#Suburban Taxis

[northerntaxis]

The Ultimate Guide to North Suburban Taxis and Melbourne Airport Taxi Services

Navigating Melbourne can be a daunting task, especially if you’re unfamiliar with the city. When it comes to getting to and from the airport, stress can be even more important. That’s where the North Suburban Taxis and Melbourne airport taxi services come in, making it easy, comfortable and reliable. This guide will delve into why choosing these services can make your travel experience seamless and enjoyable.

Why Choose North Suburban Taxis?

North Suburban Taxis Serving the Melbourne area for many years, building a reputation for reliability and excellent customer service. Whether you are a local or a visitor, here are a few reasons why you should choose North Suburban Taxis:

1. Availability: A unique feature of North Suburban Taxis11 is their availability. They operate 24/7, ensuring that you can still get a ride whenever you need it, day or night.

2. Safety: Safety is paramount when it comes to taxi service. North Suburban Taxis Make sure all their drivers are properly vetted and trained. Their vehicles are regularly inspected and maintained to ensure safe travel.

3. Comfort: Provides a North Suburban Taxis comfortable ride with modern well-equipped vehicles. Whether you’re attending a business meeting or exploring the city, you can count on a smooth and enjoyable trip.

Melbourne airport taxi service: The Best Way to Travel

Getting to and from the airport can be stressful. Melbourne Airport taxi service is designed to alleviate that stress, and offers benefits that make it desirable to many travelers:

1. Time management: Time is everything when flying. Melbourne airport taxi service He prides himself on being punctual. Their drivers know the best roads and traffic, ensuring you reach the airport in plenty of time.

2. Convenience: Booking Melbourne airport taxi service is surprisingly convenient. If you have the option to book online or over the phone you can secure your car in advance, avoiding any last-minute hassles.

3. Fixed Rates: Unlike ride-sharing services whose prices can fluctuate, Melbourne airport taxi service usually offers fixed rates. This transparency ensures that you know exactly how much your trip will cost, and avoids any surprise fees.

They are not interrupted

For those unfamiliar with the city, getting to and from the airport can be a challenge. The options provided by Melbourne Airport Transport North Suburban Taxis are designed to provide you with a hassle-free experience. Melbourne airport transport here has a notable function:

1. Meet and Greet: Melbourne airport transport more functionality includes a meet and greet option. Your driver will be waiting for you at the arrivals desk, ready to help you with your luggage and guide you to your taxi town.

2. Customized Service: Whether you are traveling solo or with a group, it can be Melbourne airport transport customized to your specific needs. From sedans to luxury cars, it’s the perfect choice for every traveler.

3. Local Experts: Drivers offering Melbourne airport transport are often well-known in the area. This local knowledge can be invaluable, especially if you’re visiting Melbourne for the first time.

The Convenience of Booking

Booking North Suburban Taxis or Melbourne airport taxi service is easy. With user-friendly websites and apps, you can book your vehicle in just a few clicks. Here’s how it’s done.

1. Online Booking: Visit North Suburban Taxis or your favorite Melbourne airport taxi service's official website. Enter your details, select your vehicle and confirm your booking.

2. Mobile Apps: Melbourne airport transport Many businesses offer mobile apps, making it even easier to book while traveling. 

Selecting North Suburban Taxis or Melbourne Airport taxi service ensures a stress-free and comfortable travel experience. With a commitment to safety, punctuality and customer satisfaction, these services are the best way to travel to Melbourne. Next time you are planning to travel to or from the airport, consider booking the Melbourne airport transport service for easy travel.

[fazcinatingblog]

More like IF I come back amirite, also stop making me feel guilty, also learn to spell (paralegal? Parallel? ...never mind doesn't parramatta), also like it's my fault she hires 53 accountants that can only do accounting and 1 admin person to send out the tax returns and invoices and

[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , updated .     (  a  collection  of  various  settings  meant  to  inspire  drabbles  or  be  used  as  prompts .   )

001.   the seaside ,  as the sun is setting .

002.   a cabin in the middle of the woods .

003.   a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .

004.   a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .

005.   a private jet miles high in the sky .

006.   a funhouse’s room of mirrors .

007.   an office building ,  bustling and busy .

008.   the back row of an empty movie theater .

009.   a run - down motel room .

010.   a loud house party on a suburban street .

011.   a university lecture hall during a class .

012.   the rooftop of a very tall building .

013.   a great ballroom during an elegant party .

014.   the back of a wailing ambulance .

015.   the wine cellar of a large mansion .

016.   behind the school’s gymnasium .

017.   a boisterous bonfire at the lakeside .

018.   an otherwise empty parking lot .

019.   the shady bar of a noisy , dark club .

020.  the grounds of an empty summer camp .

021.   a large hedge maze ,  easy to get lost in .

022.   a neglected or derelict treehouse .

023.   a spacious ,  light-filled meadow .

024.   an underground illegal fighting club .

025.   an abandoned scrapyard .

026.   a large penthouse overlooking the city .

027.    an apple orchard in the middle of spring .

028.   an empty playground with squeaky swings .

029.   an extravagant greenhouse .

030.   the base of a large waterfall .

031.    a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .

032.   a solemnly quiet hospital room .

033.   the dark depths of an abandoned mine .

034.   the deck of a fishing boat at night .

035.   the thick crowd of an audience at a show .

036.   a long ,  winding road .

037.   the scene of a violent crime .

038.   a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .

039.   a cramped dressing room .

040.   a dusty antiques shop full of relics .

041.   the street of an unfamiliar city at night .

042.   between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .

043.   a building abandoned during construction .

044.   a house without power or running water .

045.   a mysterious trail found in the woods .

046.   the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .

047.    the inside of an elevator that won’t move .

048.   fairgrounds during a large event  (or after hours) .

049.   a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .

050.   a childhood home or bedroom .

+   30  more  setting  prompts :    1 / 3 / 2024

051. the site of a horrible accident .

052. a closed pool , after everyone has left .

053. a home holding horrific memories .

054. by the side of a dangerously quick river .

055. a private hotel room .

056. a police station in the middle of the night .

057. a ferris wheel carriage under a sky of fireworks .

058. a lavish , invite - only party .

059. a public transit stop as rain is pouring down .

060. the back of a taxi going in the wrong direction .

061. the underworld .

062. a dusty , forgotten attic .

063. on the set of a television show or movie .

064. a lighthouse overlooking the raging sea .

065. in a post - apocalyptic bunker .

066. on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast .

067. on the rooftop of a perilously tall building .

068. a tent pitched in the middle of the woods .

069. a crowded stadium during a football game .

070. the morgue during an identification .

071. an otherwise empty library during a late study session .

072. a place that feels familiar , yet you've never been here before .

073. a long hallway that seems to stretch on forever .

074. a signpost at the start of a hiking trail .

075. a bar or tavern bustling with life .

076. the dance floor of a masquerade ball .

077. inside of a car parked in a secluded area .

078. at the edge of a cliff overlooking a large lake .

079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .

080. the antiseptic interior of a space station .

[losersiren]

𝘍𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘵

"𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒑𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎."

CW: Fem reader (she/her), Time-appropriate misogyny, underlying themes of comphet, implied cannibalism, weird behaviour (?), cheating (in a sense?). N: To the two sapphics that wanted this, Merry Christmas!

New town, new neighbourhood, new people, and the sense of unfamiliarity hits you before the fresh air can as you open the mustard yellow cab door. 

Suburbia. 

Picture-perfect houses lined up perfectly as if they were soldiers waiting for an order from their sergeant; the lawns are flawlessly mowed, with no imperfections seen, just like the housewives inside those soulless clone houses. How…dull. Your hand unconsciously grips the metal door as your jaw clenches. Your heels hit the concrete when you finally get out of the taxi, too focused on the sight in front of you in a less content fashion.

In any other circumstance, moving into such an established community would be a blessing. Especially with the rise of Suburban houses and nuclear families after World War Two, people were scrambling to settle down before, god forbid, another war started yet again. You would have to be demented not to take an opportunity like this by its horns and celebrate. But you weren’t here to settle down with a beau in tow to populate this “great nation.” No. In this context, this place would be your collar for the foreseeable future; one misguided risk, you made one tiny mistake at your job, and now you’re on time-out.  

