#keep the sea plastic free

[corpyburd]

Family Rothenberg keeping the beach plastic free♻️

[rawr-frog]

Hey Guys!

Please read this it isn't long. It's literally just memes:

REBLOG, SPREAD AWARENESS, AND HELP SAVE THE EARTH!!!

[emacrow]

Aquaman was only patrolling the ocean, not expecting a baby mer swimming with the whales along the way.

It one of the few things he would like to do in his free time is to help the ocean sea with minor problems, a seal having his neck stuck with a plastic can holder, a a couple shark with a hook stuck to her fin/nose or tailfin, a couple of trapped rare fish in poacher traps.

He wasn't expecting a small group of whales, mainly a momma whale and two Baby whales to swim by singing their song while hunting a vast enormous group of krills.

Only to hear a tiny little baby mer singing along with them. It was a boy, with chubby lil arms, a beautiful trails of sparkling white and neon green color, fade gray and black tips mer tailwind. A fainted trail of electric shock probably from a mishap by jellyfish tracing from one of his chubby hand down to his body.

Hair white as snow, eyes greener then the grass on land, tanned skin and a odd sliver mechanism purple clock on a necklace that was ticking slowly despite being in deep underwater.

Arthur was going to get closer but the Momma whale Block his view using her vast body after she noticed him getting closer, the two Baby whales hiding behind her along with the baby mer.

Meanwhile Danny as clockwork apprentice until he grows into his state as the ruler of ghost realm and away from noisy observators has been on a mission to keep the timeline in check in other dimensions. Clockwork insisted this form would do the trick

[pomefioredove]

So idk if I'm requesting in the right place. But I would love a twst scenario with a yuu that just says all their intrusive thoughts. Like just out of NOWHERE, as they reach for a water bottle hanging out with the first years they go.

“I robbed a house back home”

Or when Azul tries cornering them with the twins for something they just blankly turn to Floyd going.

“duck off you look like you can't steer a shopping cart”

But feel free to do it with whoever you want and if you don't want to do mine that's perfectly fine and I hope you have a great day :)

certainly!!

summary: reader who speaks all their impulsive thoughts type of post: headcanons characters: heartslabyul, octavinelle, scarabia, diasomnia additional info: platonic or romantic, reader isn't specified to be yuu, reader is gender neutral author's note: for some reason I had the hardest time thinking up new nonsense, so many of these dialogue lines are from lewis carroll poems, which I have a wonderful nostalgia for. check those out as well!

Ace and Deuce are pretty much used to you saying whatever's at the top of your mind... with no filter

so used to it that it barely even registers with them anymore

whenever it's quiet, they can expect you to come out with some incomprehensible nonsense.

if you didn't, they'd probably ask what's wrong

"I robbed a house back home,"

"Yeah, okay,"

Riddle, on the other hand, gets frustrated alarmingly fast

despite running an entire dorm based on nonsensical rules, he has a low tolerance for outside nonsense

and... well, despite his name, he's not really a fan of riddles

Trey matches your energy immediately

no joke. he doesn't even bat an eye

"I eat plastic,"

"hm. sometimes I eat muffin wrappers,"

honestly, sometimes his tangents get even weirder than yours

Cater probably wasn't listening very closely when you first started going off, or maybe he's just become accustomed to riddles, though the next time you say something he just thinks it's cute

might use your "thoughtful anecdotes" as a caption for his next post

would it be surprising if I were to say Azul is used to randomness?

Floyd has a tendency to say the strangest things out of nowhere, after all, and the sea itself can be a surprising place

he does not, however, appreciate how you keep speaking in tongues when he's trying to have serious business conversations with you

(seriously, how hard can it be to swindle one person?!)

"Please, just talk normally,"

"But the mome raths outgrabe!"

he doesn't know what that means, but it sounds like an insult

...and then will refuse to converse with you again until you're in a "better mood" (in his own words)

Jade, on the other hand, finds you quite fascinating

he keeps a little notepad on him just to jot down the things you say. why? you can't imagine. he just finds it interesting, you suppose

"'Twas brilling..."

"Really? How interesting. Go on,"

Floyd isn't really paying much attention

your funny words amuse him at best and annoy him at worse

if you ever find yourself in a bad place with the octotrio, you can just say something like:

"You look like you can't steer a shopping cart,"

and Floyd will take actual offense to that, and just straight up leave

(much to Azul's dismay)

Kalim adds on right away

and keeps going

and keeps going... and keeps going...

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail..."

"Oh, I know! He pours waters on every shining scale,"

at one point Jamil has to pull you aside and beg you not to encourage him

"No promises!" is your answer

Kalim even buys a parrot to add onto the fun

it becomes a three-person (or two-person-and-a-bird?) act

...even if you're not really doing it on purpose

Jamil is who ends up taking care of the parrot while it squawks your old nonsense thoughts, though

he likes the parrot much better than either of you

Malleus will entertain you based on his own curiosity

none of his other human classmates speak in such odd and puzzling words, so he knows it's a "you" thing

might try to solve them if they sound like riddles

but he mostly just thinks they're cute

"O, oysters, come and walk with us,"

"How interesting... I do wonder where you come up with all this,"

Sebek will listen to you because Malleus does, and Silver has enough nonsense to deal with as it is. will definitely fall asleep while you're talking to him

Lilia responds in like terms

meow at him? he'll meow back

in fact, he'll meow at you every time he sees you until you say something else to capture his curiosity

might go ahead and start speaking to you in tongues before you even say anything

he just thinks you're neat!

[wandascrush]

Bruised, bandaged, kissed

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Part 2 of my DIWK series

Summary: Natasha comes to you, and only you, for help. Wanda finds out about one of your little secrets. You were surrounded by blue all around you, limbs moving in slow motion...until you saw her. Dark brown hair danced in the water, a harsh contrast to the terror on her face. Eyes big as the moon, she stared directly at you. You tried to swim to her, kicking your tired arms as fast as possible, but you were too late. Wide and unblinking, she sunk down, down, down...lost to the sea forever.

You gasped as soon as you woke up, sweat covering your chest and neck. At HYDRA, Agents practically slept in dark, dusty cells with one huge bed in the middle and a desk off to the side. You were free to come and go as you pleased as long as you kept getting more info from the team and your burner phone was on you at all times. Of course you knew that with this privilege, some way somehow, they had somebody watching you 24/7. When you finally rubbed all the sleep out of your eyes, glancing at your phone, it was half past 6. Back at the Avengers compound, everyone woke up at around 8, latest, to start training, breakfast, paperwork, or meetings. It would take you at least an hour to get back to the compound, you hauled ass as you quickly threw your belongings into your black leather bag.

You tried to keep quiet along the corridors to not wake the other, less than pleasant, agents…they didn't particularly like you. It came to your surprise one day during training that one of the AIT'S, or agents in training, tried to suffocate you on the mat until you tazed them. Hydra had four levels of leaders: Captain, Commander, Supreme Hydra, and Imperial Hydra. Imperial Hydra, the leaders of everything, are four guys that no one has access to. The commander of the HYDRA branch you collected “intel” for took a particular liking to you, assigning you to the Avengers initiative that everyone wanted to work on. Your task: hack into the registry that contained personal information about all powered individuals. HYDRAS task: build a different type of super. Your morning luck ran out before you got to the security check, running into one of the most annoying coworkers you'd ever had.

"Samantha."

"Y/N. You're looking particularly awful today."

"Right. Well- it's always a pleasure," you gave her a sarcastic smile before pushing past her to the security check.

Finally you were out of there.

Back at the much more vibrant, and lively Avengers compound you quickly threw your bag into the embarrassingly large walk in closet that Tony had supplied you with. He was Marie Kondo at this point, decorating everyones room in the compound with the joy of a little girl in a toy store. It was funny to watch.

As soon as you walked out of your bedroom, you were met with the sight of a brunette, looking you up and down with a slightly tilted head. Something gave you the feeling that this Wanda Maximoff girl wasn't your biggest fan at all.

You nervously tucked your hair behind your ear before you spoke, "Hey Wanda-what uh- what's up?"

She didn't respond.

You cleared your throat expectantly. Her eyes narrowed, “Where were you off to so early this morning?"

Shit, she saw you come in.

"Nowhere, just had to grab a few groceries. I hate crowds so I thought I'd get there a little early," you let out a nervous chuckle and fiddled with your keys.

“You put your groceries in a leather duffel bag?”

“Hate to waste plastic, what can I say,” you shrugged. What a shitty excuse.

It seemed to suffice her, however, as she gave you a one up and walked away. It was hard not to notice her beautiful silky hair bounce off her back, but it didn't change the fact that you still didn't like her very much.

By 12 pm you had finished your weekly report to Fury about how you're adjusting to the Avengers initiative and how your last mission  went.

You liked Nick a lot to say the least.  He was stern but caring, and he would check anyone that pissed him off. He remind you a lot of Natasha, the girl that took a liking to you.

