immediately enamored and begin showering each sneaker with kisses, taking great joy in their scent and appearance.

Connor stumbles a bit and leans back against the door. He crosses one foot over the other and flashes a devilishly sexy grin at you. With his balance back, he steps around your weak frame. You can tell that he’s wasted and, as a result, likely highly sadistic. He drops his bag on the ground and makes his way to the couch. With such a hefty bang, you know the bag is full; you’re happy to know that his shopping trip was successful.

He lays back on the couch and turns his eyes toward the football game you had turned on for him. His sneakered feet dangle beautifully off the side of the sofa. He lets out a huge belch, and you wish you were next to him, giving it a sniff. However, like a proper fag, you wait patently by the front door for further instruction. He pulls his pants down on the couch, leaving them hanging by his knees. You look at his beautiful cock, remembering that just two days ago, you were afforded the privilege of sucking and riding it. He calls you over, using his fingers to gesture as well. “I need to take a nap, but I want my dick to be well taken care of while I’m asleep. Come over here and hold my cock in your mouth until I wake up.”

You crawl over to the couch and kneel in front of his crotch. You look up and notice that his eyes are already shut. You wonder if it would be proper to remove his sneakers from his feet. You hold off since he hasn’t directed you to do so. You wonder how sweaty his feet will be by the time his sneakers finally come off.

You crank your neck into an extremely uncomfortable position and wrap your lips around his cock. Your knees already hurt from the wooden floors, and you can tell that your neck will be in immense pain within minutes. You know it’s going to be a long few hours, but you also know you won’t get access to his feet unless you do exactly what Connor tells you.

As soon as your lips wrap around Connor’s cock, he lets out an ungodly amount of piss, made up of 100% beer. You hear him snicker for a second, laughing at the fact that you had no idea that his piss would be flooding your mouth. He knows you’ll do whatever it takes to swallow every drop. And, he’s right; per usual, you diligently swallow every single drop.

When he finishes peeing, you keep his cock in your mouth, the taste of leftover piss and dick sweat rubbing against your tongue. You take his balls into your mouth, and the flavors grow exponentially. “Good boy,” you hear Connor say. With that, you try your hardest to get comfortable, knowing you’ll be kneeling here tasting his funk and piss for hours to come - just as he asked you to do.

Connor doesn’t wake up once during his three hour nap but somehow lets out several large farts. You take pride in knowing you helped coax and keep him asleep. You also take enjoyment in the flavor of his dick funk as well as the smell of his farts. You can tell that those farts were inspired by an immense amount of greasy food and beer. They smell wonderful.

As Connor finally comes back to life, your head and knees begin to wobble. You can tell that your neck will be in pain for days to come. He reaches for his phone and starts scrolling. With Connor awake, you continue to hold his dick in your mouth but now count down the moments until you’ll be allowed to move. The anticipation of potentially being allowed out of your current position makes the pain grow ten fold.

For the third time of the day, piss starts filling your mouth, and you hope this will mark the end of your time as a human dick pouch. The piss tastes even more stale than the one from a few hours ago, but you revel in every second of it. Maybe swallowing piss is not only a godly blessing but also the purest indulgence known to a faggot.

“Get your mouth off my cock, faggot,” Connor says abruptly with his piss complete. “Time for some of that sauce you got cooking. The pasta better be ready. I ain’t waiting. Go make me a plate.” You’re happy to know that you planned appropriately for this evening.

He begins to sit up from his nap and nearly kicks you in the face. “I told you to get moving. Chop chop.” You give each sneaker another kiss and crawl to the kitchen. You hope you’ll be allowed to enjoy the dirt from his shoes as well as the foot sweat from his socks as he eats. After all, you haven’t consumed a single thing all day.

You stand up and pull the pasta out of the fridge. You place a heaping serving on to a plate, adding your homemade tomato sauce and salad on top. As you get back down on to your knees, you place the plate on your back as well as a set of silverware and a glass of water in each hand. As you crawl back to his feet, you keep your back and hands as straight as possible, refusing to let any food or water end up on the floor. However, you wouldn’t have minded being forced to lick it up. Your stomach was rumbling louder and louder by the minute.

After approaching the couch, Connor takes the plate from your back and puts it on the coffee table. You hand him his water and silverware and then bow your head, so it is resting on his sneakers. You pray he’ll let you peel them off; the steam floating off of them is far too temping. Instead, Connor rises up from the couch unexpectedly, nearly kicking you in the face once again.

“Ay, faggot. Where’s the dog food? I can hear your stomach rumbling. It’s fucking annoying.”

It’s at this time that it clicks for you. The dog food is for you. You’ll be eating dog food in place of human food for the remainder of your life - should Connor allow you to serve him for that long. “Umm, Sir Connor, it’s in the pantry, my Lord,” you say with your head still bowed.

You hear the pantry door open and the big bag of dog food moved around. Connor grabs a bowl and starts filling it. “You know how much of this you’re supposed to feed a dog? I don’t want to underfeed you.” He pauses for a second, letting out a light laugh. “Eh, never mind. You’re a faggot. What would you know?” he snickers, dumping another serving into the bowl.

He makes his way back to the couch and drops the bowl of food on to the floor. “Aw shit, faggy. You just emptied my bladder. I ain’t got any liquid for your food.” Your head remains bowed, sniffing at your meal, but the only thing you can smell are his glorious feet. You hope that smell will help you get this treacherous dog food down. “Move your head, faggot,” Connor says. He works up a loogie and spits it into the bowl. “That will have to do I guess. Now give me a bark and show me how excited you are for your first faggot meal. I thought you’d enjoy this type of food given how much time you spend with the pups,” he says as he wiggles his toes within his sneakers. “Show me how serious you are about serving me. Remember, service doesn’t only include paying for my livelihood and doing all of the chores. It also includes finding ways to spend as little money on yourself as possible. By only eating dog food and drinking my recycled beverages, I estimate nearly $60 in savings each week! That money goes straight back into my pocket! Now bark, faggy.”

You immediately start barking, letting your butt wiggle back and forth too. He didn’t ask for that, but you thought it would play into the effect nicely. He lets out another laugh. “Alright, faggot, go ahead.” You’re happy to know that he enjoyed your act.

You dive your head into the bowl and enjoy your first few loogie-covered bites. By bite number four, all of the loogie is gone, and the flavor becomes progressively worse. You don’t slow down on eating, though; you’ve never felt this hungry before in your entire life. On top of that, you’d never wanted to please someone this much in your entire life. Maybe it was a good thing that Connor dropped you as your boyfriend and made you his faggot. You seemed to be far more productive that way.

Connor attacks his meal nearly as quickly as you do yours, his eyes glued to either the TV or his food the entire time. He lets out a humongous fart followed up by an even bigger burp as his last bite slides down his throat. You sniff at both as you try to finish up your last few bites, terrified that Connor may take it away if you’re not done within seconds of his own completion. As you take your final bite, you realize you’ll have to do all of this over again tomorrow. You pray you’ll get a decent piss to help the food down.

“Ayy, faggy. Good job. You ate all of your food! I am stuffed. That pasta was pretty good, maybe a seven out of ten. Two of those are pity points, though, since I’m sure you put so much of your faggotry into making it.”

Connor turns toward the TV just in time to see the game winning point. Yet again, he nearly kicks you with his sneakered feet as he stands to cheer for the Patriots. After lobbing off a few texts to the boys about the big win, he continues his monologue. “It’s almost time for the faggot ceremony. You’ve earned it. The house and yard look great, my meal was… good enough, and you’ve done a decent job supporting my various needs. I gotta take a shit, so get to cleaning. The kitchen won’t scrub itself,” he says, letting out another laugh. Connor rises from the couch, and you give his sneakered feet yet another kiss. You pray that this so-called “faggot ceremony” will include some foot worship, but you have no idea what to expect. Maybe if you scrub the kitchen at a rapid pace, it’ll earn you some time at his feet.

Look at you, faggot. You’re doing everything in your power to impress your ex-boyfriend, Connor. You’ll literally do anything it takes to sniff and lick those size nasty 13 sneakers, socks, and feet. Think about how pathetic you are! Doesn’t matter, though, you’re loving your new life. You can’t wait to make it official with the faggot ceremony tonight!

