#Purpose Of Oil Rigs

[thearticelheaven]

Oil rigs are crucial to a nation's economic development. Additionally, they play a role in a number of significant industries. Some of the main arguments for why oil rigs are necessary in a nation are discussed in this article. Please click the link and carefully read the article for The Importance Of oil Rigs to gain a deeper understanding of this important issue.

[ritualslaughter]

I can't be the only person who sees those videos of the guys at oil drill sites (is that what they're doing? idk the dirty guys performing osha violations with giant pieces of machinery) and thinks........ surely none of that is doing anything

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[ceiling-karasu]

Honestly I feel like the organization or the characters and countries in here has been a really big inspiration recently. Well thought out, detailed, and organized so it is easy to read.

Plus, the backstories really allow the OCs to come together nicely, and provides all the proper details and motives for each person, and how they would go about normally versus on a job, complete with nice designs for each one.

It makes me want to put my own thoughts into order between each person and their connection to each of their respective countries. Definitely a reminder to start getting things together properly whenever I see this.

C2ISTAR introduction archive

Here is the list of introductions post about my OCs.✨

C2ISTAR is a soft realism-inducing horror story about a group of self righteous delusional anti-villains who live their life under the false belief that they are anti-heroes.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Cash Slave, reporting in...

Good morning, master. State Trooper Hernandez reporting!

I hope you're doing well since the last time we saw each other. Again, I can't apologize enough for pulling you over on the highway. I had no idea you were such an amazing hypnotist. Thank you again for letting me get off easy and only making me taze myself twice! I was paralyzed in that muddy ditch for awhile, but you could've given me a helluva worse punishment!

Your instructions aren't negotiable, so I made sure to snap a photo before I started my shift today. As you suggested, I've been eating a box of donuts every morning, and I've packed on a hefty 30 lbs since I've started. My wife has complained, but I know you want me to look more like a cliche of law enforcement!

I'll stop by your house to drop off my paycheck tonight after work. I won't forget to pick up some pizza for you and your friends on the way: extra sausage, just like you said!

See you tonight, master!

Hello sir.

It's been a week since you came into my shop, and I've followed everything you said. I didn't agree with it at first, but you convinced me with that little pendant.

You were right! I really am beneath powerful men like you. Filthy blue-collar workers aren't worthy to lick the dirt off your shoes. You were right to point that out, and you were right to tell me to embrace it. When the world looks at me, they shouldn't see a man. They should see a grease monkey at the bottom of society.

That's why I haven't showered or changed in seven days. My BO is uncomfortable to work in, but I know it's just a reminder of what I am. I used to be proud of my job. Ha! I used to look down on suits like you, but I'm nothing in comparison; just a tool at your disposal.

Anyways, I cleaned and waxed your old car as fast as I could. I know I lent you my convertible, but you're welcome to keep it. I put a lot of sweat and blood in fixing her up, but like you said, fancy cars are meant for you to drive and me to maintain.

Stop back in my garage anytime. White-collar men like you get free service here! It's not the place of any lowly laborer to get in the way of what you want.

Thank you again, sir.

Hello boss.

Just started another long day of window washing! It's another hot one, but I'll keep my head down and sweat through it like usual.

I've gotta say, it's days like this that make me miss the comforts of my old corporate desk job. I'd kill for some AC right now, but I remember how much you made me realize I hated that career. Like you said, I'm much better suited to a life of mindless cleaning.

It turns out you're the real one with a knack for business strategy because all of your advice has been genius! The income is dependent on the hours I put in, and since I'm working for half the price of all competitors, I've gotten a monopoly on the market! I've fully booked all seven days for the next five or so weeks, so I'll be washing windows non-stop!

The business is already booming! I've been billing customers to your bank account, so you should already see all the profit in there!

Later today, I'll make a note of the minimum I need to replenish the cleaning supplies I'm running through. I'd also be grateful if you loaned me a bit for personal use, but it's understandable if you can't spare any! We agreed that I wasn't working for a salary, and I'm fine with that! I've been sleeping in the company van the last few weeks and it's more than good enough for me!

Don't worry, boss. I'll get back to work!

Tell my wife hello for me, master!

Working on a rig has been isolating. The job is brutal, the days are long, and every night I head back to our bunks covered in oil. I thought I'd at least get to bond with the other guys, but most of us are too tired to do anything but eat and sleep after our shift.

The only thing that's getting me through it is thinking about you. I know I also have a girl at home, but you were the one that gave my life purpose. I was never going to make money as an actor, and you helped me see that! You were the one that convinced me to go for this ridiculous job in the middle of the ocean, and now I'm making a ton of money!

You deserve it all.

I wouldn't have seen any of this cash if I hadn't stuck around after your stage hypnosis show. I still remember the wild look in your eyes when you came up with this idea for me. I also remember that hungry look you had when you saw my wife. It was impossible to say no.

Oh, and thanks for keeping my wife company while I'm gone. A man like you deserves her attention more than I do. Like you said, I doubt I was pleasing her to begin with. The only thing I'm good for is earning money, and I hope you're enjoying it because it sure isn't easy to earn!