A journalist from the big city trying to make a breakthrough, which in itself is pathetic enough, but to add fuel to the flame, you’re a woman trying to achieve that unattainable dream. Getting into a male-centred field of work should've been nearly impossible, but you dipped your toes in it at the end of the day! Which is more than most could say; maybe it was your persistent attitude in your youth that gained your spectacular references or how you constantly pestered the journalist's office for a month straight to get a job since you were more qualified than 90% of the men in that fucking building. Still, you were placed into the “woman's” section. Which was an old rundown storage closet with a rotten-wooden desk in the middle of it…

Fast-forward to later, you were given only the bottom-of-the-barrel stories to research, and god, were you tired of them, you might’ve possibly “burrowed” one story from one of the rookie's desks; it's not like he could do any better than you. You quickly sift through whatever was attainable for you. Passing through possible big stories you knew you had no chance to break through quickly, such as “unknown serial cannibal still missing, when will they strike again?” or “Local government official caught embezzling after the war.” No, the story fitting your position was “Local priest fights allegations of using church money for the devil’s lettuce.” It's a perfect scandalous piece that is easy enough to get information on and would get your name somewhat out there.

You took that story and ran with it, and it turns out the more you looked into the story, the more the allegations had truth to it. This story would be your breakthrough! You would be among the first women to break through that glass ceiling! Yet, when you walked confidently into the office with an article written and sources in your hands, you left with a broken spirit, your article being taken by a male co-worker and a transfer to Pennsylvania. Your boss shouted at you in that box of an office, demeaning you in every way, but what stuck to you is when he scoffed out that the only thing you could handle was “the housewife section” in a newspaper nobody reads and that would be your only legacy other than dying a washed-up old woman with nothing to her name.

And here you were where you belonged. 

“Miss, the meter is running here. You just going to stand there or…?” a ragged, aged voice calls to you from the driver's seat. “Oh! Right…sorry sir…” You acknowledge him, breaking out of your dissociation, and march toward the cab's trunk, fighting with your heavy leather suitcases to get out of the damn thing. “Ya know, a young lady like yourself shouldn’t be doing all that work…your husband going to help you with that?” the taxi driver questions you as you struggle instead of assisting you. “Don’t have one,” you quip back as you huff, finally getting the second one out; his eyes give you run down, full of judgement. “Well, you aren’t going to apple butter a stud with that tone, that’s for sure; smile more, doll,” the older gentleman snorts as you give him the money you owe him. 

As the car drives away, you turn to see your already-furnished house, partly given to you by some distant relative who brought property. You barely even know him, which is why you have to pay rent. But who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

As you take in your new life, your eyes bounce from the russet brown asphalt shingle roof to the moss-green mowed lawn. A sigh escapes you as your eyes finally drift to your neighbour's house; it's nothing too shabby; it's nearly identical to yours, sparing a few minor details such as colour and different window positions. Your curious eyes wander through one of the windows in your line of vision at a woman in her early to mid-twenties, skin so pale you could almost mistake her for a Jane Doe in a morgue. Her blonde hair resembles hay you would see decorated inside a barn, and her eyes are as lifeless as a cloudy blue sky before it rains. Her thin fingers scrubbed away at porcelain plates dazedly, hunched over just a bit over her sink so that she could compromise for her taller-than-average height. Once aimed at the dishes below her, her eyes now meet yours; her movements stopped like a deer in headlights. 

You goan, she probably thinks you’re giving her the royal shaft. Well, that’s it for first impressions. You give her a smile and a small wave, hoping she doesn’t misconstrue your curiosity for something worse and rush into your new abode. Her murky blue eyes clear the more they follow your figure, fading into your house.

-

Love.

It’s simple yet complex to comprehend. Since the dawn of time, humans have expressed love through multiple forms of media, languages, and art. Yet, despite all this knowledge of the emotion, it never resonated with Annabeth. No matter how many romance novels or novels she read in general about the topic (much to her mother's dismay), it never clicked. It didn't click when boys started paying attention to her in high school, and it didn't click when she debated the pros and cons for each boy in her grade to have an answer when her friends asked her about what boy she had a crush on. Maybe she was just broken; the emptiness of her heart matched her stomach when her mother took meals from her to have a figure to attract whatever city boy would come waltzing in their small town—born and raised to be a housewife, to have children then die like the cattle at her meemaw’s and peepaw’s farmhouse. So she adapted, pushing aside her heart-racing anxiety that should’ve been the flutters of butterflies in her stomach anytime a man romantically talked to her. All that is in the past now…she changed her “habits”…she has a husband, a good home, and he has an excellent job for the both of them.

At least up till now. 

The house next to her was always empty except when, once in a blue moon, the owner would come for a few days or even a month to check up and maintain the property. She didn't know the man well, she doesnt even remember his name – so when she felt eyes on her, the lonesome woman didn't expect you… 

There you were, staring at her in your grey blazer and matching skirt; your shoulder pads, as did your belt, accentuated your figure. Your eyes…such an alluring sight that they froze her on the spot, hypnotizing her until you retreated into the building. The breath she didn’t even know she held slipped out of her mouth, and her heart drums rapidly against her ribcage like it never had before.

One blink.

Two blinks.

What…

The soapy rag slipped from her hand, causing warm water droplets to splash on her face. This action snapped the blonde out of her trance-like state. 

Her pupils expand, her eyes frantically move left to right, and there’s a flare-up in her flight or fight senses, yelling at the housewife to do something! Anything! as if her body is unconscionably sending signals throughout her body to make a move, but the question is…for what reason? Annabeth thought of the most rational reason she was feeling such a strong emotional response, and of course, the only logical explanation was that she just really wanted to be your friend.   

The back of her hand wipes her once-damp cheeks.

Yeah, that’s the only possible answer.

The next few weeks became a blur of events, from immediately baking you sweets the next day to “welcome” you into the neighbourhood and telling you if you ever needed anything to holler at her. To her inviting you to dinner with her husband to help you get “accumulated” more into such a new environment from the bustling city– she’s an idiot. God, she’s a grade-a dumbass for even thinking that she could pull something off like this; why is she even nervous? 

The nail between her top and bottom teeth snaps, yet another fingernail lost to the unknown anxiousness of the night. The dinner went well, right? She hustled away on the food for a day or two and put the excellent cutlery out—you laughed throughout the night, talked to her, and complimented her. You wanted her opinion on topics, which barely happened to her in the first place! This night was…no, it is a smash, so why did she feel she was doing something wrong? Guilt in the back of her head slowly crept up like the common cold in an elementary school.

Heels clack against the title-checkered floors in the kitchen, and there you were, hand resting on the kitchen door frame, holding an empty wine glass by its stem. Your lipstick smeared onto the clean surface of the rim, and a small liquid of red wine remained in the cup. She didn’t notice you at first, too lost in her turbulent thoughts, till you said something.

“Mary,” you softly say, attracting her attention immediately.

It took her a second to recognize and respond to the name, but Annabeth did.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you; your husband just told me to tell you he’s resigning for the night,” you inform her sluggishly.

“Ah…” She exhales “..bless your heart, you didn’t hafta go through such a fuss just to tell lil’ ol’ me,” the blonde sputters, leaning against the kitchen counter, her bony finger tucking an out-of-place hairpiece behind her ear. “Does he always leave you to wash the dishes without helping ?” You griped, a crease forming between your brows as you set your wine glass on the counter closest to you. “ innit my duty, ya know, as a housewife or something,” she jokes, but you make your way toward her; “at least let me help…it’s the least I could do after you’ve given so much of your hospitality to me.” As you make your way to her, the more of you ingrates itself into all of her senses, the way your perfume smells so divine, the way the summer season has kissed your skin, and the way your lips move, sounding out every word that leaves them. 