[writeforfandoms]

Island 2

Find the series masterlist

More conversations are had, plans are made, and you all make a run for another drop. Of course, things don't always go smoothly.

Warnings: Swearing, intense emotions, reader has Issues, canon typical violence, shooting at dinosaurs, blood, death (dinosaurs only), playing fast and loose with Ark mechanics.

Word count: 2.5k

Eventual Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader

All four of them helped you carry in the meat and berries, and you showed them where you kept everything. It took longer to pluck the dodos, leaving the feathers in a large basket. Gaz took over that for you, and you stood in the middle of the house for a minute, hands on your hips. 

“Taming really isn’t a day two topic,” you said, shaking your head a little. “But. Oh well.” You breathed in deep, fingers tapping against your hip. “Obviously you lot have seen Bessie and Watermelon. Taming creatures is generally not hard, but it is a process. The herbivores are the easiest, you just find their favorite berries and feed ‘em until they like you.” You paused there and then sighed. “You kind of have to take all of this with a grain of salt, because none of this makes sense. I just knew when Bessie was tame, same way I just know that hyaenadon will be ready to come in tomorrow. I didn’t have to train Bessie, she just knows.” You shrugged. 

“So, what, you just feed things until they follow you home?” Gaz didn’t look up from the dodo he was plucking. 

“I mean, with herbivores, yeah. And a few carnivores, like the hyaenadons. But most carnivores are much more dangerous.” You shook your head. “I’m honestly amazed Tom was able to tame Ripper. Raptors are dangerous and they’re pack hunters.”

“So how did he tame it?” Price crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Nuh uh.” You pointed a threatening finger at him. “Nope. Week two. Survive that long and I’ll teach you.” 

His eyes gleamed and he tipped his head to look down at you. “Fine.” 

“Are we goin’ for the green drop?” Soap asked as he finished piling meat in the preserving bin. 

“Haven’t decided. The closer you get to the mountain, the more dangerous the creatures are.” You shrugged, turning away to check your berries. You needed to do something with some of them. More hard biscuits, probably. Especially considering how many Gaz had eaten. “Gaz, let me know when you’re done with those dodos.”

“Will do.” He sneezed as a feather tried to drift up his nose, making Soap laugh at him. You just rolled your eyes. Children. 

The rest of the day passed in more or less easy work. Gaz picked up how to get the most meat off the birds quickly, only grumbling when Soap interrupted him. Ghost had vanished outside again, which you decided was Not Your Problem. Price had studied the map for a bit and then started poking around. 

It was not the same kind of quiet that you’d grown accustomed to since Jasper got killed. But it was quiet, mostly. 

Gaz helped you with dinner, which was good, because you weren't used to cooking for five. 

Dinner was quiet too. This time, Soap grabbed the dishes before you could, leaving you inside with Gaz and Price. Gaz stepped outside as well. 

Lovely. 

"You haven't searched for a way out?" Price asked, leaning back in his chair, hands folded together over his stomach. 

"I never said that," you shot back, a little annoyed. "Of course I have. Everyone has. And nobody's done it. This place is a fucking death trap." 

He was quiet for a few moments, watching you. You looked away first. 

"Forgive me if I don't believe there's no way out," he drawled.

You waved a hand. "Believe what you want," you muttered. "You'll figure it out." 

He blew out a breath. "What else do we need to learn?"

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "More about taming, later," you said. "Weapons you seem to know. We need to go through berries and edible plants, of course. Basic repairs. Basic building. Creature identification. Things to avoid at all costs." You shrugged. 

Price nodded, still relaxed in his chair, still watching you. "You haven't given up yet."

You tensed. "What?"

"You're still here. Still alive." His lips quirked in an almost-smile. "Much as you insist this place is a death trap, you haven't resigned yourself to it. Not fully. Else you wouldn't have survived this long." 

You stared at him for a few long moments, lips parted, eyes wide. Your heart beat hard and fast in your chest, the same feeling the last time you'd come across a raptor. 

You slammed out of the house before you knew what you were doing, walking fast away from that train wreck. He wasn't even entirely wrong - there was still that tiny glimmer of wondering, that tiny what if.

More than that, though, you were mad he had read you so easily. You weren't used to that. Maybe it was all the time you'd spent alone, or the lack of emotional intelligence from Jasper. 

Either way, you probably could have reacted better. 

“Love?” 

You startled a little at the nickname and half-turned to look at Gaz. The bastard had snuck up on you. “Hm?” 

“You alright?” He took a slow step closer, hands twitching at his side.

“Yes, of course.” You breathed in, swallowing hard. “You lot got the dishes done already? Gonna have to find more things for you to do before you get bored.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Gaz murmured, taking another step closer. “We’re good at keeping ourselves busy.”

“Hm. Even so.” You turned away from him to fuss with one of Bessie’s saddle bags. “Nice having help, definitely makes the chores go faster. If that green drop is still there tomorrow maybe we’ll go find it. Green drops usually have better stuff in them.” 

“Yeah? Anything you want in particular?” He stepped around you so he could see your face again, leaning against the fence. 

“Wouldn’t mind getting a shotgun,” you admitted on a sigh. “And boots. I would kill for boots.” 

You both looked down at your current pair, which were in poor repair by now. And too big for you. 

“See what you mean,” Gaz murmured. “Well, we can check tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out again. “Long as there aren’t raptors along the way.”

“There a lot of them around here?” 

“Not usually.” You shifted your weight, finally giving up on messing with the saddle bags to mirror Gaz’s posture. “Get a little further up into the mountains, though, and there are all kinds of things. Raptors, sabertoothed cats, carnotaurus. Even rexes, if we’re really unlucky.” 

“Sounds like everything wants to eat us.” But he was still relaxed, smiling a little.

“You joke, but you’re right.” You shook your head. “There are so many things on this island that want to eat you. So many.” You shivered as the memory of screams echoed in your mind. 

He frowned, hand settling on your shoulder. "It's alright, love," he murmured. "There are five of us, now. And you've got experience. We'll manage." 

You leaned into his hand, swallowing convulsively. It had been… a long time since you'd had human contact. A long time. "You're right." You breathed in deep, trying to wrangle your emotions back under control. "We'll be okay." 

He smiled at you, warm and confident. "I know you don't know us yet," he said, shifting closer to you, brown eyes holding yours. "But we keep each other safe, and we'll do the same for you." 

You shook your head a little, smiling even as you pulled back. "Don't worry about me," you demurred. "Focus on yourselves at first. I know what I'm doing." One deep breath in and you stepped back. "Come on, we should go set up for bed." 

He nodded, motioning for you to go first. You breathed in deep before you went inside, scooping up the basket of glow crystals. 

The evening was quiet. Gaz helped you set up, and ended up sitting near you for a little while. 

"Think you're gonna name the hyaenadon?" He asked, glancing at you. 

"Oh, probably." You smiled a little. "Dunno what yet." 

He nodded, relaxing next to you. "Think it'll be right around here?" 

"I hope so." You chuckled. "Or maybe it'll find us when we go to the green drop." 

He nodded and watched as Soap and Ghost came back in too, settling down for the night. 

"You should get some sleep," you murmured to him. He was close, you could touch him. You could. It wouldn't be weird. Your gaze settled on his hand, a nice, innocent spot. "Gonna be a long day." 

"Sleep well." Gaz hesitated another moment longer before he pushed up to his feet. You watched him go.

You should have touched his hand. 

Annoyed at yourself now, you retreated to your own bed for the night. You needed to take your own advice, especially if you were leading them off to the green drop. 

Huffing to yourself, you curled up on your side with your back to them. 

It took you a long time to sleep.

Gaz helped you with breakfast the next morning, standing a little closer than he needed to. But you didn't mind. 

And then Soap crowded in on your other side, and you eyed the both of them. This felt distinctly like pranks, or something. Mischief. 

But nobody got into trouble through breakfast. Thankfully. 

It didn't take long to get armored up again, and you grabbed another piece of meat for the hyaenadon. 

“We'll take Watermelon today,” you said, glancing around at them. “He'll be good help.” 

“How so?” Gaz asked, sidling closer to you. 