Her knock is what pushed you out of your dazed thoughts. She pushed open your door with her head down, trying to hide one side of her face but failing miserably. The first thing that caught your attention was the cut adorning her lips. The second was the large, blood stained bandage on her shoulder.

You knew better than to visibly show your concern, it would only make her upset. You posed a casual question instead, "How's the other guy look?"

You saw a glimpse of her secret smile, "Not too hot himself, actually."

As a double agent, you weren't supposed to catch feelings for anyone on either side, but there was something about that raspy voiced, careful Avenger that made you smile. You figured out how to help her without getting pushed away. Just ask.

You casually walked over to her and lazily motioned your head to your bathroom door, "Mind if I help you with that lip cut?"

"Tryna tell me I look bad Y/N?," she gave you her most judgemental one over that she could muster. 

"Not in my wildest dreams, Romanoff."

Sitting on her lap, you had to steady yourself with one hand on the counter to clean out her lip wound, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on it with a q-tip. Her jaw clenched each time, stinging her a little more.

As you shared a quiet moment with Natasha in the bathroom, you didn't even imagine that a certain witch was using her abilities to keep your bathroom door locked and search your room.

Nimble hands quickly explored every drawer within your wardrobe and finding nothing but a charger, melatonin, water, and a...special toy. Then she saw the black bag tucked into the corner of your closet. Her heart rate sped up a little as she approached the bag and grabbed the first file she saw, hidden under a jacket.

Later that night, as you thought about the way Natasha kissed you while you were on her lap and ran off, Wanda Maximoff would be in her bed, turning and tossing until she finally opened up the manila folder sitting in front of her.

Her eyes widened.

"I knew there was something off about you."

[thisfeelslike-iykyk]

hiiii i have a request <33 maybe percy x daughter of dionysus reader?

drunk on love ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

percy jackson x daughter of dionysus!reader backtrack: “adventure player”, yao chen inspiration: you!

it wasn’t often that demigods at camp half-blood got to relax. you were usually all busy training and dying. but with all the chaos that had been happening recently, you thought you all deserved a break. besides, with the war brewing, you never knew when the last time you ever saw your friends would be. and it sucked to think about that, but it was reality.

so that’s why you and a few other campers were out here, in the middle of the forest, at night. nobody asked how you got the wine, or why it was even there. let’s just say you called in a couple favors with some hermes kids.

you reminded everyone to keep it down. the harpies usually patrolled the beach area, so the forest was generally safe, but you couldn’t take too many chances. to be completely honest, the party was kind of a ruse to get closer to your boyfriend. the two of you couldn’t be too comfortable with each other during the day, under the watchful eye of your dad, dionysus. you weren’t ashamed of percy, and all the campers--and chiron, you were pretty sure--knew you were together. but you weren’t willing to take a chance on your dad.

percy was looking fine as hell, and it was effortless too. his hair was messed up just a little, his smile practically lighting up the whole forest. he met your gaze from all the way across the clearing and smirked a little. you grinned and sent him a sly wink, raising a plastic cup to your lips and taking a sip of the red wine inside. some stray wine dripped from your lips, which you caught with your thumb and sucked off. not breaking eye contact, you quirked an eyebrow at your boyfriend, a little smirk on your face.

percy shook his head, running his hands through his hair. he made his way over to you, alcohol-free because he was responsible like that. (that was such a lie. you figured he just didn’t like alcohol because of his old stepdad and arch nemesis.)

“you’re killing me over here, [name],” percy said with a grin as he reached you. you grinned as he pushed you up against the nearest tree, hands going to your waist immediately. you wrapped your arms around him to hug him close to you, the near empty cup still clutched in your hands.

percy wasted no time in pressing his lips against yours. he tasted faintly of sea salt--he always did--and blue raspberry jolly ranchers. he was your most favorite flavor. you returned his kiss hungrily as his hand slipped under your shirt, gently rubbing circles on your warm skin.

if it was up to you, you would spend all day kissing your boyfriend. unfortunately, that wasn’t up to you. “perce, my dad could see,” you whispered, unconnecting your lips and forcing yourself to keep a clear mind.

“you’re not worried about him finding out about this whole party in general?” he returned in a low voice, tugging your hair teasingly.

“compared to him seeing you and I together? not really, actually.” dionysus would probably have a good laugh seeing this gathering. “he’d probably be proud of me. about the party.” you downed the rest of your wine in one gulp, savoring the taste. of course, being the daughter of the wine god had its perks, one being you could outdrink anybody.

“he hates me enough anyway,” percy muttered. “I swear, babe, you think we’re being all discreet, but he definitely knows. and I don’t have a problem with that, but he definitely knows. you should see the way he looks at me. I might get murdered in my sleep one of these days.”

“don’t say that,” you protested, rolling your eyes. “you’re too important to kill.”

“hmm,” he hummed dismissively, pressing his lips to yours again. “wanna get out of here?” he mumbled against your mouth.

“you know I do.” you held on to your cup--the dryads would never forgive you if you littered--and took percy’s hand in yours. the music and lights of the makeshift party were quickly left behind as percy led you to his cabin. there was always something eerie and lonely about poseidon’s cabin, but you were not about to bring your boyfriend into your cabin; castor and pollux were busy drinking at the party, but they could come back any time.

come dawn, you'd have to sneak out of cabin three. you couldn't risk being seen in percy's cabin--besides being against camp rules, that would cause such a scandal. but for now, you were okay with being a rulebreaker. and who could blame you? you were simply drunk on love.

I’m sorry this took so long to get out! I’ve been bombarded with schoolwork and am sick on top of that. also guys please don’t drink underage

divider by @saradika-graphics

taglist: @loveinalocket, @raysmayhem-72, @stars-tonight, @toooster

[marlynnofmany]