The way… 

“Please…” Her soft hands stop you from coming further, the young woman’s voice timid yet light as a feather, “At least let me keep something of my hometown and give ya some southern hospitality. Yer real nice for looking out for me, but I don’t mind it.” She changes the subject so that you can no longer interject. “It’s late out. Do n’tcha got work in the morning, you mentioned earlier.” As if reality hit you, your eyes widened. “Ah! I forgot, gosh, I'm such a ditz; thank you again for your hospitality. You didn’t have to do anything; I really appreciate it.” you say in a hurry, and unbeknownst to you, the woman in front of you is heating up more than the fireplace in the next room. 

“No, thank you! For coming over and entertainin’ me,” She insists while fiddling with her frilly apron nervously. “I’m worried we’ll go on all night in a gratitude cycle if I don’t leave now. I’ll see you soon…I mean, we are neighbours,” you laugh.

“Mhm, I’ll see you…” Annabeth nods 

You smile and thank her again for good measure, then make your way out of the kitchen, but before you leave, you stop at the archway. 

Her breath hitches 

“Before I forget…and feel free to say no since you’ve done enough for me already, but you are the only person I know in this town. I was wondering if you don’t mind helping me with my work; clearly, I'm not a housewife, again, you can say..”

“I would love to!” She exclaims in excitement, “I mean…ahem, I would love to, anything to help,” 

“Then I'll see you soon,” you smile at her; by god, it's radiant.

When she hears the front door close and footsteps fading into the background, she squeals excitedly, having to bite her pointer finger to keep her voice down. She’s downright flush. The colour has finally seeped into her life, and it's like a rainbow after a rainy day; you, you are…you are something. She can tell you’re a great friend.

With newfound enthusiasm, she finishes cleaning the dishes in record time, finally putting down the wet rag before something catches her eye. The wine glass you left is still in the same place as before; she reaches for it and inspects it carefully. Usually, she would’ve washed it right away, but she doesn’t…she just stares at it, almost burning a hole in the damn thing. Yeah…she needs to wash it…dazed she grabs the damp rag near her, but that doesn’t clean the glass. No, her mouth moves without warning as her tongue caresses the rim where your lipstick was once stained. She was taking in the flavour of your lipstick and you, in a way, creating more smudges than there were in the first place.

There was a creak of a bed upstairs, a slight noise that snapped her out of whatever haze she was in, and her fingers twitched. Right, her husband. Her eyes automatically move toward the meat cleaver hanged. No, she changed; she has a new life now…she can’t. She looks down at the wine glass in her hand and bites one of her fingernails.

What is she doing?

And why…is her heart racing again?

She washes the cup but doesn’t put it back in its rightful place; instead, she hides it like a secret treasure. Finally, she resigns for the night, making her way up the stairs, and she hears it again: her husband moving in his sleep, causing the bed frame to creak.

Her fingers twitch involuntarily at her side.

It’s okay, though.

Now she has something to look forward to; she’ll see you soon.

End notes: What?...no! I wasn't gone for.... almost half of the year, hahaha... On a real note, every time I wrote, I felt like it was slop that should be burnt at the stake, but then it hit me last week that I'm literally writing for practice. I'm going to write slop, and that's okay!!! I also felt like I did too much for this fic, so I had to rewrite it so many times. But! in the holiday spirit! I'm back! I tried to write a country accent and input some 50s slang, but I don't know if either worked LOL!!! WATCH Carol (2015)!! Okay, I'll shut up now hehe

[littlemissclandestine]

please please pleaseeee write more soft adler hcs!!!! I'm literally obsessed with your work!!

Soft!Adler Headcanons: (Girl)Dad! Edition Part 1

GIF by h-a-unted

Author's Note: Ahhh! Back at it again. Uni has been kicking me in the balls and I've had writer's and art block argh. This has been in drafts for a while but this post was the catalyst in helping me add more so thank you! I have not proofread so um hope you don't mind guys. I miss my husband. ...And thanks for the ask anon! Gonna make me cry with your comment hehe. I hope this is okay for soft!Adler. I need to get this out. I'm working on the other ask as well with Bell, not sure if it's the same anon. Just gimme some more time. Appreciate you being patient and hope all is good with you <3

Adler was never really big on families. Didn’t see himself as the type of man to fit that stereotypical suburban lifestyle that everyone seemed to crave. Couldn’t even picture himself like that. Well at least not since his ex-wife…

As soon as he found out he was going to be a father, it was like time stopped. So many things going through his mind at once that he struggled to process it. Like those helicopter videos where the blades whir so fast it’s like they’ve frozen. That’s how Adler felt…frozen.

It took him a while to get his head round it. You’d see him randomly staring off into space, his nails digging into the sofa as he scratched at it out of nervousness. He’d sometimes just head out for the day, saying he’ll be back soon but never knew what he’d actually get up to. A walk perhaps. A trip to the bar. Or…walking round a DIY store, choosing the paint he’d use on the walls of the soon-to-be nursery of your home.

Every few weeks, he’d come home with something new. You’d walk in to the nursery while he was out and take it all in, counting down the days until the room was in full use and you’d notice something that wasn’t there before. A new book for the shelf, new clothes in the closet, toys in the basket.

When you gave birth, he was taxiing - he’d just returned to the US on a jet after another intense and gruelling operation he’s been sent on. He raced over in a cab all the way to the hospital, ringing around and receiving calls from your family too. His mind was all over the place as he approached reception, trying to stay calm as he asked which ward you were in but the apprehension was too much. There weren’t a lot of things that made Adler anxious but this most certainly was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of his entire life to date.

As soon as he walked in, his stomach dropped, his shoulders relaxed and he exhaled, a sigh of relief that everything was okay. He immediately gave you a hug and a kiss to the forehead, an unspoken promise to make it up to you for not being there during the birth.

When you asked him if he wanted to hold her, he just blinked at you for a few moments as if you said the stupidest thing in the world. He took a deep, shaky breath as he reached out and took her with a nod, his hands shaking slightly. Adjusting her, making sure her head and spin was supported adequately in his arms, he just watched her with pure adoration in his eyes as a small smile crept onto his lips. Tears threatening to fall from his eyes, he turned around to look out the window, pretending to check on your car when in actual fact he just needed a moment to compose himself, taking a couple deep breaths and clearing his throat, overwhelmed with the feeling of not deserving this kind of joy after all of the things he’s done in his career. -> “God, she’s uh beyond beautiful, honey. Just like you.”

At home, you’d often find him shirtless. In the lounge, he’d be on his back as he plays with his daughter on the sofa, holding her up in the air and bringing her back down to rub his nose over her belly, making her giggle and raising her again. Sometimes, you’d find him just wandering the house with her - her thumb in her mouth and head on his chest as he carried her with one arm under her bottom, an occasional kiss to the head as he reached for something from the fridge with the other hand. Other times, he’d be reading in bed with her cuddled up and her head on his shoulder, softly snoring into his neck. Skin-to-skin contact was extra important for him.

He’d often sing to her or put on a baby voice as he played with her, something he’d only do when totally alone, unaware you were secretly watching him and when she reached up and touched his scar, it would always make him melt

Adler’s the type of dad to treat his daughter to pretty much anything she wants. He’s keen not to spoil her but when she looks up at him like she does, he can’t say no, almost every single time. His daughter would run to him when others would deny her things such as supermarket items, fizzy drinks at a family dinner or party or time at the park. He’d hand her whatever it is when someone isn’t looking and give her a side smile and a wink. -> “Just don’t tell your mom, kid.”

He notices that she tends to fixate on his sunglasses a lot, smacking them on the floor, touching the lenses and leaving grubby marks over them and although he’d scream internally, he dealt with it calmly and bought her her own pair throughout the years so they could twin.

Ah yes twinning! Same shirt? Same watch? Certainly. He finds it cute.

Adler would most certainly give in when it comes to pranks. In fact, he’d go out of his way to help his daughter prank his s/o, giving the kid a fist bump when it goes off without a hitch and you end up drenched in slime. -> “Slime suits you, darlin’!”

Russell owns a cap saying “Girl Dad” on it and wears it proudly around the house or as he pushes the pram or holds his daughter’s hand.

Whenever he crosses roads with his daughter, he’ll hold her hand. When she was young, he did that thing where he holds one hand and his s/o holds the other and they lift their kid up and lower them again repeatedly.