I gotta get back, but I wanted to let you know that I signed up for another six months like you suggested. It's lonely, but I'm happy to do it, master!

Son, or should I still call you 'sir'?

I'm not sure if I your new title applies through text as well? Being your dad and your servant can be a bit confusing, but I don't mean disrespect you! Just let me know.

My workout is done and I'm headed back to your house. I signed the deed over to you this morning, so you officially own it now! Like usual, I'll clean the place from top to bottom. I've got all the mops and cleaning supplies in my van and ready to go. Since it's Friday, I'll start on the weekly yard work; mowing, weeding, etc... I don't want to bore you with the details, but it'll take the majority of the day to keep your place in tip top shape!

As I understand it, you are having friends over tonight, so I'll prepare a three course meal for eight. I ironed my apron this morning so I should look like a more presentable waiter than last night when I served your food!

As always, please let me know if there's any other way I can be of service today or tonight.

I'll be awaiting your return, sir.

Hey little bro,

I just finished my workout at the gym with dad. We're both hitting PRs and we're really starting to see some results! Still can't believe you hypnotized his dumb ass to think he's your butler! That man looks so stupid changing from gym clothes into a bowtie and gloves. He's constantly calling you 'sir' too, even when you're not around.

He's such an idiot.

Anyways, I'm all dressed and ready for my new job. You were totally right. I'm going to be so much happier as a clown instead of a wrestler. I'm about to head out to my first gig; a ten year old's birthday party. I think he's the kid of someone I used to compete with. It might be a little awkward, but it won't affect my routine. I've got an afternoon of pies in the face and self-deprecating humor ahead of me.

I made sure to tell the guy who hired me that I'm willing to stay after and clean up. Kids make a huge mess after all. I just hope he won't be too weird about me being a clown at his son's party. We may have been rivals in the past, but that was back when I wrestled. Now I'm just a joke for hire. He's technically my boss for the day, so I'll have to get used to taking orders from him.

Wish me luck, bro. I'll give you the money after the dad dismisses me. Let's hope I make a good clown!

[rottenpumpkin13]

How badly would a game of Mario Party end for AGSCZ?

ASGZC Play Mario Party

• Before even starting the game, Angeal makes it clear that trash talk and bullying will not be permitted. He has a giant rubber mallet that he will use if anyone disobeys this rule.

• Genesis and Zack are fighting over who gets to play as Mario. Zack argues that he feels connected to Mario in a way Genesis will never understand. Genesis says "If feeling connected to a character is what you care about, we should've played Sonic."

• Angeal hits Genesis with the rubber mallet.

• Sephiroth chooses Mario when no one is watching. Sephiroth doesn't know Mario lore at all, but understands that he's a coveted character and playing as him will anger Genesis greatly.

• Genesis is angered.

• Genesis says Sephiroth should've chosen Bowser Jr. because he, like Sephiroth, has no mother.

• Sephiroth attacks Genesis with the rubber mallet, repeatedly. Angeal is blowing on a whistle and trying to split them up.

• Cloud grows sick of everyone's shit and starts the game by himself. Zack joins him, which prompts everyone else to sit down and start playing too.

• Cloud makes himself Mario and Zack Luigi. Sephiroth now wants to be Bowser Jr. solely because he feels it'll be an injustice to the character if no one chooses him.

• Zack selects the birthday cake board because it reminds him of happiness (cake) which he will have little of during the game.

• Angeal throws the bomb at Zack during the bomb minigame and it explodes. Zack accuses Angeal of doing it on purpose to throw him off. Angeal's response: "how is it my fault that you can't pay attention? get up and do some squats, maybe that'll help"

• Sephiroth takes Angeal's rubber mallet and thwacks Angeal in the face with it.

• Zack's coins are then stolen by a piranha plant. He throws his controller and claims he's "done playing this stupid game that's clearly rigged against him."

• Sephiroth points out how Cloud was the one who planet the piranha, and further adds oil to the fire by pointing out how Cloud got a star when all of Zack's coins were lost.

• Zack goes "THAT'S IT!" and sits on Cloud.

• Cloud tackles Zack to the ground and now Angeal is blowing on his whistle while beating them with the rubber mallet.

• After everything calms down they go back to playing.

• Sephiroth lands on the Bowser space and watches Bowser Jr. be sent to Bowser's dungeon to face trials.

Genesis: "Life imitates art."

• Sephiroth flies at Genesis, strangling him. Angeal is beating them both with the rubber mallet. Zack has found Angeal's whistle and is blowing on it like a siren.

• Cloud gets up and goes home. He can't have shit.

[comatosebunny09]

fun-sized | leon k.

summary: somehow, musing about being short lead to an obsession with leon’s boobs.

genres: romance, humor

cw: suggestive themes, reader is short, leon is a cheeky little sh!t, stream of consciousness, not proofread

music inspo: if - r5

Being short isn’t all bad. Sometimes, it has its perks.

Strangers pity you in the supermarket, for example. Watch with fond smiles and swelling hearts while you struggle to fetch a box of Froot Loops from the topmost shelf—it would be the last box with marshmallows, too. 