A Feat of Minor Daring

(Related side project: Prank War!)

~~~

If you have to wait around for a client to bring you something to deliver, waiting on a landing pad with spectacular scenery is not a bad way to do it. Most of the rest of the crew was inside the ship — shuffling the boxes from our other client of the day, and doing any number of other mundane things — so it was just Paint and me enjoying the alien landscape. Their loss. 

I was appreciating the views, while Paint was really there for the smells. I kept pointing out particularly vivid splashes of color among the sea-anemone-shaped trees, while Paint caught whiffs of enticing things. 

“Ooh, what do you think that sharp scent is?” Paint asked when a cool breeze gusted past. She pulled her heat scarf closer. She was also wearing a heat sticker plastered to her scaly chest, which seemed like overkill to me, but I wasn’t a coldblooded lizard alien. I just had a sweater for the chill. 

“Your guess is better than mine,” I said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to go with ‘some sort of plant.’”

A cheerful jumble of musical notes chimed from the treeline where winged fauna hid among tentacle-branches. It sounded remarkably like several ringtones going off at the same time. I was about to ask Paint if she thought it was animals imitating tech, or maybe just a coincidence of evolution, when wild flapping heralded an explosion of feathers across the clearing. 

Colorful bird-things soared over us, their wings a riot of fiery shades and their bodies lined in speckled back feathers over bright blue scales. It was a glorious streak of color, and they sounded like a pile of phones all ringing at once. I had to grin at the sight. 

Paint just said, “I think they’re the source of the smell. How lovely.”

Then a straggler flapped out after the others, and I stopped grinning. 

It was trailing a plastic bag caught around its foot, just like the ones still causing trouble for animals on Earth. The poor thing must have been scavenging in town. By the time it collapsed halfway across the clearing, I was already moving, tugging my sweater off and sneaking up on the bird.

Paint squeaked, “What are you doing?”

“It needs help,” I said, keeping my voice low. The alien bird was breathing hard from the effort of fighting that much extra drag, and hopefully no additional problems. It hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Why is that your responsibility?” Paint hissed in concern. “It could bite you! You don’t even have scales, and you’re not wearing an exo suit! Why did you just take off your soft armor?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” I murmured. “But somebody’s got to.” I eased forward and took a long-legged jump to land with one foot squarely on the bag, then tackled the bird to wrap it in my sweater.

It, unsurprisingly, objected. And it was stronger than it looked.

“What are you doing??” Paint repeated. “You’ll get hurt!”

I fought to get a hand around the bird’s head and keep it from pecking me anywhere important while also holding its wings in. It did its level best to accomplish fight and flight at the same time. It even regurgitated a splash of food, which I managed to barely dodge. It smelled unpleasantly fishy.

But I got the bird’s head pinned down in a way that hopefully didn’t restrict its breathing, and I ended up crouched over the thing using my legs to keep its wings folded. My other hand was doing the important job of preventing it from wriggling free. That didn’t leave any hands for removing the bag.

“Paint! I need your claws!”

“What? No!” She sounded more than a little panicked.

“Just get the bag off its foot!” I said, jerking my head back to where the bag rustled behind me. “Then I’ll let it go!”

“That doesn’t look safe!” Paint insisted.

The bird bucked and thrashed. “It’s not going to get any safer! Come on, it needs help!”

Paint hissed a string of what were probably swear words as she darted forward and approached the talons. I couldn’t see what she was doing from my angle, but I heard the rustle of plastic. I wanted to ask how it was going and give pointers, maybe suggest stepping on the bag to hold it tight, though I didn’t know if that would help or not. I kept quiet.

“Got it!” Paint leapt back, holding up the torn bag in triumph.

“Great!” I said. “Does its leg look injured? Did the bag dig into it or cut off circulation as far as you can tell?”

Paint stepped forward gingerly, then shook her head. “No, the scales look fine.”

I let out a breath. “Extra great. Okay, stand back.”

Paint scampered over to stand by the ship, taking the bag with her, while I got my feet under me. In as smooth a motion as I could, I jumped sideways and rolled away, trailing my sweater. I would have preferred to stand and exit with dignity, but this was faster. Dignity wasn’t worth getting pecked in the knee.

In a whirlwind of feathers, the scaly bird scrambled into the sky. I sat up to watch it go. While I expected a dramatic arc into the distance, it only got as far as the biggest amoeba-tree. I worried that it was injured after all. Then I saw the cluster of tiny beaks that reached up as it landed.

I grinned all over again, watching the reunited family greet each other. A rustle of plastic told me Paint stood beside me. I looked up at her. “We did it.”

She watched the nest with wide eyes, clutching the bag. “We did. And it mattered.”

“It always matters.” I got to my feet with a wince, hoping that wasn’t going to be a bruise on my hip. “Thanks for helping. That was a deed well done.”

Paint was still staring. “Do you think it will have enough food for all the hatchlings? After spitting some at you?”

A glance told me the bird was feeding its young in the time-honored vomity fashion. “I hope so,” I said. “Scavenging for more might lead to another trash adventure, though maybe this was a learning experience.”

Paint stood up straighter. “Let’s check the species database and see what it eats,” she said. “That smells a lot like the canned fish I’ve been saving. We can put it out where they’ll find it.”

“A fine plan,” I told her. “Let’s get cleaned up first so we don’t leave bird germs in the kitchen.”

We’d only taken a couple steps toward the ship before Eggskin met us at the door with concern on their scaly face. “Kavlae said there was some sort of commotion outside, and someone might be hurt?” They brandished the medscanner.

Before I could answer, Paint held up the crumpled plastic bag. “We saved a creature that was trapped in this!”

Eggskin cocked their head, clearly about to ask why, but Paint was still talking. She gave a dramatic recounting of the whole affair. Eggskin turned on the scanner and checked us both for contamination while she talked. Clear. (Whew.)

“…And now it’s safely up in the nest with its hatchlings, and it wouldn’t have made it up there if not for us, and they would have starved and died, and we saved all of them!” Paint said, waving the bag. “It always matters! Now where’s the can opener? I want to leave them some of my fish.”

Eggskin blinked. “Third drawer on the right, where it should be. Unless someone’s misplaced it again. Put that in the biohazard bin and wash your hands.”

“Got it, thanks!” Paint was gone in a rustle of plastic.

Eggskin looked up at me. “Is ‘pack bonding’ contagious?”

I laughed. “I couldn’t tell you. But it always matters. Would you mind keeping an eye on that nest over there while I go change clothes? I’ll wash my hands too.”

Eggskin sighed. “Please do.”

They stood outside the ship watching the distant family of scaly birds, wearing an expression like they were trying to figure something out. I smiled and left to get cleaned up. I’d check the species database afterward. Maybe I had some food they’d like too.

~~~

Did I mention the Prank War?

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"All of y'all can eat this up

Like black folk at the cook out

Thick and pretty from the South

Money chasing, fuck the clout (c'mon, c'mon)

Settle down children

Before I bring my paddle out"

Tank & Big Freedia – "Big"

Mercy kept a tab running at the final bar hop of the night.

Celeste and her girlfriends met up with her other friend Avis who worked at the Bourbon Orleans Bar. Avis paid for a round of drinks at her bar using an employee discount before they strolled down Bourbon Street to gawk at tourists, especially men from out of town.

Every bar had a huckster blowing whistles or giving out free jello shots to entice patrons inside their establishments. They sipped from purple bedazzled plastic cups and danced in a few clubs until the music turned too white or too eighties for their enjoyment. The city catered to tourists, and some places preferred a sea of white faces over darker ones. A few spots played good Hip Hop, but they were the most packed and hard to get into because they reached capacity fast and bouncers had to limit the number of people entering. Celeste already observed enough puking and urinating in the street to call it a night.

Sweat soaked her back and thighs inside the butterscotch-yellow halter dress she sewed herself. But her ass still looked magnificent in it, and so did her breasts, which flashed just enough cleavage to appear sultry and not too sleazy. She jiggled and bounced in all the right places as she strolled in her sexy heels, and men followed her like the siren she was down Bourbon Street.

They came across a little hole-in-the-wall with a decent D.J. and partied on tequila and dark rum concoctions. Celeste spoke to Carl, a blonde cutie from Vegas who tried to convince her to visit Nevada instead of California for a good-time getaway. She nursed a rum punch and glanced at her friends dancing with guys that tickled their fancy. Carl was loud and kept touching her hair. He tugged on an inch-thick loc to keep her attention on his pink-flushed face. In her inebriated state, she regretted allowing him to touch her hair earlier after he admired how gorgeous it looked framing her oval face, especially her dark eyes.

"You're the most beautiful woman in here, and your hair is like Medusa's…but a sexy Medusa," he slurred in her ear.

His buddy Jacob leaned in with breath reeking of whiskey.

"You and your friends should come hang out at our hotel," Jacob said.

"No thanks, we have to get going pretty soon," Celeste said.

She gulped down the remains of her drink and patiently waited for her friends to re-join her at the bar. The bass thumped, vibrating the floor, walls, and her teeth. She bobbed her head in appreciation. A New Orleans bounce mix blasted through the speakers, and most of the female patrons rushed the tiny dance floor to throw ass in a circle. Plenty of men followed. People out on the street wandered in, attracted by the frenzy of tits jumping in revealing tops and all the booty shaking.

Celeste attempted to wander over to the dance floor to shake a little something with her friends.

"Hey sweetheart…where ya going?" Carl crooned in her ear. He scooped his arm around her waist and led her back toward the bar.

"I'm going to dance with my girls," she said, annoyed that she even had to say that.

"Let's ditch this place and get some air," Jacob suggested.

"Nah, I'm good."

Both men flanked her and tried coaxing her to go outside where the throng of tourists would swallow them up. Laughter and screeches of excitement from revelers went right over her head. The men blocked her view of the dance floor and became more handsy, touching her arm and waist, making every attempt to convince Celeste to bail on her friends.

"You're good, sweetheart. Relax," Carl said. "We're having fun and you could enjoy yourself outside with us. It's too hot in here…hey…buddy, watch where you're going."

Celeste had lunged forward to leave and slammed smack into a solid wall of flesh. She lifted her head to see who the body made of bricks belonged to and a pair of familiar light eyes peered down at her.

"Duchess," the strange marine said.

His commanding bayou baritone electrified her senses. She momentarily forgot how to speak. The marine glanced at Carl and Jacob.

"I got this fellas," he said.

"Step off," Carl said, the liquor making his tinny voice grate on her ears. He placed a hand on the marine's chest and attempted to shove him away. The marine gripped Carl's hand, jerked his arm behind his back, and shoved his midsection up against the bar.

Jacob grabbed on the marine's shirt and those blazing light eyes cut him with a terse, silent warning. Carl's buddy froze in place with a frightened expression.

"This is my girlfriend. She doesn't leave with anyone except me," the marine said.

He shoved Carl to the side and dared both men to escalate the situation. Celeste watched the new-to-her boyfriend crack his knuckles and flex prominent pecs encased in the ultra-soft gray t-shirt molded around his chest.

The tension ratcheted up when three more of Carl's male friends circled behind the marine. Music cocooned Celeste in a chaotic wall of sound. The marine turned his head to look at his opps and she could've sworn his voice was inside her head.

"Where are your friends?"

Could she be imagining he was saying those words? His eyes darted about, sizing up the other men, but his deep probing tone was clearly inside her mind. Fuck it. She answered back through her thoughts.

"They're dancing. I was chilling at the bar and waiting to leave…"

The marine spun around and blocked her body with his own. He threw two punches, knocking two men on their asses. Celeste threw her hands over her mouth.

"Don't be scared, this is light work," the marine's voice soothed in her mind.

Two bouncers finally pushed through the crowd and yoked up Carl and company. Celeste stared at the back of the marine's head, admiring how nice his haircut looked. There were subtle waves and she imagined him brushing his hair while sitting in her house.

"What's your name?" she asked in her mind with a dreamy, slow utterance.

"Terry."

"Nice to meet you boyfriend, Terry," Celeste said out loud.

The bouncers escorted the dudebro brigade outside. Terry guided Celeste to a small side patio. Her friends jostled their way past onlookers and joined her. Terry hovered nearby.