When putting her in the car, he’d be a responsible parent and put her in and take her out of the side on the pavement and not the road

He’d be super protective of his daughter, having ‘the talk’ when she hits that phase of her life and being serious about it. He wouldn’t let her wear crop tops, skirts and shorts until she was at least around 21 years of age. 

If he finds her messing with a boy home alone, you best believe that boy would be scared shitless of even being within 100 miles of Adler or his daughter ever again. No guns were involved but Russell was stern as fuck with him as he knows exactly what boys are like at that age. -> “Absolute fucking horndogs,” he says as he slams the front door closed and then points to the lounge and clicks his fingers. “You, in there. Now. Come on.”

When his daughter told him about a father-daughter dance coming up, his heart sank because he knew he’d be away at that time. He made up for it by taking her out and letting her dress up, Russell bringing home a beautiful necklace for her to wear and putting it on her. They’d talk and laugh about all sorts as they dance together and have a little catch up.

He definitely worries about her a lot and constantly questions himself. Is he doing enough? Is she happy? Will she end up like him? What if she ends up despising him when she eventually finds out what he does for a living?

But when she does? She’s more interested than he thought she’d be. He’d be sitting next to her in bed, reading her a story as she’s cuddled up by his side and she’d suddenly get bored, saying she wants another story about his army days instead. He tries his hardest to suppress his smile but it grows wider and they end up talking about his experiences until they both fall asleep together with Russell oversleeping and running late for work in the morning.

They’d often go stargazing together and get back home at a late hour. They’d lie on the roof of his car or on the grass together, pointing out constellations and talking about life. Russell would be tired the next morning at work but it’s okay because it was worth it to spend more time with his daughter

When he’d have to go away, it always hurt him but he was so used to compartmentalising and turning off that emotional part of him, he just got on with it, albeit carrying a little bracelet with beads that spell out ‘daddy’ she made for him for his birthday and in return? You guessed it, she got his dog tags. When he was alone at night halfway across the globe, he’d take it out and kiss it, his eyes closing, remembering her, wondering what she's doing and aching to see her and hug her again.

When she got older, her interest in his job peaked and she’d ask for lessons in shooting and hand-to-hand. Adler was hesitant at first but eventually gave in, thinking self defense was a good thing for a woman to learn of course. Frequent trips to a shooting range and setting up the back garden as a training area for close quarters combat? Hell yes.

Russell would teach his daughter how to drive too. -> “Yeah that’s it sweetheart. Now brake..no i said BRAKE…BRAAAKE! Ah shit, your mother’s going to kill me.”

He was also worried one day, his family would be a target so made it his mission to get them trained up too. Nobody really knew he had a family though. They wouldn’t go to very public spots and they assumed different identities so they weren’t tied to him.

He tends not to keep any photos of him and his family up on the walls in the house or in his wallet due to safety concerns

Adler secretly loves it when his daughter hooks onto his arm as they walk. It makes him all warm and fuzzy inside but he’d never admit that, smiling to himself before clearing his throat. -> “You wanna head down over there, kid? Nice view?”

He loves carrying her on his shoulders, her legs dangling and hands in his hair. -> “Careful with the hair up there, princess.” 

Some days, he’ll come back from work and find his daughter in the living room with a bunch of his clothes on. He’d try to stop himself from laughing at her but would fail miserably because it swallows her. Her impression of him wants to make him cry. -> “I do not speak like that nor do I stand like that. Is that a cigarette?! Gimme that!”

Don’t worry, she didn’t light it and Russell doesn’t smoke inside anymore, only outside. As soon as he sees his daughter, it goes out, even when she’s older.

When she clings to his leg as he walks, he rolls his eyes and smiles. -> “What are you doing there, kid? Come here, doll.” A grunt as he picks her up and kisses her cheek. “Better?” He smiles when she nods at him, knowing she just needs comfort right now and misses him when she’s gone.

He’s not usually one for the emotional talks but he’d try his best not to just dismiss her and send her off to her mother. He’d let her talk about her troubles and cry if need be, giving her a side hug as they sit on the edge of her bed and a kiss to her temple. -> “Okay and what are you gonna do about it, sweetheart? Remember how we said when things get tough, we don’t give up?”

Adler can do pep talks and offer practical advice to his daughter whenever she needs it. He’d take off his shades or look over the rim of them when what he was about to say was serious talk.

Russell tried his best not to call home when on missions, not wanting to let anything distract him. There were times he needed to hear his daughter’s voice though. Like when he’d been battered and bruised, half-dead on the floor in an alleyway, blood dripping down his face and hands and into the puddles as it rained. He pulled out his burner and closed his eyes, rolling onto his back as he heard her voice, tears mixing with the rain hitting his face. -> “I love you, sweetheart. Daddy’s coming home soon, okay?” He’d have to hold the phone away for a few moments, trying not to sob and his voice shaky. “And I’m taking you to that place you wanted to go to. Tell mommy to pack your bags, alright?”

He’d never been so scared of death before now that he had a family but he knew he had to pull through and make it back and he always did.

Life had completely changed for Russell when his daughter was born and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He’d do anything to protect her. 

[sinsandsweetness]

drunk tank- part 2

cw- vulgar language, drug and alcohol use, slight angst and pining for the reader, references to sexual acts. about 2.6k words that aren’t proofread:/ sorry loves.

notes- i started writing and i don’t know what happened. hopefully you guys don’t hate it? way more plot than i intended but… much smutty goodness to come, i promise (no pun intended)

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! i live for your feedback and love hearing your opinions <3

Fuck.

You don’t even want to look around the house. You already know it’s gonna be a fucking mess. You can hear it. Feel it. Hell, you can smell it. Booze and weed and sex. Sweaty bodies packed into a 3 bedroom trailer on the wrong side of town. Coke on the bathroom counter that’ll have you wishing you’d never let Merle move in in the first place.

You stop at the end of the driveway, wondering whether you should even go in. Or if you should get back in the taxi and tell him to take you away and never come back. Go work at some diner in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. Leave everyone else behind.

But Daryl’s face flashes through your mind. You can’t do that to him. Not after all he’s been through.

Growing up with the Dixons was a bit of a challenge. Merle being well… Merle. You and Daryl always ending up in some kind of dangerous and even disturbing situation. Creeps who smelled of Jack Daniel’s, with wandering hands and no sense of personal space. Having to put on a smile for Merle who desperately needed to finish the deal before you could even think about sneaking off to the truck. You were leverage. Sometimes even Daryl. Though you knew he hated it. Fried hair, rotting teeth, meth head bitches who thought he was trash enough to stoop that low. He wasn’t. Or at least he didn’t want to be.

You should go inside and find him. Get him to drive you to Shane’s to spend the night. It’s not like you’ll get any sleep tonight with this ruckus going on. Not after the shift you just had. And you’ve learned to really love Shane’s middle class, suburban townhouse with a California king and a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. It was… different. Unfamiliar. A perfect little escape from the chaos of your typical day to day life. Of your piece of shit trailer that’s already falling apart and definitely wouldn’t pass a health inspection no matter what kind of construction worker you were to hook up with.

Besides, Shane was a good fuck. Not that that’s all that matters in a relationship. It’s not. Merle was a good fuck too. You’re not that hard to please. But Shane is sexy. Charismatic. He treats you like a Princess. And honestly… as much as Daryl makes fun of you for it… you’re starting to really like him. He pays for meals. Takes you out. Isn’t afraid to show you off or introduce you to his friends. And, the biggest part; he’s safe. Steady. A fucking cop for Christ sake. So much different than the guys you’ve been with before. You weren’t at risk of any stray needles or guns when you stayed at his place. The only gun he kept at home stayed locked up in his office and is used strictly for emergencies.

And his sheets are clean and his fridge is full and his best friend is a hunk who happens to be going through some minor marital issues that you can’t say you’re not excited about. For once in your life, things are starting to look up.

Well… not from where you’re standing. Dreading the pounding bass and music that you can already hear pouring out of the windows. Praying that Merle had the decency to lock your bedroom door, but it was unlikely. You pulled a blanket over his passed out body on the couch before you left for work, so the likelihood of him remembering what you gently whispered in his ear was extremely slim.

Be safe. Lock my door. Don’t do anything stupid.