As your poor little calves sting and your fingers strain and you whimper pitifully for added effect, a leggy gentleman often swoops in to save the day.

You don’t have to duck beneath low tree branches when jogging through the park, either. Not at all fazed when your taller coworkers play limbo to avoid a splinter to the face.

Being fun-sized also comes in handy when dodging chainsaws and blades on a mission. Helps that you’re an agile little spider monkey, but you don’t have to do some fancy footwork to avoid having your head lopped off. You can simply duck.

Sure, you have to climb onto your countertops to reach the spice rack. Need a step ladder to retrieve plates from the cupboard. And maybe you have to put a little more oomph into your jumps to reach the pullup bar at the precinct. But the best part of being petite is, well...

Having the best view in the house.

That view being Leon S. Kennedy’s bodacious tits.

They flex invitingly in your peripheral whilst he reaches overhead to fetch a coffee mug. Doesn’t help that his shoulder rigs cup his bosom just right. And, of course, his dress shirt is tapered, accentuating the shape of his Adonis-like pecs.

Yeah, you could be a little more subtle with your ogling. Nearly scorch yourself with piping coffee, too preoccupied with Leon’s nipples that pebble in the cool air conditioning. But, he’s warm-bodied and virile beside you. Exudes the heady aroma of gun oil and cashmere. Stubble dapples his chin, and the golden slither of collarbone playing peek-a-boo with your vision beneath his button-up, well…

It takes every bit of you not to bite your lip, grateful the break-room’s free of any other occupants. It’s embarrassing enough eying your superior like a piece of prime rib.

Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs, causing you to instinctively swallow. Don’t even know when you stopped breathing, static filling the space between your ears. The definitive click of the cupboard being shut brings you back to the present. And you would nearly leap out of your skin, caught like the proverbial child rifling through the cookie jar.

His chuckle tinges the air, warm milk and honey to your ears. Tingles in the tips of your toes. Sparkles in the crown of your head whilst your cheeks flood with heat.

“Think you dropped something,” Leon drawls on the edge of your ear. Incredibly close, the heat radiating off his torso, branding your arm as he reaches around to pluck the coffee pot from your shaky fingers.

“W-what’d I drop?” you sputter, scanning the floor like a fool. Your gaze settles on Leon’s chest when another chuckle cascades from his lips. When a battle-worn finger creeps beneath your chin, angling your head back. His eyes swim with mischief, glittering like sea glass.

“Your jaw, sweetheart,” he croons as if taking part in a naughty secret.

You glimpse Leon’s crow’s feet before he draws away. Miss the warmth he emits, your voice corked in your throat. You watch pathetically, rooted to the floor whilst he ambles towards the break-room’s entrance, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

Before he crosses the threshold, Leon jests over his shoulder, “Gonna watch me like that; you should buy me dinner first.”

It’s out before you can think, hopefulness prickling your limbs. “W-what do you like to eat?”

It serves its purpose, stopping him in his tracks. The smirk he dons when he faces you again siphons your breath.

He stalks towards you before you can process things, soundless as a feline. Places his mug on the counter, spilling over you like liquid fire. Your back collides with the wall; didn’t even notice how close you were to it. Shiver as he sweeps an errant lock of hair behind your ear, suddenly caging you in with brawny arms on either side of your head.

You shrink beneath his power whilst he leans in. Jerk when he gathers your cheek into his palm, leaning down to whisper obscenities against the pulse point behind your ear.

Your knees buckle, and your lashes shutter from the absurdity of it all. From the sodden promises murmured against your skin, causing your tongue to loll about in your mouth.

Leon departs after whittling you down. Leaves you boneless, every egotistical ounce of him filtering from the room alongside him.

“So, dinner at seven?” you quip to his retreating back in the hallway, battling the thundering of your heart in your rib cage.

[cozycryptidcorner]

you are six years old. your mom has recently married an important labor foreman who oversees oil drilling off the gulf of mexico. at first, not a lot of things change. the labor foreman is nice, he is well respected by his peers, and your mom is relatively the same prior to meeting him.

a year goes by and she is pregnant with your sister. the labor foreman has talked to her a lot about his job and the history of oil drilling. your mom slowly develops an interest in oil, spurred on by his stories and the economic impact it has on the economy.

she sits in a rocking chair, belly heavy with child, reading a book on the benefits of oil drilling. you are now seven, she brings you to the beach twice a week to look at the hazy, blurry shape of the off shore rig, and you can barely make it out in the waving heat. the sun is hot and the sand gets in your eyes, and every time you try to play in the water, your mom silently adds 15 minutes of corner time.

corner time is where you stand facing the kitchen corner. your mom hasn't yet seen the appeal of corporal punishment. you are often given a choice during this time; fifteen minutes of corner time for one spanking. you often accumulate hours of corner time and accept spanking because it's over faster.

your sister is born, and now your mom is pregnant with your brother. your foreman stepfather is away on his oil rig. you haven't been to school since kindergarten. at first it was fine, you learn penmanship and phonics and draw a lot, but now she is having you read on oil.