"What happened, Duchess?" Nae Nae asked.

"Just some losers tryna start shit," she said. "This is my new boyfriend, Terry," Celeste said.

She started giggling at her friend's puzzled expressions and touched Terry's arm.

"I'm joking. This is Terry. He made those guys stop harassing me."

A flurry of new club-goers brushed past them. She followed Mercy and Avis down the steps leading to the street and lost track of Terry. There were too many people entering and exiting and he disappeared in the confusion.

Her group sashayed to another club that was queer-friendly and met up with her male cousin Micah, whose make-up and sexiness rivaled her own. They hugged, and he looked her up and down, appreciating her come-hither style.

"We ain't seen you out in these streets for a minute, cuz. Where you been?" Micah asked.

"Working," Celeste said.

"Bayyy-buh, everybody works. That ain't no good excuse."

Micah's mixed crew of men and women invited Celeste and her friends to hang out until the bar closed. She surveyed their surroundings and spotted Terry.

He stood on a festive corner near a street musician playing white plastic buckets with sticks. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sniffing the air, taking in the scent of the lively night. Her friends continued chatting it up and smoking outside. Terry glanced over at Celeste. She held up a hand and beckoned him to come back to her. He accepted the invitation and moved toward her with the smoothest gait she'd ever seen on a man with his build. Throngs of people partied in the clogged street with bright lights and color everywhere, however, they dulled and faded away as if someone turned down the contrast, stripping away all the pigment and vibrancy outside of Terry's protracted movement toward her. As he closed the distance between them with surreal fluidity, she developed a profound tunnel vision. Only he existed.

A woozy sensation cascaded over Celeste as Terry's stride appeared to slow down even further. His eyes locked onto her gaze. The beating of her heart and the sound of her expectant breathing amplified in her ear. Like the gradual winding down of a clock, the diminishing beats of her heart made her believe she would die from his preternatural beauty.

Let me in.

His voice crept into her mind further. Seductive. Urgent.

I must have you, Celeste.

Please.

Let me in.

Closer…closer…his stride dreamlike, lulling her into a hypnotic state. She tilted her head as if she needed a perception shift to rationalize the odd sensation crawling over her skin. The world she wanted to escape from because of Freddie slipped away and she gleaned from Terry's approach that it was meant to happen. Freddie had to go because Terry was coming for her, and this was a good thing. The new nature of things. The correct order of the world she wanted for so long. Yes, God.

Here he comes.

Like a big bad wolf sniffing for Little Red Riding Hood. But this Little Red from the Hood of Treme desired the wily beast. Craved him.

"Hello again," he said.

All of her companions stared at his face like they had never encountered anything more beautiful in their lives either. The charisma and sex appeal dripped off of that man like rainwater before a hurricane. He was almost too good-looking to be true. Scary even.

It was his eyes.

Their greenish-amber mixture of colors hooked into everyone near him, turning them defenseless and weak like unguarded lambs. Celeste also thought it was because he barely blinked when he spoke. The magnetism was overwhelmingly infectious. Even Micah became mesmerized by his looks, stopping to stare at him closely to see if he was even real.

"Are you out here by yourself? You were with Travis and 'nem earlier at the Backstreet Bar."

"They're still pub crawling. I wanted to walk around a bit. I don't really drink but I like to sightsee."

Celeste became lost in his dusky amber skin and neatly trimmed goatee. Struck by how comfortable he made her feel, she moved closer to him. Those wide shoulders and height gave such a presence of manliness that she almost wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and feel those strong military arms around her waist. He definitely was picking up on what she was putting down with her attraction to him. She liked that he kept his gaze on her face and not on the lush cleavage she openly displayed. The contrast of the yellow coloring of her dress against the bronzed brown of her skin had her looking like a Nubian Goddess stepping straight out of the Sudan to slum with mere mortals. The thick cascade of her serpentine locs distracted him and they broke direct eye contact.

"I better catch up with them," Terry said. "Have a good rest of the night."

"Thanks for handling those jerks," she called out to his back.

Celeste stepped forward to go after him, but Micah grabbed her arm.

"Uh uh…no ma'am. Leave that one alone."

"Why? He's fine as hell and unattached."

Micah's unwelcoming expression gave Celeste pause.

"Trust me on this one. That's the kind you don't fuck with."

"What kind is that?"

Micah glanced at the mass of overzealous bodies searching for a good time. Terry was long gone.

"The dangerous kind, girl. Sinful…unholy."

She thought he was joking. The tense frown lines on his forehead said otherwise. He snapped out of the dour affect he presented and popped his fingers to the up-tempo music blasting from inside the club. It was like watching someone wake out of a trance.

Chapter 4 HERE.

Masterlist

Taglist:

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl17

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@hrlzy

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

As the World Turns 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, imbalanced power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new job takes you to new places with lots of new people.

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, Lloyd Hansen

Note: I know I shouldn't have done this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

When you accepted your new position, you didn’t expect that two days later you would be on your very first business trip. Ever. Like at all!

It’s exciting. It’s not only your first trip overseas for work but your first trip across any border. You’re as happy to get use out of your passport as you are to have the new experiences. You don’t know, however, how much you’ll be able to enjoy any of it. It’s still work after all.

You stand at the luggage belt as your phone vibrates. It’s your boss, Mr. Fowler, once more asking you where you are. The car’s already there. It’s not your fault the elite class flyers got off first and you’re stuck searching for your bags among the sea of coach passengers.

‘Will be there shortly, sir. Just coming through customs.’

It’s a small lie but you don’t think he’ll be impressed to hear you’re struggling to find your bag. It’s not very big but it should be easy to find. A round plastic suitcase in a shade of sunflower you can’t miss. You think it’d be obvious amid the black and black suitcases milling along on the conveyor belt.

You see the plastic slats part and your bag shines bright, like a beacon calling to you. You race forward and grab onto the handle. You accidentally press the button with your thumb so the handle extends and you’re dragged along awkwardly as you struggle to lift it. 

Another passenger approaches to remove his heavy black bag but doesn’t walk away before helping you. You thank him with a smile. He’s older, maybe your grandpa’s age, and he assures you it’s no problem. He walks off and you plant the wheels of your bag straight, swerving around as you follow the signs.

You bring your phone up again and read Mr. Fowler’s next impatient text.

‘Take the cab fare off your per diem.’

Right. You’re not surprised. From what you know of your boss so far, he’s a stickler. He knows what he wants and he doesn’t settle for less. While he can be charming, even accommodating, he can also be terrifyingly stern. One moment he has that smile that makes his eyes twinkle and the next, his jaw is set and danger darkens his features. The very memory of that expression makes you shiver.

You suppose it’s your own fault. You should’ve considered the job description a bit closer. An executive assistant does a lot more than just the typical secretary. The pay itself was proof enough. Can you really complain? The perks include free trips!

You try to stay as positive as you can, ignoring your mother’s voice as it sneaks into the back of your head. She always has something negative to say. She could win the lottery and complain about the trouble of claiming her winnings.

You make your way through the terminal and into the atrium, passing by new arrivals and waiting departures. You check your smart watch, you’ll get in your steps for sure, and hurry as the minutes tick by. You follow the flow outside and find a spot along the pick up area, waving down a taxi as your phone buzzes again.

‘Don’t show up without scotch’.

The message is terse. You can only assume the flight was less than accommodating. You spent your time in coach looking out at the clouds or catching up on the adventures in Westeros. Terribly depressing books but it only makes reality a little less so.

You get into a taxi and ask the driver to take you to a liquor store. He doesn’t seem to understand you. Oh, boy. You pull up Google translate on your phone and speak into it, setting it to translate into the native language. You let the speaker play the text to voice. The driver nods and starts the meter.

Okay, not bad. You’re figuring this out. If anything, Mr. Fowler has to give you points for effort, right? 

You ask the taxi to wait as you run in and find yourself faced with shelves of bottles and cans. This is the hard part, you’re not much of a drinker. With the help of Google, you ask the clerk for a bottle of scotch and pay with the company card. You’re right back out to the taxi.

Everything is so fast, you feel like you’re still catching up. You’re doing things. Every minute matters. You feel important, probably for the first time in your life. No more sitting behind a desk yawning, you’re tired for good reason.

You give the hotel name next and let yourself relax. Just for a little. Your eyes drift to the traffic outside the taxi, the voices all around, the dimming of the sky as the city sets to evening. It’s beautiful and new and wonderful.

The driver lets you off in front of the hotel. You’re greeted by a valet who offers to take your bag. You try to refuse but he insists, so you let him and follow him inside. As you enter, another man approaches.

You’re confused at first. He’s tall, blonde, and dressed as if he’s a businessman visiting on his own sojourn. You look around, thinking he might be headed for someone behind you. No, it’s only you. You turn back and find his blue eyes centered on you as he stops before you.

“Miss, welcome,” he lilts in his refined accent, “may I have your name so we may get you checked in?”