He clearly hadn’t heard you. Or if he did, he didn’t listen. Because the sounds and smells coming from the house as you walk barefoot on the gravel with your heels in your hand are proving to be the latter.

The door is open. Coats and purses thrown about. Stares from the girl and the guy flirting away in the front entrance. Red solo cups in their hands presumably filled with whatever the cheapest keg that your ex could find at the value liquor across the diner. At least that’s what you have to assume. Cheap beer. Sticky and sweaty and- holy shit.

It’s Daryl. On the couch, with a girl.

It’s no surprise that he’s over. It’s not like he has any other place to stay.

It’s the girl on his lap that has you stopping in your tracks. Bright blonde hair and fishnets straddling his thigh. Blowing smoke onto his, thankfully, annoyed and unimpressed expression. She’s almost naked. That’s why you’re so shocked. It’s not like Daryl has ever had an issue getting with girls. But the fact that her skirt looks like a belt and there aren’t even any panties under her tights… well It’s just… a bit of an eye sore if you were honest.

He catches your gaze. The sight of you rolling your eyes at the pathetic little show in front of you. Turning down the hallway and knowing he’s probably already shoving her off and jogging to catch up right behind you. Down the hall and to your room where you’re unsurprisingly forced to kick a couple of sleeping stoners out of your bed. At least they still have their clothes on. Most of them anyway.

“Who was that?” You ask, not turning around but hearing the door latch and lock behind you. Daryl’s smokey, leather scent coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

He knows better.

“No one,” he mumbles into your neck, his breath smelling of the rum and coke he chugged and threw to the side before chasing you down the hall.

You can’t help the way you shake him off. He’s drunk for Christ’s sake. Not like he didn’t have a warm and willing body out there on the sofa. Probably desperate to get any of her slutty holes filled and fucked by your childhood best friend.

You slump down onto the bed. Unmade and definitely not from you. The thought makes you wince.

You run a hand over your face and think about the clean smell of pine sol and laundry detergent that now reminds you of the handsome, dark haired officer you’ve recently gotten to know.

Daryl sits down beside you. A nervous tic in his hands as he picks at his cuticle. Unsure of what to say or what to do. It’s not like he should feel bad. He was right, she is no one to him. He won’t even remember her name in the morning. But he still feels a twang of guilt. Wishing you hadn’t seen her string covered cunt grinding on his thigh in the middle of the living room.

“Where are the keys to the Chevy?” You ask, ending the awkward silence brewing between the two of you.

“No way.”

“I’m sober, Dare. There’s no way I can sleep here. Plus I work a double in the morning. Just hand em over.” You turn to face him. He sees the bags under your eyes and knows he should just hand them over. Let you get some beauty rest in officer Walshes big and beautiful bed. Where he’ll be sure to fuck you right tonight and make you a delicious breakfast in the morning before sending you off with a kiss and tap on your perky little ass. But that’s also exactly the reason why he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be the one sharing your bed tonight. He wants to make you some scrambled eggs in the morning and drop you off at the diner. Him. Not some asshole cop that fucked you right in front of him at the station a month ago. Hard and fast and really fucking good. By the sounds you were making and the twisted look of pleasure written on your face, it was good. And even Daryl could see that.

“Stay here. Please.” Daryl's hand makes Its way to your thigh.

“Daryl-”

“Don’t. Don’t fuckin- don’t leave.” He’s pleading with you. Can’t stand the thought of you moaning and writhing underneath his burly competition.

“Please.” His voice cracks but you pretend not to hear.

You shake your head. You need a shot. And an Advil.

“I’ll just call Shane.” You reach for your bag, ready to wake the poor guy up to come grab you from the trailer you refuse to let him enter, let alone see. Guess you gotta deal with it tonight.

“Fine- hey-“ he reached for your bag. Stopping you from grabbing the phone you’re rummaging for. “I’ll drive you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I had one drink. Seriously. Look at me.” You do it. Maintaining the heavy eye contact that’s burning into your irises. He’s telling the truth. You can see it. The way he’s holding your leg and the expression on his face. He’s always been a terrible liar.

“Okay. Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, hushed and you know you sound like a bitch. But you’re just really fucking tired.

He pulls you by the hand the whole way out to the door. Dodging the blondie from the couch and pushing your ex out of the way when he sees you, wide eyed and calling your name. Pupils blown and clearly coked out. Part of the reason he’s your ex. Among a plethora of other reasons you’d rather not get in to.

Merle’s truck sounds like shit. Stuttering a few times before it roars to life. A weird clicking from the glove box that you’re just too tired to check out. Smokes and a used condom thrown about the passenger side floor. Unsurprising but still disgusting.

You grab your phone and send Shane a text. Making sure it’s actually ok that you do crash for the night. Not that he’d ever say no. But you want to be polite.

Mind if I swing by? A bit crowded at mine.

It only takes him a few stoplights to answer.

Of course, Princess. You need a ride?

You answer immediately. Thumbs tapping fast on the tiny little buttons of your blackberry.

Nope:) 5 mins away.

Perfect. See you soon gorgeous

You can’t help the smile creeping up on your expression. Curling on your glossy lips and catching the attention of your best friend in the drivers seat.

“Pfft-” he rolls his eyes, turning the corner a little sharper than you’d like.

“Oh, shut it.” You snap back. Daryl has never liked any of your boyfriends. You don’t blame him. Most of them were real pieces of shit. Using you for your body. Your money. Not that you had much to spare.

Merle and you never dated. Just a couple drunk hookups that you didn’t enjoy.

Daryl never liked that either. Knowing his brother had seen the most sacred parts of you. Touched you and held you and watched your eyes screw shut as you came all over his cock.

Daryl wishes he could be the only one who’s ever seen that. The only one who knows the sounds you make when you’re close and the way you’re breath hitches when he kisses that spot on your stomach. It fucking kills him. Thinking about you gripping Shane’s dark hair while he discovers that same exact same spot. Going lower and lower until you’re squirming and writhing and-

“Dare?” You repeat. Grabbing the attention of the scowling young man who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s about to fly away from him.

“Huh?”

“You missed the turn.”

“Shit, sorry.”

He circles around and shifts into park. Right across the street. The tree in Shane’s yard blocking the light from the front porch.

“Thanks,” you say dryly while reaching for the door handle. Ready to crawl into a warm bed. One where the only sound that enters your ears is the crickets in the backyard and the soft inevitable snoring from the handsome deputy holding you nice and close.

“Wait, just-” Daryl’s hand grabs your shoulder and pulls you pack. Snaking His hand around the back of your neck and crashing his lips against yours. Leaned right over the middle console to pull you in even closer. Tongue tracing your lips and deepening the kiss. The faint taste of tobacco and the familiar warmth of his mouth clouds your judgment. Kissing him back despite your relatively steady and semi-serious fling waiting for you on the other side of the red door across the street.

You pull away, eyes still closed and resting your forehead against his.

“Dare…”

“It’s fine.” He whispers. Nose nudging your own as he connects your lips for one last kiss that lingers just a couple seconds too long. A pained, broken look in his ocean eyes passes through when you finally pull away and scowl.

“Don’t. You can’t- you don’t get to do that.”

His jaw clenches and you’re sure he wants to spit some petty ass insult at you. Years of daddy issues and unresolved anger issues catching up to him with every little argument that crosses his path. But he finds it in himself to bite it back. Well not entirely. Just… a little less vulgar.

“Wear a condom,” he sneers, pulling away and falling back against the headrest. A deep sigh leaving his lungs as he chews on the inside of his lip. Already regretting his comment both due to the sheer cruelty of it but also because of the subtle admission of jealousy that he would fucking kill to have flown right above your head. It doesn’t. But the crimson painting his cheeks tells you he really fucking wishes it would. So for his sake, you ignore it and mutter a goodbye as you hop out and shut the car door. Heels clacking on the cement while you make your way to the front porch. Duffel bag in hand and a flutter of butterflies starting to swarm around in your belly.

You don’t even have to knock before the door opens and you’re met with the scent of a musky cologne and those beautiful brown eyes looking you up and down. Plaid pajama pants and a clean black tee shirt pulling you in for a quick embrace as he eyes the old Chevy still idling across the street, Daryl inside, ensuring you actually made it into the house.