there are a lot of books on oil for children. your mom has completely orientated your entire education on the production, history, science, and economic affects of oil. the only escape you have from oil are the books you are allowed to check out from a library, which your mom will thoroughly look through to ensure it isn't oil-negative.

your brother is born and your foreman father promotes up in the company, but you must move. you go to a place where oil... isn't as praised as it was in your last home. there are people who look up to it, and yet others who don't approve of it as much. all throughout this, you are schooled at home, safe from outside judgement. your mom and the books she buys tell you that other people might judge you for your allegiance to oil drilling, and you must remain strong.

another baby and another home later, you are beginning to doubt the benefits of oil. the people you are around, though, love oil, your mom does not associate with people who don't. but everyone in your life warns you that oil is the only way to bring life to america, that you would betray everything your family believes in if you every think of an energy source outside of oil. that your step-father, who works very hard, shouldn't be disappointed in the company you keep and media you consume.

you start spending a lot of time in a friend's house. there is an oil rig in their basement, slowly pumping up wretched black sludge. your mother approves of the relationship, which you've stopped caring about. a lot of your fights are about her next three pregnancies, how you read books she doesn't like, and your general disrespect of your foreman step-father. you don't have the words to fully rebel.

one night at a friend's house, you agree to help a family member with their in-basement rig. the machine misfires and takes your entire arm off with it.

no one will acknowledge your injury. out of necessity, you don't either. every single conference about oil rigging has taught you that accidents are entirely the individual's fault, and you don't want to experience blame. your mom brings up an apprenticeship at the fossil fuels industry, but you are without purpose and don't know what to do with your life.

you don't have an arm. it will not grow back. you step further and further away from the family business of oil rigging. your mom is beside herself but won't force you to participate because you are too grown to put up an unnoticeable fight.

by the time you are in college, you are fully divorced from any energy industry. there are folks who work from coal plants that say oil is horrible, of course your arm was ripped off. but you should give them a try! except there are so many people leaving coal plants with missing limbs.

there are people who gain their energy from burning wood who tell you that you were led astray, that your arm was intended to be removed in order to join them. you can't abide by that harmful destiny, so you continue on.

there are people who use the sun for fuel, and they say that the coal, wood, and oil burners are liars and apostates. they say that the sun is the only way to create energy, and that you were misled. they want you to join them, but struggle to harvest energy. a part of you craves the community and acceptance, but your arm is still missing. are any of their limbs missing? at this point, you can't tell.

you are at a loss. maybe disappearing into a forest is the best way to go. but there is work to be done.

even if you can't regrow your arm, you can prevent others from losing their limbs.

[bipolar-sad-and-ready-to-cry]

I was referred here by the reply from Horrors at the oil rig

I CALLED IT

IT WAS ON PURPOSE

CUZ THATS A THING THAT HAPPENS

AND ITS PRESENT ON PREDATORS WHICH KINDA PAINTS AN EVEN CREEPIER PICTURE OF PROBABLY-MIGHT BE-KC

Anyways— really really cool au, just dropping by to say that

And also, Trick or treating time is in a few hours for you right?

Hehehehe yes the red bioluminescence is purposeful hehehe also it’s creepy and that’s what I wanted to go for with the design, unsettling

Unfortunately in my town trick or treating isn’t a common occurrence but it is currently Halloween! I remember I joined the fnaf/tsams fandom around this time last year so it’s pretty cool that I have stuck around this long!

Anyways here! the full image with the guppies and big mer! Just because I can :3 big mer is in dark shadow so you can’t really see him but you can see features of him

Yes it is KC

[focsle]

I've seen you answer a few asks about whaling history before, so hopefully I'm not offbase asking you questions out of the blue? But anyway, how did people bathe (or keep clean if not by bathing) during long sea voyages?

Not off base at all! Out of the blue whaling history questions are some of my fav asks to receive; I find them thrilling. I can’t help but write an essay every time.

It was particularly hard to keep clean on a whaler, and whalemen were often disparaged by those in other maritime professions. In 1839, naval Lieutenant Charles Wilkes said of the crew of the whaleship America, 

“I have seldom seen at sea a more uncombed and dirty set of mariners than his crew.“

J.E. Haviland of the Baltic, 1856, complained of besmirching his journal pages with the grime that he was unable to scrub off his hands after tarring the rigging, self consciously saying:

“My hands + clothes would look beautiful for a ladies Parlor. I see they even collor the paper but I cannot get the tar out. The Old Man says he intends to have me tar down the rigging a few days before we get in New Bedford so that I shall not forget too soon that I have been a sailor.”

General ships’ work  such as tarring could be messy, but a whaler’s work was even messier. When trying out blubber it was futile to attempt maintaining any semblance of cleanliness during the process. William Abbe of the Atkins Adams, 1859, said that during boiling, a watch would turn in to their bunks a few hours rest, merely ‘after wiping off your bare body with oakum to take off the thickest of the oil”.