“Oh, yes, thanks, uh, sir. Actually, first, my, er… my boss is here. I think. He must’ve shown up twenty minutes ago. Erm, Mr. Fowler. I have, a oh,” you look down at the bottle in your hands, “I have this for him.”

“Wonderful,” he eyes the bottle, “Izak,” he addresses the valet, “Fowler.”

He takes the bottle from you without resistance. There’s something about his confidence that has you frozen. He hands it to the valet, Izak, and sends him off. You smile and give a nervous chuckle.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you rub the back of your neck.

“That is my job. I’m at your service, miss. Jonathan Pine, manager,” he offers his hand.

You shake it, doing your best to keep a firm grip. His fingers are so long that your hand feels tiny in his. He lets you go as you rescind your hand, crossing one arm over your stomach as you cup your other elbow, playing with the button of your blouse.

“Your name, miss?”

“Oh, duh,” you clutch the front of your blouse and eke out your name.

“Great, this way,” he beckons you with him and leads you to a round desk. He steps behind and types as his blue eyes reflect the screen. “I assume you’re here on business. You mentioned your boss is in another accommodation.”

“Yes, uh, my first business trip,” you almost wiggle with delight, “I’ve never even stayed in a hotel, you know?”

“Well, then I hope your stay is exceptional,” he smiles as he clicks around, giving a thoughtful hum, “allow me to make your first a special one,” he intones, “I’ve upgraded you to a suite.”

“A suite? Oh, but–”

“No additional fee. It will remain at the rate of your previous room,” his eyes flick to you.

“Wow, that’s… do I sound that pathetic?”

“Pathetic? Not at all, miss.”

You chew your lip and sway back and forth, crossing both arms across your chest. You don’t know what to say. He’s so nice that it almost feels patronizing. Or you’re just insecure. 

“Allow me to show you your suite,” he comes out from behind the desk, holding out a small black folio. 

You take it and look inside, two cards and a little insert with tiny text on it. You bring your hands down to fold over your stomach and back up to let him lead you. He struts along with you to the elevator and hits the button. He gestures you in first and follows.

“You haven’t traveled before?” He asks.

“Not really. We used to go camping but not far from home. Then we didn’t go anywhere. I’ve been working since, er, college, so… this is my first chance.”

“Well, the world is vast and not all are so lucky as to venture beyond their front door. It’s truly a privilege,” he says. The doors ding and parts, again, he waits for you to go ahead of him.

You step out and check the folio. You read the number and match it to a door at the far end of the hall. He’s right behind you as you get to the suite. 

“Shall I show you around?” He asks as you stop on either side of the doorframe.

“Erm, sure, why not?” You shrug.

“Might I?” He points to your hands and you give him the folio.

He takes out a card and holds it up, “these can be unfortunately finicky. You must make sure you hold it so,” he shows you how to position it and slides it through the slot beside the handle. The red light turns green and the door unlocks. “Please,” he opens the door and nods you inside.

You enter as he follows. The door slowly closes as he lets it go and he slips the card back into the folio. He puts it on the corner table beside the door and taps it with his fingertips.

“You’ll find the wireless information in there along with the room service details and our continental breakfast times,” he explains, “if you’ve any questions, you may call the front desk.”

“Thank you,” you smile.

“Let me briefly go over the rest of your amenities and I’ll leave you in peace,” he avows as he waves you further inside, “a full bath,” he stops at the doorway to his left, “there are jets built in, rather useful after a long flight.”

You give a polite laugh and he presses on. He guides you through the suite; a kitchenette, a mini bar, a sitting space, a bedroom, a balcony, and a key to the private pool. You thank him again.

He goes back to the door, about to leave but pausing at the door, “if you require anything, you may ask for me. Jonathan, remember.”

“Jonathan,” you repeat.

He nods and steps out into the hall, gently closing the door behind him. You feel another buzz in your pocket. Shoot! Mr. Fowler.

‘Scotch is here. Where are you?’

You cringe and hurry out of the room. You should’ve known better. There was just a lot happening at once. You hurry down the hall and stop short of the elevator. You don’t know where his room is.

‘On my way, sir. Where is your room?’

You key in the message, awkwardly lingering as you wait for his response.

‘Not there. In restaurant. Two minutes.’

You push your head back. You really just want to go back to the room and jump into that giant bed. A full queen to yourself. That’s actual heaven. You answer, affirming your obedience and head for the elevator.

You get down to the lobby and once more find yourself lost. You have that problem, not thinking two steps ahead. As you look around, you see the valet, Izak.

“Hi, uh, is there a restaurant around here?” You ask sheepishly.

“Yes, miss, right through there,” he points towards the rear of the lobby to a wide archway crested with a point.

You thank Izak and scurry across the lobby. You put your phone away as you enter the restaurant and a server approaches you. They ask if you want a table for one and you explain that you’re meeting your boss. She points him out and asks you if you’d like a drink. You assume you won’t be staying for dinner so you pass.

As you near his table, Mr. Fowler doesn’t look up. You stop just across from him and wring your hands. You wait for him to say something but he’s focused on the menu.

“Sorry, sir, I was just checking in–”

“Sit,” he demands.

“Right, thanks,” you sit and grip the edge of the table, “it was very busy at the airport and I had to stop on the way for your scotch–”

“But no time to bring it yourself?” He challenges as he sets the menu down, finally looking at you, “I have a colleague meeting me here shortly.” His eyes dip briefly as he eyes your blouse, “hm, you didn’t change?”

“Like I was saying, sir, I didn’t have a chance yet–”

“Undo your top button,” he waves off your excuses as he sits back and grabs the short glass of scotch in front of him.

“Sir?”

“You look like a nun,” he retorts, “just one button, sweetheart.”

You furrow your brow but pop your top button open. It doesn’t show very much but it still feels wrong. You sit back and peer around the restaurant. The din is quiet and the lightning soft and warm.

“Um, so, you want me to stay for dinner?”

“You leave when I dismiss you,” he says curtly.

“Yes, sir, I understand,” you reply.

“Stop fidgeting,” he clucks, “try to sit still.”

“Yes, sir,” your voice shrinks.

He sighs and stares at you, “smile, okay? This is an important dinner.”

“Right,” you force a smile, cheeks trembling. 

All the excitement, all your former optimism, slowly slakes away. You get the churning anxiety in your stomach. The same sensation that kept you in bed a few minutes past your alarm. You’re only a few days in, you can do this.

“Fowler,” a voice booms across the restaurant as footfalls approach.

Your boss stands and you scramble to do the same. He shakes the hand of another man as you turn to face his acquaintance. It must be his aforementioned colleague.

“Hansen,” Fowler counters as their handshake becomes a battle, “about time.”

“Pfft, you were always boring. You gotta get out, buddy. Especially around here. I’ll give you a few names. There’s a sweet girl down at the spa–” the man, Hansen coughs, stopping himself midsentence as his eyes fall to you, “oh? And this is?”

“New assistant.” Fowler sits and pushes the tails of his jacket back.

You give your name as Hansen puts his hand out again. Instead of shaking yours, he takes it and kisses it in a very old-fashioned gesture, though something about his demeanour is sleazy. 

“Lloyd,” he winks as he clings to your hand, “Mr. Hansen is so boring. Makes me sound like an old man.”

You smile and repeat his name.

“What happened to Bennet?” He turns and claims the third chair. You lower yourself, content to be peripheral to their reunion.

“Gone,” is all Fowler says as his eyes meet yours, “so, what’re you drinking, Hansen?”

[nameuserlee]

“The heartless are the most faithful.”

Another part of Sylus’ lines compilation, all from interacting with him at the café. He is the gift that keeps on giving. Part 4 (links back to part 3, and so forth.)

“People who don't overthink things tend to sleep well. I'll think about you more when I can't sleep.” (I might be missing a few words here, I only got the first half of the line.)

“Having more plants in the bedroom isn't always good. You don’t need to keep bringing some back for me. They don’t produce oxygen when I'm awake.”

“You got me. I do have something in my hand that will pique your interest, sweetie. Have you decided what you’ll trade for it?”

“Is this a ticklish spot? I’m checking so you don’t accuse me of sneaking up on you later.”

“I found your weak spot. Heh, I won’t go easy on you now.” (Choose “Don’t do it!") “Good. I’ll take my time finding all your sensitive spots when I make my move.” (Choose "Nope.")

“How do we compare neck lengths? With a ruler?”(I’m sorry but LMAO.)

“You want to leave your scent here [on my neck]? You’ll have to work for it.”

“Are you planning to tie a red ribbon around my neck as if I’m your present?”

“(Y/N), keep it up. I like feeling your breath on my skin.”

“Your lips almost brushed against mine. It was hot.”

“I often place my hand here [on my heart] as well. It makes me feel alive.”

“(Y/N), does rummaging through my belongings provide a joyful experience? Your tail’s standing up straight, kitten. We should get a mirror so you can see for yourself.”