“These guys are good as watch towers. They're kinda paranoid, and they alert at any sign of danger.” You shrugged, walking over to the paddock. “Hey, Watermelon. Hi cutie boy.” You held out a hand, smiling as the parasaur plodded happily over to you. “Good boy,” you cooed. 

“Big dinosaur,” Soap muttered, shifting his weight. “Ye sure it'll help?”

“Saved my ass before,” you said with a shrug. “Okay, come on. Let's get going.” You whistled for Watermelon to follow. 

The walk up to the green drop was longer than you liked, and you were on alert the entire walk. So was Watermelon, ambling behind you all and looking around constantly. 

Watermelon bleated in alarm, and you halted, gun up, scanning for the threat. 

But the only thing to approach was the hyaenadon. 

“Okay,” you breathed. “Do not shoot my hyaenadon.” You glanced back at the men to make sure they were listening. Price nodded once, so you tucked your weapon away and approached the hyaenadon. Handing over the last piece of meat was easy, and the hyaenadon wagged as it ate. She licked her lips and then sat politely in front of you, jaws parted in a canine grin. 

“Good.” You patted her on the top of her head, ruffling her fur. “Okay, come with us.” You whistled and she trotted happily along with you as you rejoined the others. 

“Done?” Price asked, glancing down at the hyaenadon. 

“Yeah. She's all tamed now.” You breathed in deep. “Alright, let's get going again.” 

You took the lead again. A quick glance back showed Soap and Ghost both giving your newest tame a good berth. But Gaz looked curious. 

Eh. You'd deal with any questions later. 

You paused at the top of a rise, looking across the flat land towards the green drop. This was a potentially dangerous area. So far all looked quiet, and the pair of pachys roaming the flat area were a good sign. 

Hopefully all would stay quiet. 

“Alright. The drop is just up there.” You glanced back at them, a little surprised to see them all already watching you. “We’re going to approach slowly. If you see anything, speak up. I've seen raptors up here before.” 

They all nodded, and you took the lead to the drop. Watermelon looked around anxiously, but stayed quiet. Probably a good sign. 

You popped open the crate, peering inside. Some armor pieces that looked too big for you, ammunition, another assault rifle, two more canteens, and… a pair of boots. 

“Hell yes,” you hissed, picking up the boots immediately. They looked like they might be a little too big, but you had extra cloth you could shove into them. Good enough. 

Gaz helped you get everything into the saddle bags, grinning when he spotted your boots. “Finally, eh?” he murmured. 

“Finally,” you agreed with an easy grin. “Alright, let’s–”

Watermelon bleated, lifting his head and looking to one side. You turned, pistol in hand, scanning the tree line.

“Raptors,” you hissed, eyes narrowing, even as you stepped forward, all too aware of the men behind you. “Fuck I hate raptors.” 

“How many?” Price asked, closer than you expected. 

“At least three.” You tracked one pacing at the edge of the trees, dark green skin blending into its surroundings. “They’re fast, be careful.” 

The first one burst from the trees with a screech, two others flanking it. You aimed for the leader, jaw tight as you timed your shots. Blood bloomed against the dark green, bright and almost startling in the sunlight. 

The leader fell, jaws still open even in death. You huffed in satisfaction. 

One of the other two leapt over the leader’s body with a screech, claws extended towards you. 

And then fell just shy of you from a shot to the eye, bleeding sluggishly. 

Your breath escaped in an unsteady whoosh, hands trembling even as you reloaded your pistol. “Nice shot,” you managed, voice more or less even, gaze still fixed on the corpse. 

“You alright?” Gaz stepped up next to you, one hand hovering near your shoulder.

“Fine.” You forced your gaze to him, plastering on a smile, even if it felt wrong. “Not the first time raptors have ambushed a drop.” You did a quick visual inspection of him before looking at the others. “Everyone okay?”

“All fine,” Price said, glancing between you and Gaz. “No injuries.”

“Good.” One more deep breath and you shoved everything down. You didn’t have room to break, to panic, to cry. Not here. “Right, let’s head back, I don’t want to see if that noise attracted anything around us.” 

The walk back to base was quiet, with all of you on high alert. The hyaenadon trotted next to you, ears perked, listening to everything around you.

You were very, very grateful that nothing came for the group of you. You were even more relieved when you closed the gates behind everyone, once again safely in base. 

“Let’s get this lot unloaded,” you said, swallowing against sudden exhaustion. “And then figure out dinner.”

“You alright?” Gaz asked softly, standing next to you to unload the armor while you grabbed your new boots. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m fine,” you lied with a quick smile. “Nothing to worry about. Go on, head in with those, I’m going to get Watermelon settled.”

Gaz shot you one more worried look before he obeyed, falling into step next to Price. 

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, even as you took off Watermelon’s saddle and got him settled in the paddock with Bessie again. 

You stood outside for a few extra minutes, hidden from sight of the building, just breathing. You hadn’t lost anybody today. You hadn’t lost anybody today. 

You’d make sure you didn’t lose anybody tomorrow.

#island #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #f!reader

[muffinlance]

PEEEEEASE!!! Some Song and zuko shenanigans!!! I just love how you write them <3<3<3

The ostrich-horse comes back weeks after she was stolen. She raises one big foot and scratches at her harness, which clearly hasn’t been tightened properly, because the saddle finishes slipping sideways and dumps the thief himself into the dirt outside her stable. Song is just coming off from a shift at the clinic, so her first thought isn’t That bastard, it’s Dehydration, probable sunstroke, has he had a single meal since he left us, that bastard.

His eyes are closed. His breathing is shallow. She nudges him with a foot, then pats him down. Two swords and a knife get hidden in the shed at the bottom of a grain bin. She draws up two buckets of cool water from the well. One of them goes in the ostrich-horse’s trough. The good girl coos, and drinks greedily. The other one goes over the thief’s head.

He sits up, sputtering.

“Hello, Junior,” she says, and drops the bucket on him, too. 

“What? Where? …Song?”

He doesn’t have the grace to look sheepish. But she’ll take the flash of fear in his eyes, the way his shoulders twitch under the lacking weight of his swords, the way his hands convulse around the bucket. It feels good. Probably not in a way she should like, but it’s not like she’s planning to do whatever it is he’s afraid of. 

(He was afraid the last time he was here, too. But not of her.)

“The well’s in back,” she says. “Get a drink. Don’t make yourself puke. And don’t steal my bucket.”

She’s moved on to brushing the ostrich-horse’s feathers when he comes back. The ostrich-horse has moved on to pecking grain. Li is holding the bucket, and wobbling a little. His skin is still sun-flushed.

“Sit down,” she orders, pointing to the porch, with its shady overhang. 

“What…?”

“Sit.”

She finishes rubbing down the ostrich-horse’s feathers. Checks her feet for scuffs and stones, and her legs for strains. Then she walks past a sitting, wide-eyed Li, goes into the house, and comes back with a basket of carrot-potatoes and a scrub brush. 

“Clean these,” she orders. “You know where the water is.”

And he’s already got a bucket to do the washing in. He’s been clutching it since she handed it to him. She’s getting a little sick, of that cornered pygmy puma look of his.

“You got a meal and an ostrich-horse rental from us, last time,” she says. “This time, it’s payment up front. With interest.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Work for it,” Song says.

Li has no idea how to clean a tuber. He’s very diligently overdoing it when her mother comes home.

“Hmm,” she says quietly, stopping next to Song. “Do I need to get someone?”

Li’s shoulders stiffen, because he’s got better hearing than either of them thought, and because he has to know that ostrich-horse theft isn’t treated lightly. Their town isn’t big enough to warrant guardsmen, but a few neighbors and a rope would get things done. 

“He’s starving,” Song says, after moving this conversation farther away. 

“Hmm,” says her mother.

“Our ostrich-horse isn’t.”

They both stare across the yard. At a refugee with golden eyes, who doesn’t know how to even start preparing his own meal. But whatever money he had, however he’d gotten it, he’d let their bird—his bird—eat first. 

They don’t let him sleep in the stable, for obvious reasons. He doesn’t run off in the night, for less obvious ones.