“Hey, beautiful,” Shane kisses your cheek. Eyes still fixed on the man gazing over from the tinted truck window.

With a strong, guiding palm on the small of your back, you brush past the officer and head on in. Giving him a moment to set the alarm and lock the door behind you. Oblivious of the way Shane decides to wave at Daryl. Sending him a silent thank you for dropping you off all safe and sound. And maybe a very slight reminder of what he’s about to do to you as soon as that door closes.

And though he doesn’t see it, whether it’s from the tint of the truck or the clouds blocking the moon in the middle of the night, Daryl waves back. A pained, stomach dropping, shaky little wave that he didn’t even really want to return.

Daryl drives home as it starts to rain. Windshield wipers scraping on the cracked glass in front of him as his mind wanders, thinking about how nice it would be to stay in one of the nice, picket fence, suburban homes you’ve always wanted. Thinking about you in a big backyard, sipping on some white wine with a chunky little toddler on your hip. Your husband flipping some burgers and talking to the neighbors about football or the weather or the preschool you’ve been scouting.

It hurts his heart that in his little daydream, it’s not him who’s standing there barbecuing on that deck. It’s not him making small talk with your coworkers or reaching for the babbling little kid in your arms, asking for his daddy.

It’s Shane.

And for a split second, even though it physically hurts his heart. He knows that Shane can give that to you. And that, that simple little revelation is the whole reason he knows why he needed to wave back.

-

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[afternoondreaming]

No Business Like Show Business (2/?)

Back at it again with the white Vans! (Does- Does anyone remember that? Am I getting too old?) Aaaanyways, we’re slowly gettin’ into it now! It began to get a bit too long, so Mr. Funny will just have to explain his shenanigans next time. Also, just letting ya’ll know, this is probably gonna be canon divergent. And I swear it’s gonna get funnier dw. You’re just a bit of a stick-in-the-mud right now.

The taxi you had hailed all the way out here skidded its tires slightly as it sped off. It had been a surprisingly long drive over to Puzzlevision— and an odd one, at that. You lived far away, and so as not to get sick, you avoided using your cell on the drive. It gave you ample time to watch the scenery, which seemed to gradually change the closer you got. Almost imperceptibly everything around you got more… Saturated. Colors showing brighter, eventually becoming almost painful to the eyes. It was reminiscent of color correction for TV, but why in the world would that be a natural effect?

You were aware that the world contained- for lack of a better phrase- an interesting cast of characters. Creatures of all shapes and sizes roaming about. You, however, lived in a painfully average area. Typical sights, typical people, and typical suburban antics. So far removed from the more fanatical aspects of life. Sure, you’d seen the occasional toad around town, but that was as exotic as it got. If even the nature around here was exceptionally strange, what would the people be like…?

That was another strange aspect you were noticing as you stood with your portfolio in the parking lot. There were no cars. No bikes. No sign of any human being inhabiting the studio that stood before you. Even the painted parking lines were noticeably faded, asphalt cracking and heaving from lack of care. You had the right address, you knew that. And you were certainly well within business hours. So where was everyone? With hesitant steps you began to walk to the entrance, fiddling with your portfolio and outfit with much more than pre-interview jitters. At the very least, you had told Tori where you were going, and your phone location was on. If you truly needed it, you could get someone to help you… Hopefully.

You let out a calming exhale before opening the door. Which quickly backfired, as the motion kicked up a huge cloud of dust. Sputtering out coughs you waved your hand in front of you to try to clear the air. Was this truly an abandoned building? As you got a better look, you became more assured of that thought. All of the furniture was dated and caked in a thick layer of dust. Though, you did notice a pair of footprints on the floor. Marking what must have been a frequently trodden path. What had you gotten yourself into? You turned heel, beginning to walk out so you could call a cab home. Suddenly your movement was halted by a heavy hand coming down on your shoulder. You couldn’t help the sound of surprise that escaped your mouth, jumping slightly and turning to see whomever it was. Slowly your gaze went up, up, up… Oh God. This man was towering! You liked to consider yourself of average height, and even then, your gaze would meet his midsection if you didn’t crane your neck.

A TV’s glow was what met your gaze, a neutral expression displayed upon it. So… He really was a television. Seeing him in interviews a couple of times, you weren’t exactly shocked. But… It was still slightly jarring in person. Everything about him but his color testing bars were in grayscale, like he stepped out of the classic silver screen. Rather fitting, you supposed. “Uh, hello? Puzzlevision to interviewee? I asked you a question.” The man ‘spoke’, if you could call it that, picture flipping to something akin to confusion.

You quickly corrected your agape expression, straightening your posture. “Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I guess I was a bit star struck…!” You laughed awkwardly, trying not to be stiff as a board. He removed his hand from your shoulder, striking a confident pose. He moved… oddly. It wasn’t fluid, but certainly exaggerated.

“Aha! Of course you were!” He looked awfully pleased with himself, yet surprised at the same time. “Your call for employment was answered by the one and only: Mr. Puzzles!” The titular Mr. Puzzles held the pose for a moment longer before returning to a neutral stance and face.

“Uh, yeah…” Mumbling, you reached out your hand for a handshake. Looks like flattery would get you pretty far here. If you didn’t hold yourself to higher standards, perhaps you’d use that to your advantage. “Still, my apologies. Lemme introduce myself, I’m-“

“Yes, yes, I know who you are, my rising star!” He interrupted you, turning around without shaking your extended hand as he began to walk. Apparently, he just expected you to follow. “I sent you a response, after all!”

“Wait-“ You started, beginning to speed walk in order to keep up with the long legged man. “I’m not a new actor…! I got a letter for the screenwriter position!” Was he getting a whole new staff?

“Again- I’ll repeat myself- I know.” Mr. Puzzles responded, his voice crackling with a flamboyant sarcasm. “I only hired a screenwriter- no actors. I just find your name lacking a certain… star power, is all!” …Had he just played a laugh track for his own joke? You found yourself frowning behind his back as you followed him. “It's terribly drab, my friend!” The man opened the door to another dusty room, gesturing for you to step inside just as you made yourself look less annoyed. “For someone like yourself? You need a title worthy of someone working at Puzzlevision~! You’ve headed multiple successful projects, but never having done so on your own. Someone with talent, but not successful enough to avoid being poached!” This was beginning to feel more insulting by the second. “Therefore! A rising star, an up-and-coming powerhouse, a starlet!”

“Now, wait a moment.” Hesitantly you spoke up as you began to sit down on the terribly dusty chair. There goes the dry cleaning fee you paid. “You’re right. I have headed multiple successful projects. But, screenwriters don’t work alone. I would’ve never done that because that’s not how it works.”

“Well, you’ll have to start now, because that’s how it works at Puzzlevision!” Mr. Puzzles sat across from you, unbothered by dust or grime as he crossed a leg and leaned one elbow on the table. “Besides having my expert guidance and leadership, Starlet, you’ll be working entirely by yourself!”

…Huh?

[dogpastra]

hi guys. heres my opening and also my first submission to the modern prometheus au

In the dark, the cold and empty street was washed pale by the reflections in the ice and snow. It gave plenty enough to see, and Pastra didn’t intend to stick around in more than one place for too long with the chill already seeping into their legs.

They shivered, the Clyde hood already covering their head, but in this weather, a jacket wouldn’t be able to withstand the cold all night. Their arms folded up to their body to keep just a little warmer as they scanned farther down for signs of location.

The place was jarring, to say the least. Last they were aware of, it was June. Why was it January here and now? It was just them, the cold, and-

“Well! I don’t suppose you have any bright ideas for how to get out of this mess, hmm?”

Right, Lankmann. Their static-voiced companion and creation had followed them, which was, all things considered, a good thing. Probably. Pastra let out a sigh, “No, Lankmann, I don’t. Unless you have something other than calling a taxi to a hotel or something, in the middle of the night, with the roads frozen over this bad.”

“I could use you as a sled!”

“Try again,” They said through a smile.

“Okay, seriously this time, you un-conjure whatever this place is, and we go back to the nice, cozy interior of our house.”