“At the fashion show, I saw a dress with the night sky stitched over a river. I ordered one for you. It'll be sent once the measurements are correct.”

“The scenery on page 37 of the travel magazine you were looking at a few days ago is nice. When we’re free, let’s clear our minds. Should we make that place our travel destination?”

“Do you want a distraction? Night fishing might work. If you spend one whole night fishing, you might get things like drift bottles, tattered hats, or plastic dinosaurs. They’re just jokes that fate throws at you.”

“When you feel like night fishing next time, head straight for that shop by the sea. Should I have someone get the yacht ready? We can set sail tonight.”

“Why am I inviting you to go fishing? No reason in particular. If I must give one… I’ve never a kitten catch a fish before. I’m very curious.”

“You already have Luke and Kieran acting like they’re your henchmen?”

“Anyone who has crossed me isn't active for long. Do you think you’ll be any different?”

“Those people's tracking skills are laughably bad. I lost them by just taking a random turn.”

“Do you see those 'little sparrows' keeping watch outside the window? Let’s make a bet. Guess how many will remain after a gunshot.”

He's a menace, what can I say. A cheeky, thoughtul, playful, and secretly sweet menace. I'm still cackling about that ruler line, btw. Let me go get one actually, hold still-

I think this'll be the last part for a while, I'm trying to raise his affinity level now. I've already exhausted basically all of the interesting lines I came across. Hope these were fun for you as much as they were for me :)

edit: he then proceeded to spew like five more new lines at me what a TREAT. might be able to squeeze one more compilation after all.

[heartfullofleeches]

Sorry just asked about the fast food reader (if tumblr didnt eat it) but what would happen if fast food reader was pulled into the ball pit yan’s pocket dimension

"Sleep....Rest..."

Work was hell. A bus full of suspiciously clad individuals held up the already hectic lunch rush, awhile the mascot attempted to braid your hair as you managed the register. As if matters couldn't get worse, the ice cream machine had unlease a slurry of thawed cream at your coworker for kicking its side when it refused to dispense ice cream for them. With so many new hires, it's hard to keep up on who knows that machine wouldn't allow any hands on it besides yours and who didn't. The flood was catastrophic. You had to wheel yourself around the kitchen using the Janitor's cart which was - actually pretty fun, but navigating around the sunken body within the river didn't share that same thrill.

At the end of the chaos, all you wanted to do was go home so you could curse the domino effect of evolution that eventually resulted to you getting this job, but you couldn't go anywhere without a trip to the ball pit first. Those hands had the touch and grace of God on your joints and muscles - a statement likely truer than you'd like to think about. If someone asked you why you kept this job they would probably be your first answer. Besides trying to play sneaky and dragging under a few times, they were the most useful of the entities claiming this location, and you, as their territory. There was always a part of you that did wonder - a lingering thought in the back of your mind.

What would happen if you went down there?-

Seems the day you'd find out as come at last.

"You're tired... don't fight us anymore..."

After the day you've had, your body is about as useful as a wet paper towel. The ball pit's hands lower your ailing husk into their plastic prison; nimble fingers and palms jutting the exact points that weight you down. You feel defenseless in their embrace. They meticulously knead your stress away and with it goes your will to fight as the dingy ceiling lights disappear in the sea of colorful balls. You can feel them drag you further down between each palpitation, but you had neither the strength nor the broom to free yourself. Was there even anything you could do at this point if you did? You weren't sure if you could wrestle yourself out of so many hands. It seemed like there were a dozen more than you remembered; pulling your weightless self through the sea of plastic and forgot memories.

"We will treat you with the care that you deserve.. Our idol. Our love. Close your eyes and rest."

Your head breaks the surface - and everything goes dark.

-

When you wake, everything appears normal. From the checkered titles around you, you're laying on the floor of the play place - surrounded by balls. Nothing unusual there. It's when you sit up that you notice something to be...off. There are other items amongst the orbs. Happy meal toys, wallets, jewelry, IDs. You pick up the closest to you. The missing persons flyers get swapped out pretty quickly, but you always remember the face that was once there - when no one else could.

"Do you prefer silver or gold?"

You look around for the source of the voice. A pale arms extends from the figures equally as pearl robes. You can't see their face. You couldn't see much of anything that was a couple inches from your face. Unable to stand on your own, you take their hand. It's uncharacteristically cold. On your feet, you can see a basket in their other arm - full of discarded belongings scattered across the ground.

"Where am I?..."

"Home....for now. We've been stuck here for eons, a pocket between your world and the next. Come, we can talk more once we get out. Stick close to me and if you hear anything, hold your breath. We are never alone here"

The figure moves your hand to their shoulder and begins walking. You follow behind, praying your eyes to adjust enough to peal a layer of darkness. Whispers and intangible mutterings sworn from all corners. They pause - briefly as the figure bends down to pick something up and either place it into their basket or inspect it more closely. There comes a time when you hear paper tearing or glass shattering, but it's hard to locate where they're coming from. Soft light emits from the exit doors as you approach.

"run."

The doors fly open. Squeezing your hand from instinct, you find that you are alone - and that the play area is no longer the same. You're in the forest behind the restaurant; skies block out by a sea of mass manufactured balls. There's something in the distance. A writhing, pale mass it takes your mind a minute to process. Hands. Hundreds of white limbs all tearing and fighting over the spilled contents of that same wicker basket you saw before. They raise family photos and handheld mirrors into the centers of their horde; a single, calm hand in the storm ripping the objects free. It turns them over in its palm before raising it height above its body. Torso, shoulders - there's something in there and its eating the lost memories. A torn photo falls at your feet. It's the manager that tried to fire you your first week.

"... They're still here. Everyone's that's gotten lost in that pit. Their bodies were lost as soon as they came, but their spirits still hunt for what's let of them so they can be remember. So they can go home... Just like I want to."

A hand meets your cheek, followed by another at your waist. They're everywhere - swarming.

"If you're curious if you're dead, don't be. You are still of body and mind, as I could never eat the one who's made this purgatory tolerable. Please, allow me to hold you just a little longer and I will send you back. I want to look at you with these tired eyes and to know peace. Please, accept me."

The god reaches its hand out to you. It reeks of blood, and is stained with their tears. You take it - and there you are back laying on the play area floor.

[sunshine-theseus]

Mi Corazón | Olga Carmona x reader

Word Count: 2.4k Summary: you’re in the military, she plays football. You both have busy schedules, but you’ll always find time for each other. Warnings: angsty, fluffy. I’m learning Spanish but I don’t know an awful lot so I’m sorry if it’s incorrect😭, and if it’s a long conversation I’ll only write some things in Spanish. Request for: @thedarknessempress and @realsociadadferminofan - i'm pretty happy with this one so i hope you like it!

I hadn’t expected it to be this hard every single time. Of course I knew I’d miss my family and friends, but six months always felt longer than it seemed.

And then there was Olga. We already struggled to find time to ourselves before I was deployed but now it was a whole other issue. There were time zone struggles and she was getting ready for the World Cup while I was working with my platoon and showing people that I deserve my rank.

After years of work, I recently got promoted to Teniente (Lieutenant), so this mission was a big deal in proving to the higher ups that they hadn’t made the wrong decision. Olga understood but was reasonably upset that I wouldn’t be able to support her at the beginning of the World Cup, especially with the struggle the girls have had with the RFEF and Vilda.

The last time we spoke it was tense. Things were getting difficult in camp as they approached the quarter-finals and when I told her my deployment was being extended a few weeks, conveniently ending days after the finals, she broke.

“Qué? What do you mean it was extended?! Can they even do that? You promised you’d make it if we got this far!”

“I’m sorry Ol. You know I want to be there more than anything.”

“This keeps happening. How can I trust a promise when I know you could be deployed or called to work on some plan at any point?”

“Mi corazón, that is not fucking fair. You knew what me being in the Air Force entailed when you met me. I requested this time off specifically so I could be there but there was nothing anyone could do! They need me here. I’ll be able to use this for extra time off another time. Just for us.”

“But I need you here!” her voice shakes, and I nearly break; tell her ‘Fuck it I’m on my way’.

“Olga…”

“Vete a la mierda” were her final words and then the line goes dead. (fuck off)

That was over a week ago. I texted and called her more times than I can count. When she didn’t answerr the first few, I messaged Ona, asking her to at least update me on how she’s going.

‘She is ok, very sad.’ Is the first message I get in return from said left back.

‘Felicidades!’ they win their quarter-final match (congratulations)

‘She is missing you’ is what I get in return.