#Zuko has re-named the ostrich-horse Strawberry Jamboree #it didn't fit into the ficlet but it is very important to me that you know this #Meanwhile Uncle: searching for his lost nephew #follows bison hair trail #assumes if he sticks with the Avatar he’ll eventually run across Zuko #Meanwhile Zuko: is a confused second player in Song’s Stardew Valley game #he literally doesn’t know how he got here #which is not the first time in his life that has happened #waking up on a farm with a bucket of water to the face was much nicer #than waking up on a ship with his face still feeling fire #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #Zuko #Song #ficlet

[merridelicious]

I’m moving into college in 3 weeks have you got any tips :0

yes!! quite a few actually. :) *for mutuals outside of the u.s., this advice is based on a U.S. American university experience, so some of it may not apply to you.

PLEASE SEND ASKS if you have specific questions, and I’ll either speak from my own experience or give information from other friends in university rn!!

packing:

You don’t need to bring ALL your stuff. (Really, it’s okay. Also, you have limited space.)

A quick Google search of “college packing list 2023” will yield many results. It’s up to you to decide what “essentials” are actually essential, but suffice it to say, think about the things you use on a daily basis and then think about what you don’t have at home that you’ll need in student housing.

Apartment or dorm, unless you’re really lucky—you’ll be sharing living space & appliances with other people. Yes, that includes showers. If you can get toiletries cheaper locally than in the location of your university, save yourself the time and money. Shower shoes are an absolute must, because those showers can get disgusting.

If you have a meal plan that lasts the entire year, you don’t really need to pack a bunch of food (or go grocery shopping a ton during the school year) but it can be nice to have dry goods & snacks on hand. (I keep rice, macaroni & cheese, crackers, & some type of dried fruit around, if nothing else. Whatever tastes strike your fancy, feel free to add/substitute.) If you’re cooking all your own food, you’re going to need at least a cooking pot, frying pan, spatula, dish sponges, and dish soap, as well as some resealable food storage containers and cheap cups and bowls (I got most of that at Target. They tend to have back-to-school sales and bowls & cups go for less than a dollar each.)

Laundry is going to be a pain in the ass, unless again, you luck out and have a washer and dryer in-unit. Ditto for dishes (unless your space comes with a dishwasher). Do yourself a favor & get a huge bin of Tide pods, pack of laundry sheets, & at least two paper towel rolls so you don’t have to run out every week to replenish cleaning supplies. (I personally despise having dish towels to wash, so if you don’t mind them take the paper towel advice with a grain of salt.)

My dorm was weird and had a sink in it. If you’re responsible for cleaning your own sink it will get nasty quickly. Either take turns with your roommate(s)/housemate(s), or figure out who the designated sink cleaner is.

friends/socializing:

Your first friend group in college will likely not be your last, nor will it last. This group is usually composed of people close in proximity to you aka convenience friends. You might realize three or four months in that these are not your people and you don’t like hanging out with them. This is perfectly normal and okay! You’ll find people who you do vibe with. I encourage you not to limit making friends to your specific university, although if you go to a small one like I do that can be tough.

Universities often have events with free stuff, including free food. Take advantage of these events if & when you can. They’re usually very laid back, and if you’re not in the mood to stick around, you can grab food and then dip.

Orientation events & icebreakers within your first week are to be expected. Try to remember a fun fact about yourself (which is what you usually get asked, along with your intended major, name, pronouns—sometimes, & hometown).

Your RA(s) aren’t cops, but they also aren’t your friends. They’re required to report sketchy shit that happens. My RAs had a rule that if they didn’t hear, see, or smell anything suspicious, it was like nothing happened, but try to get a feel for what yours look out for.

It is more than okay to need/want therapy. You’ve just gone through a massive change in your life and you did it mostly, if not all, by yourself. Your university counseling services (if applicable) are generally not the best place to go for therapy, though. This is especially true if you’re worried about your privacy. I don’t think I’ve heard of student discounts for therapy, but some therapists have this policy called sliding scale where you pay what you can. Find a person you can talk openly with and who is experienced with your mental health concerns/practices the right kind of therapy for you. (CBT, DBT, & EMDR are a few examples.)

dating, love, etc.

First and foremost, if this section doesn’t apply to you because you don’t participate or aren’t ready to in college, please feel free to skip!

If you’re still here, obviously I am not the expert on your love life—you are. That being said, without getting too personal, here are some things I’ve picked up through trial and error.

If you’re starting college, and haven’t yet dated anyone, it’s okay to feel behind. What isn’t okay is being patronized or taken advantage of for your lack of experience. I wish I could say it’s just common sense, but it’s crucial to figure out what your boundaries, limits, & standards are before getting into an intimate situation with somebody. (I myself learned this the hard way.)

simply put: It is okay to be picky! (Read that again.) Or not—what works for one person won’t work for everyone. Some people date & hook up just for fun, especially during college when a lot of changes are happening, and that suits them fine. Some people want stronger, longer connections, and that works for them. Some people focus on friends over partners and refrain from the entire dating & hookup scene. All are valid and healthy. (As long as you stay safe, sane, & consensual, and get tested.)

school stuff:

Please do yourself a favor and don’t schedule 8am classes five days a week. I don’t care if you could do it in high school—chances are you’re going to need to wake up way beforehand to get ready OR your roommate will do something ridiculous in the middle of the night that will wake you up. In this more than likely event, you won’t want to wake up and go straight to class. If you’re not a STEM major, this advice is easier than if you are (and if the first applies, my condolences and much love).

You need sleep no matter what—if that means midday naps, go for it. I don’t recommend skipping class to nap unless it’s an emergency though.

Re skipping class: some professors take attendance and your grade can suffer if you don’t attend. Aside from mental health days, skipping class for fun can be a slippery slope at some universities. (At some, Cs get degrees and grades don’t matter as much, especially if you aren’t looking to go down the postgrad path.)

#college #university #uni #universidad #college tips #college advice #general advice #asks #answered #school #studyblr #ref #host posts

[probablyasocialecologist]

Harvesting by sickle yields straw as well as grain. Today we consider straw a by-product of cereal-farming, the primary purpose being to produce food. But archaeological evidence suggests things started the other way round. Human populations in the Middle East began settling in permanent villages long before cereals became a major component of their diets. In doing so, they found new uses for the stalks of wild grasses; these included fuel for lighting fires, and the temper that transformed mud and clay from so much friable matter into a vital tectonic resource, used to build houses, ovens, storage bins and other fixed structures. Straw could also be used to make baskets, clothing, matting and thatch. As people intensified the harvesting of wild grasses for straw (either by sickle or simply uprooting), they also produced one of the key conditions for some of these grasses to lose their natural mechanisms of seed dispersal.

David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything

#The Dawn of Everything #agriculture

[deanoheartspie]

Sunshine 4

Pairing: Cowboy Sheriff Dean x City Gal Reader

Summary: After your family cut you off, your great-aunt Laura invited you over to her ranch you often visited when you were just a child... You drive through the beautiful town until you accidentally graze a horse that just so happens to be the sheriffs...

Warnings: None

A/N: Let me know what you think and what your theories are!

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

DEAN'S POV

**BEEP** **BEEP** **BEEEEP**

Groaning I pull the extra pillow over my head as I bury my head in it. My head was pounding, the bright sun shining through the windows making it worse.

“Rise and shineee~” A voice sang out, awfully chirppy this morning. “Y/n. Go away” I grumbled gently pushing the woman who was now climbing up onto the bed shaking me awake.

She giggles. She fuckin giggles. Which if it were any other circumstance I probably would've cracked out a smile. “Y/n I swear to god-” I turn to lay on my back, and rub my eyes seeing her dressed in a nice pair of overalls with her y/h/c perfectly braided.

“Pay backs a bitch isn't it” She grins before walking off, her hips swaying side to side it was a nice view I had to admit. I shake my head getting my head out of the gutter before turning to my side seeing headache medicine and water on my nightstand.

Well thank you y/n...

I take the meds and down the water, checking my watch I already see im late on my routine which never really happens unless it's a bad night. Tossing some old jeans and a t-shirt with my boots and brown cowboy hat, I head downstairs seeing the lights on throughout the house.

“Wow son you look like shit” Clayton says from his arm chair, a news paper in hand.

“Clayton!” Laura shouted smacking the back of her husbands head. I tiredly chuckle “I feel like shit” I rub my temple, pouring some coffee into a mug.