But the gore and oil wasn’t forever. After the particular job was done the ship would be meticulously cleaned, and the whalers would tend to themselves too. As Herman Melville wrote,

“The crew themselves proceed to their own ablutions; shift themselves from top to toe; and finally issue to the immaculate deck, fresh and all aglow, as bridegrooms new-leaped from out the daintiest Holland. Now, with elated step, they pace the planks in twos and threes, and humorously discourse of parlors, sofas, carpets, and fine cambrics; propose to mat the deck; think of having hanging to the top; object not to taking tea by moonlight on the piazza of the forecastle. To hint to such musked mariners of oil, and bone, and blubber, were little short of audacity. They know not the thing you distantly allude to. Away, and bring us napkins!”

Haviland expressed gratitude in getting a chance to get clean after all the work of boiling blubber was done:

“I feel much better to day I have given myself a good wash + a clean shave + got in all clean clothes. You would not have known your own son if you could have seen him yesterday. I was nearly black with smoke + dirt. (with shame) I say it was the accumulation of 2 months dirt + 4 months beard. Everything looks as clean + bright as it did before we took the whale”

Being able to bathe was such a highlight that Abbe titled one of his journal pages “Washing myself!!” With TWO exclamation points!

“I write with pride in my fastidious journal that this morning I washed my face + hands with castile soap + fresh water — when shall I do the like again? When shall I write the pleasant and comfortable fact that I have shaved? The future and fair weather only can tell.”

The ship’s slop chest—its general store—had toiletries for sale, often at a very high premium. Whaling account books show men buying pounds of oil soap for their own personal stores. The fresh water was often rainwater collected for this purpose, rather than the casks set aside for drinking.

“This has been a rather squally day,” wrote Mary Lawrence, whaling wife who accompanied her husband on his ship Addison in the 1850s. “Considerable rain has fallen, and everybody on deck is using an abundant supply of rainwater for washing purposes.” She also added, though this is speaking of laundry rather than bathing, “Having stopped up the scuppers, the use the whole deck for one grand washtub.”

They’d use the sea, too. John Martin of the Lucy Ann, wrote of bathing via rain and sea whilst near the equator on January 24th, 1842.

“Towards noon the rain came down in torrents. The weather being sultry the watch on deck shipped off their shirts to it. John the boat steerer went entirely naked with the exception of a handkerchief tied around his privates. In the afternoon it cleared away, when I asked permission from the Captain for the crew to take a bathe over the side. He said we might do it if we rigged a studding sail over the side, which was soon done & all hands that could swim were to be seen jumping from different parts of the ship. Some went out to the end of the flying jib boom & jumped off there. Even the dog was thrown overboard & got his share of washing. I like bathing at sea but for one thing, and that is sharks. I always have a fear that one might be hovering about and give one a nip before he was aware of it.”

It was challenging for whalers to keep clean by nature of the job, but man when they were able to they really seemed to revel in it. For many of them it was more than just a bath; it was a symbolic return to a home they were long away from, or to the man they perceived themselves to be back on shore, or of a society that they felt cut off from in their line of work.

If you’re interested I also wrote a thing about doing laundry on whaleships too, yonder!

[thearticelheaven]

The significance of oil rigs is covered in seven main points by The Article Heaven. You will learn all you need to know about the significance of oil rigs and how they contribute significantly to the nation's economic growth.

[soudasouda]

Another large-scale drawing in andres_jaque's advanced summer studio of a speculative proposal to re-purpose future obsolete oil rigs for multiple types of renewable energy generation and storage by yu in Zheng and Royi Follow Souda on Tumblr

[maythray]

oil rigs visually are so so gorgeous. unfortunate that they have to be used for oil purposes and not just to sit there and look like a beautiful angel

[sunny-with-a-knife]

PERCY JACKSON OC LORE

+ FRIENDS

Let me all show you my oc! Their name is Aundrea (Angie for short) as Well as my friends ocs!

I'll upload more or her art soon but I just got too lazy so have them from an art challenge I did w/ some friends^_^

Tw: death in all backstories (litteraly none of them have a mortal parent who's alive)

(It's great /j) all text colored in parentheses are my own comment! The white ones are from my friends

ONTO THE LOREEE (click read more if interested)

AUNDREA (Angie)

Their father, Terrance Maheswaran, had planned to tell Angie her "amazing" heritage and terrifying adventures that would’ve laid ahead of her when she was 13, packing up her gift and a letter explaining everything for when she arrived at chb,

but in a sick cruel, twist of events, their Father died in a large explosion when she was working on an invention (a kid from the village had jacked with the oil rig, causing the generator to explode, Setting off The highly explosive fireworks and chemicals inside)

That had left her with a dead father, bad Eye, half her face burned and neglected trauma she refuses to Talk about, and would much rather throw herself into her inventions when someone Tries to make her talk.

But now she's dealing with a busted home, a hospital bill, a present, and a letter telling Her she's the daughter of greek goddess athena? Obviously she steals car parts and pieces from a local news station, making a warrant out for her arrest, (what half-blood hasn't?) as Well as an epic police chase scene while she blasted barbie girl and crashing Through the chb woods into A tree as well as a girls wine bottle (All jokes aside she was practically dashing to half blood all the way from the empty land if El Paso, Texas)

All of this has taken place somewhere after the pjo books (I thinkkk???? Me and my friends have yet to decide a timeline, so for now we ball ig)

REFERENCE:D

Written by my friend Kiwi!