‘can you tell her I miss her too?’ I don’t get a reply that night and her updates continue to be few and far between as they progress through the semi-finals all the way to the finals, against England.

~~~~~

“Deja de mirar tu teléfono” Alexia scolds me as I stare at the picture of Olga, Ona and Alexia, arm in arm together after their semi-final win (stop looking at your phone)

“What if she doesn’t want to see me Ale?”

“No seas estúpida! She loves you, she is just upset. Maybe saying your deployment got extended was not your best idea.” she chuckles as I glare at her, sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs right behind the substitution bench. (don’t be stupid)

“I didn’t know how else to surprise her.”

“They are coming out! Pull down your cap so she cannot see you.”

“I’m still in uniform Ale. If she doesn’t recognise the outfit, she won’t recognise me.”

“Oh, just do it!” I follow the pink haired girl’s instructions and slouch in my chair.

But then I see her. For the first time in 6 months, I see her and all I want to do was run onto the pitch and pick her up and kiss her. But I can’t, I refuse to ruin the surprise after literally risking my relationship for it.

My soul focus the entire game is Olga. The way she seems so free when she plays, the way she moves. When she scores the first, and only, goal of the game and pulls up her jersey to reveal the name of her best friend’s mother I nearly cry. Even in one of her biggest moments, she honours the other people in her life.

The final whistle blows, and we cheer as the girls fall to their knees and hug each other, others comforting the English girls. After a minute or so, Ona runs over to pull Alexia and I over the barricade and I rush over to stand behind Olga who is hugging Esther, who catches a glimpse of me and smiles before pulling away from the hug.

“Felicidades mi corazón!” (Congratulations my heart)

“Qué?” she whips around at the sound, and I don’t get to say anything else before she’s jumping into my arms.

“You’re here? But y- your mission got extended?”

“Is that what I said? Whoops! I meant to say ‘I’ll be here’.” I kiss her on the forehead, then set her back down and she slaps my arm before glancing at her team.

“Go celebrate, I’m not going anywhere.” Olga hugs me once more before going to hug her teammates and comfort some of the other players, a large smile on her face.

I then stand with the other family and friends, Alexia’s arm tightly around me, as the team is presented their medals and the trophy.

Joy is rushing through until I witness Rubiales kiss Jenni, but I try to focus on the win, catching Olga as she comes barrelling back toward me after they take team photos.

“I’m sorry for yelling on the phone. And ignoring you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

“But you didn’t even know if we would win the semis.”

“Mm I’m kind of psychic, I actually knew ages ago.” Olga giggles and pushes me lightly.

Then her family approaches us, sadness looming behind their smiles. I leave them alone to talk but it doesn’t take long for Olga to fall into my arms as she cries.

“Shh mi vida. What’s wrong?” I hold her tight as I rock us back and forth, rubbing her back.

“Mi papa murió” I stop abruptly and pull away, taking her face in my hands as I stare in shock. (my dad died)

“Qué? Cuando?” (What? When?)

“Viernes.” (Friday)

“What do you mean Friday? No one told you?” she only shakes her head before pulling me back into her.

“Lo siento mucho Ol. I’m so sorry. He would have been so proud” (very sorry)

~~~~~

We get back to Madrid after celebrations with the team. The funeral is a few days after and I spend most of the time taking care of Olga, refusing to let her do anything she doesn’t need to. Most mornings I make her breakfast, then wait to see if she wants to do any activities, then finish off the day by making dinner.

I then decided we both deserved a small holiday, so I brought her to my hometown, Dénia, on Spain’s east coast.

“Bebé! Do you have the towels?” Olga shouts from the door as I struggle to pull on my second sandal.

“Sí! I’ve got everything, don’t worry.” I walk towards her and peck her on the lips before opening the door, ushering her out.

Olga swings our hands back and forth between us as we make our way down to the beach from our hotel.

“Can we build sandcastles?” she looks at me with those big, whiskey brown eyes and I find it impossible to deny her anything.

“Of course we can.” And so we set up a spot, and while she gathers some water, I start packing sand into our buckets.

Every now and then a kid comes up to us, asking for a photo with the ‘Heroe de Fútbol’ who got us that trophy. Other kids have no idea who she is and just want to help us build a big ass sandcastle, and we tell them jokes and play into whatever fantasy they’ve made for the structure.

‘y las dos princesas se casan y viven felices para siempre!’ the little girl finishes her story. (and the two princesses get married and live happily ever after)

Lucia, as we learned her name was, quickly switched the prince for a princess after momentarily being confused when she asked if we were ‘friends or friends’. Her mum tried to apologise but Olga laughed and just took hold of my hand as we listen to the story.

Not long after saying goodbye to the girl and her mum, Olga and I pack up and head back.

“What do you want to do tonight bebé?” I ask as I unlock the door.

“Movie night? All those kid stories make me want to watch Disney.”

“As long as we get to watch The Princess and The Frog”. I head to the kitchen to start on dinner when I feel Olga’s arms wrap around me and I turn around.

“What’s up?” I stare down into her eyes, so full of love.

“Thank you. For coming home early and for this holiday, for taking care of me.”

“I’ll always take care of you mi corazón, even if I have to get dishonourably discharged, if you need me, I’ll be here. And if I really can’t be, I’ll do whatever I can to help.” I lean down and capture her lips in my own, our love for each other radiates through the kiss.

“Te amo.” She pecks my lips again (I love you)

“Te amo.” I turn back around to continue with dinner and Olga curls into my side, following me around the kitchen, always leaning on me.