The older man glances over and sets his newspaper down on the coffee table, “Go easy on Y/n please. She might not be good at this but it's because she's never had to do it before.” sure. I know I can be mean at times, but im not an asshole.

“Yes sir, I'll show her what she needs to know” Finshing up my coffee, I look over at her and gesture to the door walking out her following behind as I walk off to the stables.

°•°•°•°•°•°•

“Horses need to eat first, so you'll give them their grains and hay. Then some of these extra carrots.” I spoke as I pull out the bin of food and basket of carrots. Carefully watching over her, not wanting the woman to get her hand bit off.

Lilah the horse who she previously grazed, was giving the woman the biggest side eye i'd ever seen. I whistle at the tall horse, tilting my head “Be nice.” I warn when I notice Y/n stopped and watched me.

“Who would've thought big ole grumpy deano would protect me from a horse” She grins placing her hands on her hips, I roll my eyes “Well if you want your hand to get bit off, be my guest”

A messy long slow, morning goes by Y/n already covered in mud from the countless times she'd fallen and I've got to say it was much nicer to have someone to work with then do it all myself.

“You did pretty good for your first day” I compliment as we sit on one of the hay bales looking over the fields. She nods but stays quiet. I couldn't tell if it was the sun in her eye but her eyes were glossy.

I felt my heart drop, straight worry fills me as I face her seeing a tear stream down her face. Had I said something wrong? What had happened she had just been laughing not even a few minutes ago, hell she even wanted to race out to the field.

“Y/n... What's wrong?” I softly asked, gently wiping her eyes.

She shook her head and faked a smile, “Oh nothing, it's just quite beautiful out here can't help but make a woman cry” I hesitantly nod my head, still unsure but it wasn't my job to take care of her nor care too. Still I found myself worrying, not wanting to push it I leave it and get off the haybale after receiving a call.

“What? Again? I swear to god what is wrong with that man” I grumble, after hearing that Mr Andrews a 60 year old man who kept letting his unfriendly pitbull roam the town without it's owner.

I've always preferred dogs over cats, but after this pickles the dog might ruin it for me.

Sighing I hang out up, glancing at her offering my hand which thankfully you accepted, “Let's get you back...”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Four fucking hours. Four fucking hours it took to chase down Mr pickles.

Which only put me in a deeper hole then I already was in, making me rush over to Lisa's seeing her glare. Thank the lords, Aurora jumped into my arms after noticing me.

“Hey pretty girl how are you?” I ask softly pushing her light brown hair behind her ears, The small girl was quick to ramble talking about preschool, her friends, the yucky lunch she had, pretty much anything a toddler can tell you. I send her to grab her bag leaving me with the darker haired woman, who was occupying herself by cleaning the kitchen.

“Why are you late this time?” She asked not bothering to spare me a glance, while she wiped down the counters.

“Work. I had to chase Mr pickles today” I mutter out, itching the back of my head praying that Aurora would hurry.

“Sure you did. You sure it wasn't a particular woman keeping you busy?”

Who was she talking about? I sure as hell didn't come from the bar with a woman but if I did it wouldn't have been her business. So that leaves y/n.

“Y/n? The girl at the ranch?”

Lisa's silence told me everything I needed to know and I shook my head letting out a huff. She has been on my ass for the past year, about all of this. I can't hang out with who I want to hang out with because she didn't like it, it got exhausting after awhile. Especially when we weren't even together anymore.

Aurora skipped down the stairs with her unicorn backpack, and her arms full with stuffed animals. “is Ben not coming?” I ask with a head tilt as I scoop up the 4-year-old.

“No he's staying at a friends house” Nodding I let the mother and daughter say goodbye before leaving as we head our way to the ranch.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“Clay Clay!!” The little girl screached out hugging the older man.

“Ah I see what it is now” I act offended that I didn't get a greeting like that.

What I didn't notice was Y/n walking down the stairs until she came into my eye sight, she looked happier then before so it felt glad and relieved.

“Who's this little one?” She asks smiling down at Aurora.

“My daughter.”

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

----Tag list----

@deans-spinster-witch @leigh70 @mrsjenniferwinchester @ladysparkles78 @hobby27 @khaleesihavilliard @foxyjwls007 @lucidlivi @jc-winchester @globetrotter28 @beskarfilms @the141bandicoot @alysinwonderland-at-tea @randomgurl2326 @ambergoddess444 @westernwinchesters @lemmons1998 @julie040904 @nic-kolas @raisinggray @alternativeprincess

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester series #dean winchester x female!reader #au! dean winchester #au!cowboy dean #cowboy dean #cowboy! dean #cowboy dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural dean #dean winchester smut #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader

[ventiswampwater]

Do you think that what Bo said about him and his brothers ending up in foster care was also a lie? I've seen some who think he wasn't lying about that but I don't think the timing and the codependency him and his brothers have adds up to them being separated for a bit, ya know? Sorry for bombarding you with a question but ugh there's just so much untouched lore potential I wanna screeeeeam

*cracking knuckles* oh baby u just opened the floodgates I am about to be SO fckn annoying

so personally, I very much believe that bo's spinning an ENTIRE crock of shit during that conversation w/carly and wade

something that I think we all need to highlight more is that the baby idiot himself has SUCH a flair for the dramatic. our favorite caveman is a chronic theater kid. like, okay acting 101? okay thespian? okay daytime soap OPERA??? the scene he sets for this fuckmurdermayhem is just...................SO grotesque and dramatic and entirely UNNECESSARY LMAO

he's a weirdo who has sequestered himself in a town full of corpses and u just KNOW the gaps between the wax nonsense are LONG and BORING and he's ANTSY

the whole time he's chasing carly thru town he's just. blissed out. goin hehehehehhehehehehe be vewwy vewwwy quiet!! we're huntin' wabbits!!! elmer fudd-mode FULLY engaged

he GRINS before he's shot by a fckin crossbow?????????? BABY???? WHAT ARE U DOING??????

he is truly on some other shit!! convinced his bargain bin broadway play will go off without a hitch and he will somehow??? be getting a standing ovation for his foolishness????

sighing DREAMILY

this is the most fun he's had in possibly months, and he's living la vida loca. he's that one tiktok of all the kids performing summer loving in the denny's. this is his golden globes. his bafta (big ass fucking truck absurdity). his academy award winning performance, starring his raging boner & very little foresight!!!!

I think there might be LIL grains of truth to his story, ofc. the best lies have small kernels of truth to them, and bo's lies seem to work the best when he adds those in (mentioning that he's close to the deceased to incur pity/getting nick to agree to follow him to a second location by mentioning that they might have gone up to the house)

but I do believe that most of it is complete bullshit lmao

there is absolutely no way in hell that those boys EVER got separated. to me!!! at least!! nope. they were in that miserable little house together the whole time. vincent and bo's interactions together speak to years of sibling tension and growing resentment. lester's inclusion in all of this w/his role of like. the ferryman to the fckin UNDERWORLD that is ambrose. is so v a marker of his attachment to his older brothers

they're all inextricably linked!!!!!!

bo 100% killed victor tho. u do not mime shooting urself in the head when discussing ur dad's death if u did not shoot him point blank range w/a smile on ur face. u simply do not. not entirely sure if he killed trudy. feel like that might've been vincent/a group job. or. pet theory. she DID just die of natural causes. or. other pet theory. she was actively participating/aware of the first couple murders. we'll never know but. huh

I also REALLY don't buy the "trudy got a cyst in her brain" stuff. I've played around w/it in a couple fics, but I v much think the probablity of it being a complete fabrication? oh 99.9%. most definitely. talking about ur mom getting strapped to the bed & screaming loud enough for the whole town to hear? hsdfjhfdsjhsdf BOY GOODBYE.

like????? that's SUCH a deranged thing to tell someone u just met. and it v much seems like smthn he tossed out to purposefully unnerve them. he didn't have to say that, but he DID. bc he loves the cat and mouse game. that's why he creeps on them @ the campsite. he's so deeply abnormal

it's all this weird sad little story that's designed to make u uncomfortable. also. sidenote......................in this version of the scene that he's set, he's the mourning parishioner sadly recounting a tale of woe that he's notably detached to. who is he in relation to the story he weaves? nobody. just an observer.

if life could be a fckin dream boseph!!!