NADIA

daughter of Dionysus!

One of her first trips to the casino when she was 8 caused the trigger of her madness. Nadia got invested watching a poker game that when it was time to leave and someone interrupted her trance, she suddenly got angry and started clawing at the attendants face. Her mother was banned from the casino. This news spread about a demon child attacking anyone that touched her with glowing purple eyes. This also didn’t help Layla’s and Nadia’s money situation as that casino was quite common for clients. The rumours spread to Layla calling her a “temptress” and “demon mother” since she was the only one to calm Nadia and she “slept around” so she could have “easily slept with a demon and gave birth to a monster”. Many conspiracists found out and religious freaks plotted to kill them both. A ritual for the child and murder for the mother.

She is the daughter to Layla Mansour when Layla had a one night stand with a disguised Dionysus (idfk how it works don’t come at me). Layla was a prostitute that used her body to get in the pants of high ranking officials that cheat on their wives but when Nadia was born, she had a new purpose. Living. Nadia was Layla’s break from disgusting men and she tried to protect Nadia as long as she could. Money was tight and Layla took more jobs. By the time Nadia had just turned 8, she was taken on her mother’s “trips” to nice hotels and casinos etc.

(Shit goes from 0-1000 real quick in Vegas ig /j)

During the night on a full moon on the 30th of October at 3 am. A 10 year old Nadia found her mother killed with a shot to the head.(she only saw the body im not that mean to nadia) (yea right 🙄) The religious freaks mysteriously went mad (I wonder could it be Nadia whhhaaaattt). Nadia ran away blah blah blah she’s 11 and at camp half blood woo. (My friend is so funny when talking abt Nadia lmfao)

Her first year there she was sceptical and hoarded shit, she was claimed when she first gambled with Dionysus and woo new brothers. They introduced her to drinking (bad brothers >:() and the fact she isn’t affected like normal people by alcohol if she wants and skaboosh wine gal emerged. Her need for money couldn’t be solved with taking stray drachmas from the floor (don’t ask me just accept what I say as fact and just take it) so she started a gambling activity of sorts. Second year is when she started gaining reputation and it went pretty normal until the start of her third year this random ass kid crashed their weirdoes car causing Nadia to drop her drinking making it undrinkable. (How she met Angie!)

FRIENDS REFERENCE SHEET BELOW vvvv

DEX

Written by my friend Rohan!

DEAR GOD MY FRIEND DIDNT HOLD BACK ON THE ANGST SO BE PREPARED FOR

•C@NABLISM

•DEATH

AND OTHER TRIGGERING STUFF

Dex was born in China before moving to the US when they were 2. They had a rough life, being forced into anything that had extra credit or talent labeled on it, since they’re mom wanted them to be able to be a dutiful citizen of the US.

Dex’s mom; Beihe was on a vacation in the US when she had gotten pregnant with a one night stand with the disguised Hades. Beihe was ostracized from her family when she came home pregnant, and when she gave birth she moved to the US.

Soon Dex was forced to learn anything and everything from a young age, it didn’t matter what it was; Their mom wanted them to be a prodigy in everything, the most prominent things being Violin, piano and kung fu. Dex had come out to their mom, and soon it became something to use against them.

Dex and their mom were in constant arguments daily, but by evening their mom was parading them through downtown before they went to eat dinner and go to bed. But by the age of 9 an accident had occurred, and right in front of Dex’s eyes their mom was turned into a puddle of flesh, organs, blood, and other bodily fluids. (It was not finger licking good ☹️ /j)

It had left Dex with scars along their body and trauma to deal with. When they were found they were placed into their fathers custody, and that's when they gained an accepting parent.

And soon they transitioned and changed their name with their fathers permission, and was trained and taught languages and fighting styles and mainly how to fight with a spear. Dex has powers but doesn’t know about them, since they are constantly helping their father and only have enough time to sleep and eat whilst doing so.

They were sent to the camp as a spy when their father had come up with the idea, and sent them a monthly allowance for it. They have books and journals in different languages, and can contact their father through a mirror that they have hidden.

Dex when Nadia and Angie find out their a spy almost murders them in a fit of fear, before they leave them kinda beat up and make them swear they won’t tell anyone. And grow kinda distant for a while from them, and become scared to touch them after watching them recover slowly from a distance. They don’t report this to their dad.

REFERENCE SHEET BELOW vvv

Together they go on a journey??? TO THE WEST! nah jk- but so far we haven't really written a concrete story yet, it's mostly just dealing with Dexs betrayl rn but I'll update when any changes occur!<3

[ms-scarletwings]

Every Dredge Aberration (2024), Part 4

When whispers and fleeting tastes weren’t enough, the flotsam took up their metal and their lies, and they lanced the darkest primordial core.