“My house.”

“Close enough.”

“And- I don’t think I brought us here? I thought that was you!”

Lankmann paused, a puzzled expression taking shape on his face. “No? Why would I do that? I’ve got your bills I need to pay, and this terrible conundrum is in the way of that!” He leaned in towards the other as they walked the icy path, “And, frankly, I don’t like ending up in places that aren’t home-shaped.”

Pastra looked past Lankmann’s toothed grimace, their attention caught by the houses and environment along the street.

“So! What does someone do when they are inexplicably tossed to the suburban wastelands?”

“Check the street signs,” Pastra said under their breath, before going on aloud, “Look, the signs. That’s- this is Elk Crescent street! We’re in the actual Dreams Of An Insomniac!”

“So I was right about you conjuring it.”

“No- well, maybe? Point is, this street, this town, I know this town. I made it. So, there should be a gas station up along Main Street that we can make a pit stop at, and from there, we might be able to…” They trailed off, for a moment.

“Able to what?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking. We don’t know what year it is- if it was June before, but it’s still January here, the difference might not just be in the month, but the year, too. And if it’s January, it might be…Either before or after the Wilsons get attacked by Clyde. Which means, there might be an empty house nearby, if we can get to it. Closer than the gas station, too. I think I never had it actually sold with anyone moving in after, so…”

Lankmann frowned. “Oh, god. Don’t even think of that mascot being around, you might manifest it. It’s annoying as-is, we don’t need its canon-counterpart stalking us.”

“I’ll try not to,” Pastra smiled.

“Quick, imagine the town completely emptied!”

“I don’t know if that’s how it works?”

“Make it happen. It’s your town.”

“Clyde hunts parties of 6, or on a day or time that lines up with the number 6, usually. There’s only two of us, and it’s more likely to target people who are weak or alone, as to not draw attention-”

“What did I just say?!”

Pastra laughed, and continued down the street towards a vacant home, as the sharp air caused them to shiver once more, with Lankmann following close behind.

[loki-wants-an-army]

spn and pjo might actually work as a crossover- a brief essay

Percy Jackson and Supernatural would actually make a decent crossover- both having that early 2000s, road trip Americana vibe mixed with myths and monsters of the week. Dean and Sam would freak the hell out. Percy and Annabeth would be sassy and suspicious as shit.

Annabeth wouldn't know about them, having spent most of her life on the run and then sequestered at camp, but it's entirely possible Percy or maybe even Grover might've seen Dean and Sam's mugshots somewhere or something. Percy can't be too quick to judge based on that alone considering his own dodgy record, but still it does warrant concern.

Imagine- from the Winchesters' end it sounds like there's weirdly consistent descriptions tied to rumors of kids disappearing or involved in almost inexplicable altercations. From the kids' perspective it's running into weird guys who seem to be a little too aware of the things most people ignore with the mist, while they're on an important quest away from camp.

They could bump into each other a few different times on the road before either one group finally decides to confront the other, or they end up in the same battle. Maybe the brothers save them in a fight, maybe it's the other way around and the kids (especially Annabeth) end up doing the rescuing instead. I don't know, it could be interesting and funny both ways. Let's just say they take turns.

Or alternatively, maybe the halfbloods just happen to pull up to some random town diner or motel, near flat broke and at least a little bloody, running from a monster the Winchesters also happen to be tracking, or vice-versa you could have the brothers arrive somewhere chasing a monster the kids happen to already be running from, and the conversation starts from there, with Sam leading with a few careful questions.

Naturally, when he realizes they're the direct target of the attacks and that it'll probably continue that way if not get worse, Dean frets over them even more, because he's a good guy like that, and then he accidentally ends up semi-adopting the gang, or at the very least reluctantly cross-country taxi driving this group of insanely powerful but scary young demigods (and a satyr)- who apparently have superpowers and their own magic weapons made of a special monster-killing celestial bronze- he should see about adding that to the arsenal- while Sam asks all kinds of questions about Greek monsters and the gods, updating and expanding on his notes, initial enthusiasm quickly tempered by increasing alarm.

They can also bond by angsting over shitty parents, hell knows Dean would immediately cave and take them all under his wing for that alone.

I think it could be an interesting parallel between the hunters and the hunted. Both tormented by monsters and unable/unwilling to give up the fight, and in Sam's case he could also relate to the whole "being haunted by visions" thing. I also imagine Percy and Annabeth's flaws of unwavering loyalty and pride respectively might make an interesting match with the themes of Supernatural. Plus I'm a sucker for found family tropes that follow their own unique dynamics and don't try to just mirror a weird, idealized, suburban nuclear family unit.

edit: Oh! Also Dean hates airplanes and Percy can't do flying because of the whole Zeus wanting to kill him thing

[anonsally]

Day 5 in Chile: Cerro San Cristobal and errands

Not every day on vacation can be great.

Neither of us slept well, and breakfast was partly good (homemade yogurt and plum jam!) but partly very disappointing for Wife (the water for her tea wasn't hot enough to really steep the tea as strong as she wanted, and she doesn't function well without tea in the morning). We compensated by going to get her an ice cream as soon as we left the ho(s)tel.

Unfortunately, that meant that by the time we made it to the funicular, the clear sky was starting to get a bit cloudy. I worried about whether we would be able to see the Andes well. Then we struggled to figure out how to buy the right tickets and had to wait in a long line.

Still, it wasn't a total loss at all: we eventually got to ride a really long funicular to (nearly) the top of the hill. (I love funiculars, as you may have noticed!) Once up, we admired spectacular views in every direction, including the city and most of the surrounding mountains, though some of the Andes were clouded in. We went up to the shrine at the top to look at the views, and I also identified some eared doves (quite similar to our mourning doves). [oh! From the ho(s)tel room, I had managed to get a good look at and identify the monk parakeets I'd been hearing and glimpsing occasionally since our arrival in Chile.]

When we'd had enough, we took the teleférico (cable car/gondola) down a different side of the hill, and enjoyed more great views. At the bottom, we weren't sure how to get anywhere, but luckily a taxi happened to pull up right then so we hailed it.

That was where our luck ran out. We wanted to go to a fancier shopping area to find Wife a good backpack, and the taxi did take us there, but it turned out he only accepted cash. We had just enough cash to pay him... only then he wouldn't take the 10,000 CLP bill because it was slightly torn! So in the end we gave him $10 (USD) for that part of the fare. We couldn't get any of the bank machines in the mall to work so we still don't have any Chilean cash.

Lunch at the mall took ages and was a bit of a fiasco but did eventually revive us, and we managed to buy the backpack wife needed. But by then we'd basically spent all afternoon at a suburban mall, which is not how I would have preferred to spend my vacation. Anyway, we did manage (albeit very incompetently) to get a fare card for the metro (they did accept the torn bill -- phew!); we then took the metro back to our neighborhood.

We were demoralised about how much of the day had been lost, but we went to GAM (the Centro Gabriela Mistral) and found a free art exhibition of abstract paintings by Eduardo Martínez Bonati. That was nice and cheered us up. We came back to the ho(s)tel and rested a little, then had a pisco sour in the ho(s)tel bar before walking to a different neighborhood for dinner.

Tomorrow we have to be up early for a wine tour. I'll be glad to get out of the city for the day.