BTW. he does this in the original script, but it's somehow EVEN weirder.

he is. and I CANNOT stress this enough. roleplaying as a kid in the neighborhood that trudy liked and would spoil.

???????????????????????????????????????????

babygirl is truly going thru it!!!!!! babygirl this is EMBARRASSING!!!!!! ur MOMMY ISSUES!!!!!!!!!!! BABYGIRL!!!!!!!!! they are SHOWING!!!!! they are STAPLED to ur forehead!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

he's so ABNORMAL!!!!!!! I need to make out w/him!!!!!!!! RN!!!!!!!!!!!

vincent waiting 2 hear what dumbass alternate reality bo has cooked up for this batch of tourists:

I always talk about how dumb bo is. and I mean every word of it. I really do. but I do think he's got a couple braincells.

I v much feel like he's v much a creature of habit. he's been doing this shebang for years n years and he knows how it goes. he gets his fuckin n suckin and vincent gets his wax sculptures. bada bing bada boom. showtime baby.

his "plan" is v much as solid as a plastic bag drifting thru the wind, wanting to start again. he is fr hinging this whole thing on a series of events, that, should they not happen, he has no alternative for. and he is so weird and so strange and cannot deviate from his script LEST he get pissymad and ruin everything. he's so dumb. I'm so v in love w/him.

TL; DR!!

I wrote this for my peabrain video essay script and it's all the above bullshit nonsense. but more coherent:

& an unrelated bit. bc it's still my favorite bit of the script & the only part I recorded a voice clip for sfjdhdfjshdfs

#v srry for the deranged ass 3298329832 word answer!! #u just cracked open pandora's box a little #I do. ponder my orb abt this movie. far too much. #asks #anonymous #sinclair brainrot hours #bo sinclair #LONG POST

[thebrightestwitchofherage]

IDF’s latest strikes in Lebanon and how media coverage of it in Al Jazeera is biased

TLDR: The IDF has killed Saleh Al-Arouri today, 2/1/2024. Don’t use Al Jazeera as your main source of news and information on the Middle East.

It has been confirmed that it targeted Hamas’ second in command deputy Saleh al-Arouri (along orher Hamas members).

Who is was Saleh Al Arouri?

Saleh Al-Arouri was Hamas’ second in command, and key founder of one of Iz al-din al-Qasam Brigades .

That is the Hamas’ armed forces who committed the October 7th Massacre and many other terror attacks).

The terrorists that invaded Israel on that day graffitied their names & saying along the lines of “the Al- Qasam bridge was here” on walls of invaded houses and outposts (as they were quite proud of the bloody crime scenes..).

* Some Not-So-Fun facts:

-both the Al Qasam brigade and the Qasam rockets shot by Hamas are named after the same man: Izz ad-din al Qasam (1881-1935).

-In case you were wondering,His occupations include: Guerrilla leader, Imam, preacher . He was a terrorist with exteme Islamic beliefs.

Al Jazeera’s biased reporting on the strike

The Al Jazeera report made in English is incredibly biased, they don’t even call him what he was- a terrorist.

“Senior Hamas official”. Imagine the outrage if Bin Ladin would’ve been called “senior Al-Qaeda official”.

Wait never mind some of you idolise him…

Before any of you argues with me - literally do a quick wikipedia search :

Al Jazeera news is known to being biased and not credible. They also have a history of anti - American, anti -Israeli reporting& *extreme* antisemitism…

Considering all of that and the fact that they repeatedly call terrorists martyrs ,I’d take their reporting with a grain of salt.

For further reading:

-The UK government policy paper “proscribed terrorist groups or organisations “ (updated 15/9/2023).

-“Hamas: who are the Qasam brigades”, by Kirsten Knipp, amp.dw.com ,11/01/2023

- Articles on the official IDF website

And yes, even Wikipedia at this point …

***I apologise for not linking everything properly, for some reason I can’t paste links today. Will try to add them in later notes under this post.

****As usual , you’re welcome to add your thoughts and things I’ve missed in the comments.

stay respectful. I will block and delete any cussing and threats.

#israel palestine conflict #israel #israeli #jewish #jewblr #טאמבלר ישראלי #gaza strip #Gaza #hamas is isis #human rights #ישראל #jewish history #history #i/p war #hamas massacre #hamas war crimes #ישראלי #יהדות

[rollerman1]

#grain bin #grain bin house #cabin

[sophisticatedyet]

if anyone's having a bad day, let me run you through what just happened to me. (content warning for rotten food.)

so, it's 1pm and I'm experiencing a wave of work-related procrastination that's enabling me to get chores done around the house, like empty the food waste bin in the kitchen into the bigger bin outside.

because it's been about a week since I last took the bins out, the food at the bottom has been in there long enough to rot causing the compostable bag its in to also start decomposing. no biggie, it happens: I grab another compostable bag, tip the bin on its head to avoid touching the icky rotting food, chuck a couple of very old bananas from the fruit bowl on the top, tie it off, and throw it in the outside food bin. great job me!

a little while later, I go to reassemble the kitchen bin and the lid's... not... there? it's not anywhere in the kitchen? the answer to the mystery where this lid has gone immediately presents itself to me, but I reject it and do another look, until I can't deny the obvious, and go check the outside bin.

to set the scene: it's a really nice, sunny day today. it feels like the first proper day of spring we've had all year. wildlife abounds: there are butterflies feeding on the cherry blossoms, the fish in the pond have come out for the first time since autumn. the bin is made of brown plastic that's warmed nicely in the afternoon rays. there's a little cloud of flies buzzing around me as I approach.

I open the bin and there, straining against the bags, is a corner of the lid.

there's nothing for it at this point, I'm not buying a whole new food bin because of my stupidity, so I rip open the first bag, BUT remember how I cleverly double-bagged the waste to avoid having to touch icky food? oh-hoho. I hate myself.

but fine. whatever. I rip open the next layer, like I'm playing the world's worst game of pass the parcel. this layer has been marinating in bin juices long enough to revert to a texture that's difficult to describe, but it's how I imagine an organ feels to the touch: slippery and wet and hot. at least it falls apart quite easily (along with my mental state).

I grab what I can of the lid and try to pull it out, but it only slides a few centimetres before jamming to a halt on the three rotting bananas that I added to the pile at the last moment. I try to wiggle them out the way but they aren't budging so I pinch one between my thumb and index finger. It's old enough that the skin slides away immediately, and my fingers sink into the meat of the banana. THIS is an easier texture to describe: it feels like warm snot. (I am reflexively crying at this point.) still, now that the skin it out the way, I can force the lid through the mucus. i have to repeat this process two more times before finally, the lid is free. (there's something on my finger, and I genuinely don't know if it's a grain of rice or a maggot.)

the saga's not entirely done, though, because the refuse collectors in my area don't take your food waste if it's not bagged, and I now have a bin full of scraps of plastic and a heap of rotten food. I use some egg shells to scoop up what i can and throw them into the gaping hole at the top of the bag and then it's I'm done.

obviously, I immediately run inside and start scrubbing my hands. something weird is happening, though: there are these spot of brown-and-yellow that just. won't. come. off. it's literally like I've super-glued rotting food to my hands?????

...I turn to look at the table.

...at the superglue I had been using thirty minutes earlier to fix a clasp on a broken box.

i am beyond tears at this point: the whole situation has gone past through horrifying into an absurdity so profound I must be dreaming.

I eventually scratch off the super-glued rotten food from my fingers (I don't know how long it takes me because I have detached myself from reality) and then wash my hands another hundred times before finally sitting back down at my computer because it's 2pm and a work day. I read half an email, before I'm interrupted by a strange noise that sounds like a gentle trickle of water. I turn around and my cat is in her litter box, butt positioned just on the edge, pissing directly onto the floor.

#i was just going to tell the groupchat but i decided it was so vile i had to inflict it on as many people as possible #when i promise you not a SINGLE bit of this is exaggerated #this is a factual retelling #long post #cw: rotting food

[ravendruid]

Let Her Shatter

This fic is part of this writing challenge, as well as based on the prompt Memories from this prompt list. Day 2 - Write a scene without any dialogue. [Read on AO3]

Two weeks. That’s how long it takes Keyleth to return home for good. But is it really home? It still feels like it, but, at the same time, it also feels like there is something missing, and it’s not just because Keyleth has spent the last few years traveling Exandria with her companions. No, that is just a grain of sand in the sandpit. Through her adventures, Keyleth learned that home is not simply a physical location, but it can also be people, and without him, home feels emptier. So, no. Maybe Keyleth is not actually going home, not when he is not with her.