From it spilled our past’s phantoms to rise- no longer in eons’ slumber, glimpsing the light once more. ₊˚.༄

Plated Osteostracan ༄.°

Encyclopedia #123

Aberrant form of Osteostracan

Description:

A shell of bone, pierced by spurs of something stronger. A horned mitre shielding eyeless sockets.

Comment: The true osteostracans (the powers below only know how much I have struggled to spell that word right with every use) would, among many of the ooze’s surprises, already have been a discovery defying of all reason. Here from the drill’s disturbance is an individual not only of a kind thought to have vanished from our world some hundreds of millions of years ago, but changed and reshapen anew where evolution did not touch its brethren. On a sidenote, a mitre is the actual name of the headwear iconically worn by the upper clergy of the Catholic hierarchy, most famously associated with the pope. Could this creature’s helm also be a symbol of importance? Regarding the mystery of the shell’s makeup, I personally speculate it to be a form of enamel. It would certainly be stronger than mere bone, and suit some of the Deep’s penchant for the sardonic: a jawless fish, gilded in teeth.

How to catch: Though they rose from the darkest, inky depths below the Marrows, the osteostraci prefer to gather in the shallows beneath pollutants’ gleam. The unique “habitat” they spawn from however, requires the aid of specialized equipment to harvest these fish.

Axial Matron ༄.°

Encyclopedia #124

Aberrant form of tullimonstrum

Description:

Mouths within mouths. Chambers within chambers. The matron's grip is terminal.

Comment: In a spectacular twist, the bastardization of the living fossil has actually… produced a creature much less monstrous, if only in appearance. The retraction of stalk eyes and the repurposed proboscis-like organ of the corrupted specimen has brought its visage closer to that of a fish than the enigmatic, impossible to class Tully Monster.

How to catch: This will be the last I repeat of what I already gestured to before. Learn quickly the recurrent pattern of the sludge’s offerings, no regular rod or reel will be able to drag ANY of these ancient wretches out of their favored home- of course being the newly spotted oil slicks released by the seabed’s running wound. A lucid mind, armed with steady hand and advanced tools, is best to send to those unsightly lesions. Take your pick of the Marrow’s coastal scabs, and then you may try your luck with old Tully.

Anvilfish ༄.°

Encyclopedia #125

Aberrant form of paddlefish

Description:

A head hammered flat against the alluvium of the world. Every shaper needs a surface.

Comment: Definition of alluvium: a deposit of clay, silt, sand, and gravel left by flowing streams in a river valley or delta, typically producing fertile soil. Behold here as well the rarity of a rarity. There isn’t much to this victim’s purpose easily concluded. What I have noticed, though, is that this fish and the next proceeding entry compliment each other and the nature of the Iron Rig itself- an extraction and transformation of the deep’s bed, bringing out the evolution of our tools.

How to catch: With infused reel aboard, feel around for the Marrow’s costal waters, where and while the oil still flows.

Ivory Impaler ༄.°

Encyclopedia #126

Aberrant form of swordfish

Description:

Strips of flensed flesh course around a spike of impossible metal. Underneath roped tendons, it bears a name unremembered.

Comment: Spear-fisherman beware… the quarry that finally stands (really swims) on an even playing field. The savage beauty of this one appeals to me greatly, the grisly paleness of its flesh, rended asunder. The permanent grin beneath so evil a gaze. A predator that no longer lunges for the meal, simply for the satiation of even more bloodletting.

How to catch: Strangely, though neither returned fossils nor commonly seen in the Marrows before, the seismic anomaly has brought in the first sightings of swordfish gathering in the region, specifically in the same stained waters as other new findings. To begin catching them, one will need oceanic suitable fishing equipment also fitted with improved modifications.

Cerebral Crab

Encyclopedia #127

Aberrant form of common crab

Description:

A turquoise mass swells from within this small crab. The growth pulses, quickening in the light of the sun.

Comment: Would it be to awry of me to say that there's something almost... cute about the look of this scuttler? I find it difficult to not think there would be strange beauty in the sight of the island sands at night, pulsing and peppered with a gathering of these crabs' light, like jewels beneath the foam. I can at least be sure that their hue is enamoring once smeared across the hull of my boat. This is one of two mutants you must bring to the painter in Little Marrow to unlock the sharp mint pigments to customize with.

How to catch: As the name would suggest, this animal can only be harvested with patience and the use of a crab pot. Aim for a depth below 25 meters, such as close to, or even within the Greater Marrow harbor.

Malignant Pincer

Encyclopedia #128

Aberrant form of fiddler crab

Description:

Teal tumours secrete a slimy substance over cracks and joints. Its massive claw shudders as it fights for control.

Comment: Now THIS victim's predicament actually lends some fascinating implications about what ails the previous. These pustules look so alike to the same as the common crab's infection in both shape and color that I will go on a limb and decide that the same entity finds a host in either species. The "cerebral" part of the former's name indicates that this mass is in fact a brain of its own, with its own imperatives and will that overrides the poor vessel's. Because the infection has decided to root within the fiddler crab's claw, rather than its head, the animal's original brain has remained intact, despite everything. The body survives to stage a losing battle between nature and another's unknowable plan.