[northerntaxis]

Exploring Melbourne Made Easy: Finding the Perfect taxi near me

A Melbourne taxi driver is more than just a driver; he is also a guide. They really know the best coffee joints, the hole-in-the-wall gems, and the shortcuts to avoid the traffic jams. If you want to know where, late at night, you can find something to eat in the CBD, ask your friendly taxi near Melbourne driver for recommendations, and you will not be disappointed. Useful Suggestions for Choosing the Right taxi near Melbourne: There are many taxi services to choose from in Melbourne. But how do you find the right one? Here are a few tips: 1. Use reliable apps. These apps will connect you with licensed taxis. Apart from connecting you with a taxi near me, they offer estimated fares and driver details. 2. Stands Taxi stands in Melbourne are located at train stations, near shopping centers, and other prime tourist spots. When you are not sure where to find a taxi near Melbourne, stop at the stands and let someone help you. 3. Book in Advance If you intend to travel to the airport in Melbourne or have an event where you need to be elsewhere, it is best to book your taxi in advance; it will guarantee you do not have to wait. Many services allow you to book your pickup, so a taxi near me is always a phone call away. Beyond the Melbourne City Center Melbourne is not all about the CBD. You need to check out the suburbs &mdash;a must for anyone, from St Kilda beach-listed to Fitzroy, some with art. A taxi near Melbourne will allow you to go to these places on your own time. Unlike public transport that usually operates on fixed schedules, with a taxi, the adventures are all yours. Are you interested in going on a day trip to Yarra Valley for some wine tasting? Look no further than taxi near me. You will have the freedom to enjoy your trip without worrying about your return after one (or two) glasses of Pinot Noir. The Future of Taxis in Melbourne A city bound to keep on growing in years to come; so does the taxi service. Sourcing a taxi near Melbourne has become even easier and more environmentally friendly with sustainable choices, hybrid vehicles, and advanced bookings of sorts. So whether it's solo travelers, traveling families, or hardworking professionals rushing for a meeting, the future of taxis in Melbourne is all about making your journeys smooth, safe, and enjoyable to some degree. Final Thoughts You definitely do not want to waste time sorting out transport in a city as bustling as Melbourne. From winding through the lanes to arriving at a grand function, finding a taxi near me will assure that your plans do not diverge. Next time you plan a trip to Melbourne, be sure to include taxis in your transportation mix. They're not merely a ride &mdash;they're your vehicle through which to enjoy Melbourne in comfort and style. May the city take you by surprise and let your taxi near Melbourne take you there effortlessly!

[barbwritesstuff]

aghhh love the uncomfortable distressing horrifying ickiness of parent MC shoving the child away when their thirst reacts to holding them. brutal, awful, tragic. think I'll seek comfort in the more manageable tragedy of my divorcee MC being taken pity on my their uber driver lmao

The taxi driver watching this broke, undead-looking weirdo having a messy breakup with their spouse on a suburban street:

[seat-safety-switch]

A couple days ago, I was walking home. This isn’t an unusual phenomenon for me: I store a variety of transportation methods inside my car, so that when the car bonks out I don’t have to walk all the way home. However, I got doubly unlucky this time, and the decrepit skateboard I was using lost a wheel. When you’re out for a walk through an endless sprawl of suburban hell, your mind wanders. What’s our place in the universe? Is there life after death? Holy shit, a mint 1996 Geo Metro.

I couldn’t stop myself from walking over. There, in the middle of what were putatively normal peoples’ homes, was a green-and-rust Metro. And it didn’t even look that bad, either. Some quick inspection revealed that the front suspension was, indeed, still attached to the body. And it was a stick-shift, the transmission choice of the gods themselves. It was only then that I noticed the house was for sale. Maybe they’d want to get rid of the car, too. After all, garages were expensive, and the departure of their vehicle would give them a reason to move closer to the inner-city, where I’m told things like “buses” and “taxis” existed.

The next day (believe me, it was hard to wait, but my phone also stopped working due to being a 1998-era Ericsson bag phone with a 24-volt marine battery attached, and I left it in the car rather than carry it home) I called the realtor In Charge Of All This. She sounded confused. She wasn’t selling any Geo Metro, she stammered, presumably signalling to her coworkers to call the police. After a few minutes of explanation, she agreed, grudgingly, to provide my contact information to the folks selling their house.

I never got a call back on that one. Which is just as well, because that afternoon I broke down in an entirely different place (transmission cooler exploded, and not in the cool way) and had to hoof it back. That’s where I found a 1968 Fury III in what I would consider “existent” condition. I was really excited to buy that one, too, until I noticed that I already owned it. At least driving it home saved me some wear and tear on my shoes.

[k1ngk1t]

Went to Europe for the first time (and a foreign country as well) back in the middle of July. So I took that opportunity to sketch Bram. He's sitting out the window of Wynn's Hotel overlooking Dublin. These were the things that surprised me the most. The weather. Back in the states you can fry eggs in your car in July. In Ireland, it was chilly for the most part with a few warm days in between. Dublin is Irish New York. I grew up in a suburban area. And I've been in cities before, but they don't compare to Dublin. There were so many buses and taxis, and so little private cars, you could count all of them on your fingers. My state capitol doesn't even have a metro or tram system. Just some buses, a train station and airport (you can't even fly to another country out of that airport. You need a connecting flight) What we do have are the infinite amount of parking decks. The lack of the sound "th" sound. Three is pronounced tree. It took me a second to realize what they meant. They just casually have 1000+ year old buildings in towns. Mineral water. I'm sorry, but no. I can't drink it. I like my purified water. No air-conditioning. Now, I get that they don't really need it as much as we do, but at night where the hot air is rising to the upper floors where we were sleeping, it did get pretty warm. But anyways, I brought back a Dracula book from there as my special trip token. Also, this is why I was so busy. I was working fulltime while to trying to prepare for a trip to last a week and I didn't get into my camera until now. photos of Glendalough and St. Mary's Cathedral in Kilkenny.

[thirst2]

After finding out where I was from a woman on the train in Boston smiles and tells me not to worry she hears that in the next five to ten years Detroit is going to be the Midwestern New York I in turn worry for obvious reasons the rats in New York are tall enough to drive taxis the people in New York are all seemingly allergic to saying excuse me those are problems we do not want three years later I pick up a paper and the headline reads welcome to the new Detroit and I'm quickly reminded of something my grandmother once said you can sell a house a hundred times but the walls will still tell stories on the first family that owned it you can't throw soil on top of a land of living people then try to convince the outside world that their home was graveyard before it began to blossom bike lanes and fine dining this is not a city attempting to transition into another city it's Detroit it's churches in old buildings that lean like drunk lovers but still open every Sunday for worship it's Coney Island hot dogs and Faygo pop on the days when you wanna feel like you were the only one told the secret It's what up doe and water shut offs a woman planting flowers in potholes a line straight out of a tupac poem it's still here because we didn't change our zip codes when our schools started shutting down our sports teams started losing and our air started smelling like gun smoke and new money it's Motown it's a homeless man in bright colors on the corner of Selden and Second in bright colors and music-less headphones always dancing like his imaginary check had more money on it than he expected and yea sometimes the suburban folks treat the city like a party they weren't invited to leave trash start fights then exit before the police show up sometimes the police don't show up it's not perfect but it's a city that held its place in line until God returned from an extended lunch break a place where any person on the streets will still politely give you directions even when they themselves feel lost it's a beast that swallowed my brother along with countless other friends and family members long before their time but home is wherever the most of your loved ones are buried it's the place that's found the perfect balance between breaking your heart and layering your skin it's the factory that you were built in on the nights when you feel defective it's the safest space for you to return to so to the woman in Boston who thought that I was worried to the couple in Seattle that wanted to know if my skin has ever tasted bullet to the people trying to figure out which Detroit to believe It's a complicated story with more semi colons than periods on its best day it's still broken but it works it grinds it is ours still

—"Detroit", Natasha "T" Miller

[s2z]

Sunshine, Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. 2024-12-30 10:13:40 by stuart murdoch Via Flickr: A slice of suburban Melbourne life unfolds on sun-dappled pavers, where a lonely pink-capped phone booth stands sentinel beside a weathered wooden bench. A stray shopping cart rests like an urban tumbleweed against native grasses, while behind, a building blazes coral-pink against the summer sky. Street trees cast their lacy shadows across the scene, their branches dancing with the morning light. A passing taxi melts into a streak of yellow motion, like a brush stroke on this urban canvas. The scene captures that liminal magic of Australian suburban spaces - where utility meets unexpected beauty, and public life writes its daily poetry in metal, wood, and light. This is a notorious corner of Sunshine. Opposite is the former Sunshine Art Spaces. As I sat 2 of my own exhibitions here I witnessed more than I care to admit to. One of several projects, that explore photography as evidence amongst other ideas. Tumblr | Instagram | Photography links | my Ko-fi shop | Off Ya Trolley! | s2z digital garden | pixelfed.social | vero | Dpreview albums | my work archived on trove at the N.L.A.