Korrin is waiting on the other side of the magic portal with a small entourage of guards (Keyleth warned him about her return so her father wouldn’t be worried sick about her most recent adventure to the Windswept Depths of Pandemonium). The relief on his face is evident once he sees his daughter alive and in one piece, but Keyleth sees the shift in his expression as it dawns on him that she crosses the portal alone when once she had a shadow behind her. 

There is no need for questions, and with the guards standing behind Korrin, looking equally confused, there is no opportunity for Keyleth to run into her father’s arms and break down into tears. Keyleth must wait until she is finally alone in her house (the one she shared with him, the one they left together, thinking they would return in a few days) to let out the primal scream she has been holding for two weeks, to break everything in sight, to punch and kick, and cry herself to sleep. Keyleth feels so empty, but simultaneously full of anger and frustration. She couldn’t do anything to stop him from leaving… from dying, even. If anything, she made it worse. She made Vax witness his own death before it happened. It’s all her fault. She should have done more to save him, to stop him from being disintegrated. Maybe if she had been good enough he could have stayed with her. It’s all on her.

Korrin must sense the cloud of darkness that assaults her thoughts because he grabs Keyleth into a tight hug. Fuck the guards and anyone watching, Keyleth knows is what her father is thinking. He’s right. In this moment, she’s not the Voice of the Tempest, she’s just Keyleth, a young woman who had her life taken away from her, and Korrin would be in the ground before he allowed anyone to say anything otherwise. But no one bats an eye or even dares to look their way. Keyleth’s face might be buried in her father’s embrace, but she still hears the guards’ footsteps leaving, growing quieter and quieter until it’s just the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the cherry tree behind her, the low, muffled sob Keyleth finally releases, and Korrin’s sniffle against her head. 

 Keyleth doesn’t know what comes next or how she’s supposed to take on the mantle and lead her people when the one person she needs the most at her side is gone. She doesn’t know if she’s ever going to be able to return to her house and see the spare pair of boots that Vax always left by the door—one always askew on the floor, even though Keyleth scolded him everyday before she righted it—or the training daggers hidden in every nook and cranny. Keyleth chuckles wetly at the idea of finding daggers and weapons hidden everywhere years down the road when she thought she had found them all. Maybe one day she can look back at the fond memories of Vax hiding daggers in the umbrella rack or behind the couch cushions and smile, but today she cries because he’s not there anymore to replace the blade Keyleth took from its hiding spot in the fertilizer bin once she realized she’d forgotten her gardening knife. Vax will not be there anymore to scold her for dirtying his blades with manure, or tease her for using Whisper (which rarely left his belt) to peel potatoes in the kitchen. 

Maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe next year it will hurt less, maybe the next decade will bring her solace, but today, in this moment right now, all Keyleth wants to do is let grief consume her. She will pick up the pieces later, but for now… let her shatter.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #this is mostly keyleth-focused #post-campaign 1 #post-search for grog and bob #prompted #november writing challenge #my friend has been watching the one-shots and they got me in my 'keyleth returns home alone' feelings #blame them

[i-think-i-did-it-again]

Let you go I

Warning: swearing, depression, anger

Inspired by:

The day started the same way it always does, you stare at a bowl of cereal, no real appetite. You push the little puffs of grains around in the milk, watching it become soggy the longer it floats. You sigh and decide you’ve pretended to eat for long enough. You pick up your bowl, dumping the contents into the bin and placing the bowl in the sink. You can’t even stomach coffee these days. Everything makes you feel nauseous. You know that you’ve lost weight, you know that your roommates are worried about you, you know that how you’re dealing with your grief is not healthy but you simply just don’t care anymore. Everyone avoids you like the plague, even people that don’t really know you. You walk through the halls of your college and people openly part as you pass by. That’s the thing about dating a celebrity, there’s no anonymity when you break up.

Even your professors have made comments to you, asking if you need to talk, giving you the number of free counsellors on campus. Your grades haven’t dropped but your entire presence has shifted. You don’t want to feel this way forever but you just need a little time to wallow in your grief for a while.

Everything reminds you of him. You hear a song and you think of him. You see an ad and you remember seeing it with him the first time. A movie suggestion pops up on Netflix and you are reminded of when you watched it with him, curled up in bed while he played with your hair. Even food reminds you of him. Watching your roommates make spaghetti with meatballs reminds you of the first time you cooked dinner for him and that was his only request. You’ve avoided Starbucks like it’s diseased, remembering the first time you stayed at his house and he woke up early just so he could go get you a morning coffee. You can’t even bring yourself to say his name anymore, even in your own mind it hurts too much.

You’re moving through your apartment in your usual zombie daze, just going through the motions, before you have to go to your first class of the day. The sound of your phone ringing pulls you from your self-sabotaging thoughts. You put your hairbrush down and pull the phone out of your back pocket, swiping to accept without actually checking the caller id.

“Hello?” you barely recognise your own monotone voice.

“Y/N?” The sound of Casie’s timid voice connects some spark in you and you feel yourself slowly coming to life.

“Casie? Is everything ok?” your voice is coming out faster now, panic etched into the words. You haven’t spoken to Casie since the last time you saw him.

“I…I don’t know. Everything has been weird since you left but lately it’s just,” Casie’s voice matches the panic you’re feeling but there’s more to it. She’s whispering, which tells you no one knows she’s calling you and she wants to keep it that way. “Something is wrong and no one knows what to do. No one wants to call you but I think you’re the only one that can help.”

“Ok,” you’re hesitant, not wanting to agree to anything but not wanting to dismiss her. “What’s the problem exactly?”

“It’s dad, he’s just been super erratic today and he just isn’t being himself. He won’t talk to anyone at all and he took off last night and was gone all night. No one knew where he was and he wasn’t answering calls and then he came back like half an hour ago and his lips all busted and his nose looks broken and his knuckles are covered in cuts. He’s completely out of it like he’s drunk and high at the same time. He’s locked himself in his room and he just…” she trails off and you’re not sure if you really want her to finish telling you how fucked up he is but it’s clearly upsetting her.

“What’s he doing honey?” you press her for more information like the masochist you are. What you should be doing is telling her to call her mum or a doctor but you’re desperate to know if he’s ok.

“He just keeps saying your name over and over,” she whispers and your heart physically aches at the thought of him desperately calling for you.

“I’m on my way,” you tell her before hanging up.

You’re not really sure why you agreed to go over and try to help but you had to say something. Well, you actually know exactly why you’re going. You’re desperate to see him and this is the perfect excuse. You meant it months ago when you said you’re leaving and never going to see him again but these are different circumstances. No one could hold it against you for going over to help his scared daughter and best friends. You can’t help the butterflies that fill your stomach at the thought of seeing him.

You gather your things, still packing your school bag to use as an excuse to leave if things get too unbearable. You grab your keys, check your appearance one more time in the hallway mirror. You contemplate putting a bit more effort into your makeup, maybe adding a bit more blush and another coat of mascara but you don’t want it to look like you're trying. You do however, pull your hair out of the messy bun you’d plopped on top of your head and allow your hair to fall around your face. He always liked when your hair was wild and free.

As you’re driving to his house, quicker than you’d normally drive through the busy streets of LA, you prepare yourself for the idea that he won’t want to see you. That the only reason he’s saying your name is because he’s cursing you out and breaking everything and anything that reminds him of you. Maybe he just went out drinking and got hurt stumbling through the city and nothing bad happened. You didn’t really take the time to ask Casie how he’s drinking and addiction has been since you left. Maybe this is normal for him? But then why would she call you if this was normal?

As the streets begin to feel more and more familiar, your anxiety is literally stuck in your throat. You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. You’re not going to be much use to anyone if you can’t talk. You park out on the street in front of his house and continue your slow breathing. You look up to the house and you can see a group huddled around the front door. All of his closest friends and Casie are standing there, waiting for you. Even Pete’s here and you didn’t even know he was in LA this week.