How to catch: They generally share roaming space with the common crabs of The Marrows, albeit preferring slightly shallower water, under a mere 10 meters to be exact. Due to their size, the basic crab pot can only hold one of them at a time, so, barring a speedrun to acquire the maw of the Deep, check the traps frequently if you are looking to snag one of these in the early game. I never found error in placing the pots right next to the Marrow docks for convenience. Bring one of these to the painter along with the cerebral crab to unlock the sharp mint paint for your ship.

Inverted Husk༄.°

Encyclopedia #129

Aberrant form of sea cucumber

Description:

Flesh, prolapsed and shed to the seafloor. A moult discarded, ready to envelop another.

Comment: Most horrid thing among the Iron Rig additions I have examined so far. Finally, the long missed taste again of utter revulsion and bewilderment that this grand sea had inspired in me from the beginning. With new novelties will come even more unsettling revelations.

How to catch: Unlike the other slick-swimming things we have encountered, this aberration requires no fancy or new tools at all to find. Any crab pot will do, placed directly into the tar-blackness at a depth between 25 meters and the surface. Depths from 10-25 meters are advised to prevent the space-demanding fiddler crab from turning up in the traps instead.

[mla0]

looks at you. i want to hear about your different iteration things au concept thing for shaun,. blinks eye.

WEEEE

so for the first iteration of the andersens i used the last name warren, so shaun and michael warren because i just like that surname lol. i'm not sure if they would have been in fairmount (probably would've), but either way they definitely knew the mining town four. the clock was ground zero for why they were both admitted, because the mental effects of it lingering around greatly hurt them both and made them act out in their own ways. i think shaun was close with vinny and steph, and michael was close with evan. shaun and jeff are frienemies in the kind of sibling-esque "id kill for you but id also bury you alive for a saltine cracker" way. also it's a personal headcanon of mine that shaun really, really does not like corenthal, and even across iterations that trait sticks even if she doesn't know why (in my personal headcanon, doc gave her preferential treatment over michael and it pissed her off so bad the anger stuck across all the iterations.)

throughout the iterations i think entities like habit would be more in the background, but would sometimes be there, oftentimes to force the two apart. so throughout the generations, you'll see them slowly becoming more and more distant, because habit, the man in the suit, whatever, all thrive off of isolating people as much as possible so they're easier to manipulate or kill later. the two figuring out how to rejoin and work together is paramount, but it gets harder every time.

the other main iteration i focus on would be in the princeton era, and in this one her iteration is named esther. the name means north star, and i think she'd possibly choose it because of vinny for obvious reasons. their last name is korbel, so michael and esther korbel are their names. anyways, in my interpretation she tried to outrun her responsibilities the moment she was old enough, by going off to work in remote and often dangerous places (think oil rigs, firetowers, things where you're far away from everyone else) because her hope is that she can outrun slenderman. she even leaves the country for long periods of time and doesn't really have anyone to lean on, which she did on purpose.

esther and michael in this era hadn't been forcefully separated and were actually really close as kids/younger teens, but they grew apart over time and they hadn't talked in years because esther grew more and more detached from other people. michael took this personally of course and is constantly trying to figure out where she is, but he eventually resigns that she was probably killed by the man in the suit. this isn't the case, though. esther also ended up transitioning when she was away, using the remote workplaces and fact that basically nobody knows her to her advantage. she doesn't care if people are shitty to her on an oil rig, they're too busy getting decompression sickness anyways. she tries to tough everything out but it wears her down more than she'd admit, and has a hard time keeping her resolve and not contacting michael.

it's not that esther dislikes him, quite the opposite actually. kind of like michael in mla0, she has this idea that it's mostly after her or is somehow her own fault, so staying far away from michael will keep him safer. it's self-centered, but michael didn't talk too much about the man in childhood (because he also thought it'd keep his sibling safe) so she wrongly assumes she's patient zero in the family and the two never communicated about this. eventually, something goes wrong at work and she finally starts accepting the situation and meets people like vinny (who i think would be a close friend, i love when shaun and vinny have a dynamic) her and michael see each other again... only for her to realize michael doesn't recognize her after she disappeared and transitioned so long ago. she's terrified of him finding out because this is like, the 1980s, and she doesn't know how michael would take her being trans. even though she's almost entirely certain he wouldn't mind, she still doesn't want to ruin the time they has left, because at this point she's realized they're probably doomed anyways.

she tries to use this to her advantage; she helps michael out a ton without getting too emotionally close. she becomes dangerously obsessed with trying to understand what the entities around her are and what they can do, which only makes her more distant and worries the hell out of vinny as she slips deeper into it. she practically self sabotages and gets more and more unhinged as she dives headfirst into danger with little regard for much else. in the end michael ends up being killed by habit (?) while she's trying to save him, and she makes one last ditch attempt to kill whatever this monster is that she can't comprehend. she puts up a good fight and gets closer than she ever has before thanks to what she's learned, but well, it's habit. she never really stood a chance, and she dies regretting all the things she never told her brother