You feel self-conscious as you step out of the car and everyone anxiously watches you walking up the long driveway. You look down at your outfit and realise your style hasn’t really changed. You still wear t-shirts plastered with odd slogans or old bands you love and your trusty black jeans. Your converses are a bit worse for wear considering you’ve had them for almost 5 years but other than that, you probably look the exact same to them all. You don’t feel the same inside but they never have to know that.

“Y/N, holy shit. Are you sick?” Pete asks, stress and concern evident in his tone.

He takes a few steps to meet you and envelops you in a hug. So much for looking the same. You’d almost completely forgotten that you’re a few pounds lighter. His hug feels warm and reassuring and you could almost burst into tears right then and there but you have to hold it together. They didn't call you there to have your own emotional breakdown.

No one else says anything to you as Pete leads you inside. They all just give you small anxious smiles and polite nods. Casie huddles to your side and you hold her as best you can while still walking. As you step into the entryway of the massive house you hear a loud crash that makes everyone jump, including you. Everyone’s faces looked pained as they listen to their best friend and father spiral out of control.

“I guess that’s my cue to head upstairs,” you attempt to make light of the situation for their sakes but your voice is too filled with tension.

Casie tries to follow you up the stairs but Pete grabs her arm and pulls her back. He whispers something in her ear and she nods, her face sad but understanding. God, you’ve missed her. You feel everyone’s eyes follow you up the stairs until you disappear out of view. Once you’re at the top of the stairs, staring at his bedroom door, you take a few moments to calm yourself. You don’t want to make this situation any worse but at the same time, this is the first time you’re seeing him in 3 months and it’s not how you saw your day going.

Another crash and you have to cover your mouth with your hand to muffle your yelp. You pad quietly over to the door, avoiding that part of the floor that you remember queaks. You’re not really sure why you do, it seems like a useless measure as you don’t need the element of surprise. You take another deep breath for comfort before tapping lightly on the door. You don’t hear anything and you wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you over his destruction.

“Fuck off Pete!” you hear him scream through the door. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in 3 months and the pain that emanates through every word is crushing.

“C-Colson?” you stammer out. Saying his name almost brings you to tears so you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Baby? Is that you?” Colson sounds shocked but guarded.

“Open the door, please?” you beg softly and hold your breath.

You hear the lock click and you breathe a sigh of relief until the door swings open and you come face to face with what you left behind.

#colson baker #machine gun kelly #mgk #tickets to my downfall #ttmdf #mgk imagine #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk x reader #mgkxx #est19xx #colson baker x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #good mourning #mgk angst #mgk fanfic #Spotify

[kedreeva]

i hope this isn't weird or overly personal, but how do you make money for the animals and have the time to care for them? is it like an unrelated job or something to do with peafowl or rodents? sorry if i sound like a judgemental relative at thanksgiving, i promise i'm just genuinely curious

It's okay! Up until I quit my job at the start of October, I was working as an animal husbandry technician taking care of research animals (mostly mice) at a university! I also have a partner, and he makes about 2x what I was making. My car was given to me by my parents in college, and is paid off now, which means I just pay insurance, registration, and any repairs on him (since he's almost old enough to vote). My mom used some of her inheritance from her father's death to pay off my student loans (which were a lot but not a LOT), and instead of a wedding ring, my partner paid off my house for me. Which means right now, we just don't have a lot of bills, and I'm able to take 2023 off work and write and chill with my animals.

But honestly, it doesn't take that much to take care of the animals I have (they're not as intense as you're probably thinking). My equipment was largely donated or scrapped from friends/family/craigslist (aside from the pen building material for the peas). I make/grow some stuff myself free (like all the rodent bedding/hides from garbage cardboard, some of the fresh foods for the birds grow wild at my house) or acquire it cheaply (fleece sheets for making hammocks for the rats, small amounts of aquatic plants I can grow and split out into more, dollar store grain products for the roaches, feather toys from my birds for the cat, the roaches are self-replicating bird treats). A lot of the animals actually make enough to pay for themselves; the mice I sell as pets/healthy feeders locally, the peafowl hatch chicks, one of my peahens paints with me, the guppies/snails reproduce very fast and people come get them as pets/feeders.

The biggest time sink is cleaning mouse bins weekly. Everything else is stuff that can be done in less than 30 minutes a day, with larger, infrequent cleaning events (scraping/sanitizing pens 2x a year, aquarium filters monthly, etc). And bins + events are weekend activities, when we have the most time.

#my pets #asks #personal

[upgrade-your-enclosure]

Upgrading Lab-mouse cages

This topic goes close to me bc I work in a lab and have hours every day to think about what I can do for these tiny creatures

Lab mice are kept in these cages by standard:

The minimum legal enrichment (at least in germany) is a nest, something to climb, something to chew, and a way to socialize. This cage has a hut for a nest, the top bars for climbing and the hardened pellets for chewing

In my opinion that's both unfitting and not enough. There's some very simple changes and a lot of bigger/harder changes:

Simple changes:

Using wooden or paper huts. It's commonly believed that mice can't see red, but in reality they will always choose darker colours and more natural materials as hides

lowering the light in one part of the cage, eg simple cage sleeves, lowering the general room light, shading the rack

raising the temperature. Mouse are generally kept at 21 - 24°C, but really prefer 26 - 30°C

scanning the room for ultra sounds

scattering some grains for foraging (this is also perfect for training the mice to make health checks easier)

Other still very simple changes:

adding nesting materials. Mouse prefer paper scraps, paper towels, etc, but there's also cotton squares and wood wool commercially available

adding wood for chewing. Again there's many options ranging from wooden bricks over wooden huts to whole branches

adding a running plate or wheel (I know running plates are said to cause spinal deformity, but in my experience that is a very low chance as opposed to the negative effects no movement has)

adding more bedding so digging is easier

adding tubes, boxes, swings and climbing structures

Changes that get closer to pet keeping:

add diggable bedding for builing nests and tunnels

add more huts. More! Mooore! (seriously mouse love a cluttered space and feel most comfortable walking along walls)

add a second layer (most easy part is just wedging a wooden board in there) and raising the top bars (there's raised cage tops for more height)

adding a maze/labyrinth to allow the mice to compartimentalise their cage/hide from light, sounds, movement, etc

stopping to feed ad libitum. In comercial setting, this can be done with feeding machines, privately this can be done by feeding like any other pet (adding a bowl of fresh food twice a day and removing after an hour or two)

scatter feeding instead of having the food in a rack

adding a digging box

Changes for pet keeping:

Going at least one, better two sizes up with the cages

adding toys

adding more mice to the group (in research most mice are kept in groups of 2 to 5. Mice prefer bigger groups though (plus "two" is a pair, not a group))

adding a big, big layer of bedding (see previous category)

adding toys, including food toys, smell toys, etc

giving food treats like yogurt, comercial treats, varied food, dead or life insects (mice are good hunters!)

feeding grains and similar (if you're unsure about a balanced diet, feeding grains additionally to pellets is totally fine)

adding a bigger wheel or running plate (a wheel is better, if you can provide a good one with appropriate size)

offer a free run time. This could for example be in a bath tub. Lay it out with linen or carpets, fill the tub with toys, treats and cardboard boxes, and offer the mice to go there (eg by builing a stairwell, or by training them "taxi" with a travel box)

spend regular time with them to aclimate them to humans

Changes for a near perfect enclosure:

Upgrate to an aquarium with a grid top

add more climbing options. Like way more!

Put heavier huts on stilts

Add even more tunnels

provide fresh food

change up their enrichment (eg digging box, swimming pool, fresh plants, offer tea additionally to water)

All these images have good and bad items, and imo all enclosures can be adapted to the housed animals needs. I'll try to add credit, but please message me if you have questions about specific images

I was about to add sources but found some great in a single site: here

I also always recommend bin cages as they are cheap and very very customisable. The best example I found is this one

#long post #mouse care #mice #rodents #pet enclosure #my post #lab mice #enrichment #idk I have no based opinions about beddings #this post is not quite yet what I want it to but we're getting there #feel free to message me about any of this #I love talking about mice #I'll try to add some sources #lowkey proud of my first post #pls support me by reblogging and commenting