It can be so hard to find time like this together so when we have it, neither of us want to be apart from the other. I never want to be apart from her.

~~~~~

Our holiday goes on for another couple of days, and we decide for our last night we would have a romantic dinner at Mala Vita, a restaurant in the Marina, overlooking the water.

“Are you ready?!” I yell through the bathroom door, waiting for Olga to finish getting ready.

I’m about to knock again when the door creaks open and Olga steps out.

I choke as I catch sight of her. Her satin red dress clings to her perfectly, her muscles are softly defined, and her loose hair frames her face. Her heels make her taller, but she still has to lean up to plant a kiss on my cheek as my mouth continues to gap open.

“Perfecta hermosa! Elegante!” I kiss her with every word before we head down to the taxi, my arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders. (Perfect beautiful! Elegant!)

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She lightly pokes me in the side as she takes in my own outfit.

When we arrive at the restaurant, it’s golden hour, and Olga begs to do a small photoshoot, asking an older couple to take some photos of us together.

I hold her close and look her in the eyes before dipping her, both of us laughing as the older lady cheers and takes a photo.

Then Olga turns her back to me as she adjusts her hair, and I drop to one knee and hold out an object that could change everything. I see the couple smile to each other and continuously take photos from Olga’s phone out of the corner of my eye. I smile to myself, I hope to one day be like them, with the girl in front of me.

It takes Olga a few moments to turn around, ready to hug me. It then takes her a few more moment to realise I’m not standing in front of her, her eyes dropping to meet mine as I grin up at her. Her hands are then quick to cover her mouth.

“Olga Carmona García, you are the light of my life, and I would do anything for you. When you kicked a football into my face, I couldn’t even imagine this is where we would be 2 and a half years later. I am more in love with you than I have ever loved anything in my life. I want to grow old with you and love you for eternity. Por favor hazme la mujer más feliz del mundo y sé mi esposa” in mere moments Olga falls to her knees, pulls me in and kisses me passionately. (please make me the happiest woman in the world and be my wife)

“Sí! Sí, lo haré!” she cries as I slip the ring on and kiss her again. (Yes! Yes I will!)

“Sois una hermosa pareja” the lady says as she hands Olga’s phone back to her. (You are a beautiful couple)

“Gracias.” We wave goodbye to the couple before heading into the restaurant.

“I love you so much.” Olga whispers as she takes my hand, admiring the ring on her other hand.

“Not as much as I love you.” I kiss her forehead before we sit down.

“I have another surprise…”

“Qué?” her head quirks to the side in that adorable way that makes my heart clench, and I know what I’m about to say will be the best decision of my life.

“I got offered a job..” I can tell Olga is about to ask how this is a good surprise, so I rush on.

“As a lead trainer of the Air Force Academy in Madrid.” I grin at her, waiting for her to react.

“W- what does that mean?”

“I’ll be in Madrid permanently, unless of course you move clubs, then I’ll move. But most importantly we’ll have more guaranteed time together.”

“But your dream has been to be a high rank in the Air Force for basically ever!” I can see her begin to look distraught.

“It was my dream. But I’ll never want anything more than to be with you. And being in the Air Force basically guarantees we only ever have 6 months, if that, together every year. I don’t know about you, but I can’t live without you for that long for the rest of my life.”

“I can’t either.” I take her hand.

“I want this Olga, I promise. And if I get bored of being on the ground, I can always become a commercial pilot. Then I’ll always be a captain.” I smile reassuringly at the love of my life.

“Siempre serás mi capitana.” I lean over the table and kiss her once more. (You will always be my captain).

“Te amo.” She whispers as we part.

“Te amo mi corazón.”

[demigodsanswer]

Percabeth teacher AU/Did they or didn’t they

((this gave me brain worms in the grocery store. Made them professors because that's my world))

During his master's degree, Percy had been given the salient advice to never sleep with another academic at a conference. Because you never know who might end up on your job search committee.

Had Percy listened?

Yes, actually. For eight years he'd listened to the advice, all the way through his Ph.D. and a good chunk of his temporary lecturer position.

And then, he stopped listening.

But in his defense, Annabeth (Doctor Chase now) was a beautiful young woman in a sea of eccentric old white people. He'd grown up with her, gone to camp with her, and he'd even taken her to prom. But then she went to Harvard, and he stayed in New York. Now they pretty much only communicated through likes on the rare Facebook or Instagram post. And, one night, through steamy glances across a Marriott ballroom, plastic cups of free wine in hand.

The decision to go home together was quick and wordless, but followed hours of talking about research, catching up on life, and making her laugh.

Annabeth even kissed him goodby in the morning.

And now she was on the other side a very impressive conference table asking him questions about his qualifications for Brown's open tenure-track job. Her presence kept him focused in the interview though. Working with Annabeth Chase would be an exquisite job benefit.

~

ten months later

Pollux watched them from the other side of the room. The Classics department wasn't a stuffy as most people assumed, but it certainly didn't have the gossip that the Drama department had. He worked across both, and often his work intersected with Annabeth's work in ancient architecture ("with an emphasis on Athens," she always added).

But Annabeth and Percy had made themselves the subject of gossip. And Pollux couldn't tell if they knew that.

When Percy's application had been pulled out of the pile -- a younger long-shot candidate who'd spent two years as a Lecturer at Wash U in St. Louis, had a good number of publications, and solid teaching philosophy -- Annabeth had asked if she should recuse herself.

"Do you know him?" Chiron had asked.

"Not well anymore, but we were friends in high school."

Minutes later, Travis had found her prom photos on Facebook with Percy Jackson still tagged. "He was your prom date? That's so cute."

Annabeth looked like she might bludgeon him to death with a priceless artifact and ship his bones to the British Museum for eternal punishment.

"Do you think it will affect your ability to be neutral?" Chiron asked.

"No, I don't think so," she said. And so she stayed on.

But she had been in strong favor of Percy since the moment he arrived on campus.

Now, they were sitting thigh-to-thigh whispering things to each other at the department "Saturnalia" party, utterly unaware of the several people snooping on them.

Pollux wasn't sure if they'd slept together before he'd gotten hired (unless they'd done it on prom night?), but he was squarely on team "they are sleeping together now."

~

three months later

Annabeth was sure she could maintain a professional and adult relationship with Percy. She'd indulged her high school crush for one (exceptional, blissful, wonderful, life-altering) night months before his application had come through, and that was it.

Well, her and Percy's relationship was certainly adult, but was hardly professional.

Sure, professors were allowed to date people in the same school, and even the same department. But Percy and her wanted to keep their relationship on the down-low until it looked less like Percy had fucked his way into a tenure-track Ivy league job.

Plus, Annabeth kind of liked the sneaking around.

Percy, as newest faculty, got stuck with the smallest office, and the only one with now windows. But it had it's perks.

It was the first nice Spring day in March, unseasonably warm, and Annabeth had celebrated with a cute, flowy dress that ended past her shins. One of her students had called it "light academia core." Annabeth assumed it was a compliment.

Dr. Jackson seemed to like it at least. She'd dropped by his office to offer him a ride home (to her home, but what did that matter?), and he'd simply pulled her inside, locked the door, and sat her on the desk. His hands were under it in seconds, and then, after a few "hello" kisses, his head joined his hands.

"I wanted to do that all day," he said with a smug grin as they tried to rearrange themselves after. It was six now. Most of their coworkers were gone, but who knew what undergrad clubs used classrooms in this building. And her students were nosy.

"I've got my own list of things I want to do to you," Annabeth said, tracing her hands up his bare forearms until the met the rolled up sleeves of his button-down. "So grab what you need and come home with me."

[unreliable-narrator-chilaios]

chilaios week; day 6 prompt: "beach episode/alternative universe", using both prompts; 1,579 words

no i did not do the previous days. yet. but i WAS struck by inspiration for this one. i don't want to give too much away so i'm not saying what the AU is, but you'll figure it out lol

title: Chilchuck's Secret

cws: not any, I think? this one's very sweet. i wanted to use the good vibes of beach episode... i guess there's some suggestive lines, but it's not nsft at all.

      There’s a secret at the beach, if you know where and when to look.

      And nobody knows but Chilchuck, of course.

      He was always the sort of man to keep his cards close to his chest, and this was no exception. Anything that he treasured, he had to keep locked away - hoarding everything he held dear to keep it safe and sound, out of the way of harm… with maybe only a hint of jealousy inherent in that act. Greed, even.

      Not that he was the greedy one out of the two of them. That title belonged to Laios, through and through.

      The brittle shale that crumpled beneath his fingers was cool to the touch, compared to how it would feel later. It hadn’t yet been baked in the sun for hours today. The shale and limestone and sand were blissfully cool for now, letting him take his time on his way down the short cliffside to the cove. It was the time of year that it was cool in the morning and searingly hot in the afternoon, the time of year that he was always tempted to stay from dawn until dusk. Maybe even longer than that. It was a rush to get across the route when the sand scalded and blistered his feet, but when it was cool, it was almost soft. Pleasant.

      He needed the lack of urgency - the slowly building arthritis in his hands and knees made him especially stiff in the mornings. His tri-weekly trips here had been helping considerably, but the way down to get there was rough, even if the reward was well worth it. His body creaked traitorously, even as it allowed him his nimble movements down the short rock wall, the sudden lurch from his hop down onto flat stone.

      Tide pools flourished here. It was low tide, making the shallow dips and pools in the rock especially prominent, where hardy, stubborn plants drooped at the surface and critters scuttled within and between them. He was careful to sidestep a crab on his way to the sand proper, relaxing as his feet sank into the fine grains.

      He breathed in the scent of sea spray, salt and foam, the smell of things washed up by the tide and left stranded when the waters receded. A chunk of driftwood would soon be picked up again at noon, when the high tide came back; clumps of washed-up kelp and algae littered the beach, at the line where he knew the tide would come up to later.

      The sun was still low in the sky, just barely peeking through the trees that sheltered the cove. The passage to the ocean was narrow, and the forest was thick in this area. Most of the cove wasn’t just blocked off by trees, but cliffs. His route down the side of one was the safest; the beach here was free of litter, free of the sound of crinkling plastic and the smell of waste, the bright eyesores of humanity that left their mark on nature’s majesty.

      Chilchuck relaxed as his eyes gravitated towards an outcropping of rock in the center of the water. He wasn’t here yet, but that was fine. The half foot was early to their meeting.

      He made himself comfortable. The sand yielded to him where he stepped, slipping between his toes and under his heel as he walked across the sandy portions of the beach, coming up to a rock that he’d begun to favor in the past month. Pebbles and sharp stones littered the sand here, but he didn’t mind, avoiding them the best he could before he quickly scaled the side of the beach rock.

      It was the outermost boulder of a wider outcropping that extended from the cliffs, forming a small, flat perch on top that let him have an excellent view of the cove. The chill in the rock was soothing as he sat down, careful not to let his swimming trunks get caught on the sharp little crags.

      Other than his swimming trunks, he wasn’t wearing much. Just a plain white swim shirt. The trunks themselves were solid black. He would have opted for clothing that looked a little better, but he had to replace them often - he kept stashes of extra pairs in an alcove nearby, in case of them being ripped or shredded while he was here.

      It happened much more often than he’d like. The thought alone made him huff, amused, as his whiskers twitched and his tail curled around his side. His ears flicked when he felt the breeze stir the inner ear fur. He usually hid his more… animalistic features when he could, but he knew Laios would just rip his clothes off even faster, just for a chance to feel his tail. Grabby bastard.

      Speaking of. Speak of the devil, and he shall come.

      There’s a large, dark shadow in the water. The water here is practically crystal clear, but it’s massive and far away - the cove is huge, after all, stretching across half a mile from one side to the other. He can see the little flurries of shoals of fish scattering in its wake, schools dispersing and reforming as they flittered between open water and the abundance of plants in the makeshift, tiny reef that had formed here. Small stretches of coral were in the deeper parts of the water, here, and seagrass and algae offering food and shelter a little further out, teetering off into just rocks closer to the beach. Algae particularly liked the base of the sea stack in the middle, the base of the colossal rock wrapped in slimy dark green.

      With a burst of ripples and sea spray, the figure breaks the surface of the water, hauling itself up the rock with relative ease, even as gravity drags it down. He isn’t meant for the surface, after all, and without the buoyancy of the water, he’s heavy - because, after all, he’s an utterly massive cecaelia. Pale skin transitioned to yellow-gold at the waist, the muscular fatty upper human half matched with a fat, bulky form of an octopus, rippling with muscle underneath slick, oddly-textured skin and suction cups. He easily hauled himself onto his own perch, running a hand through his blonde hair and practically deflating under his own weight for a moment.

      Those golden eyes light up like always when their gazes meet. Swaths of his skin light up in a blushing pink, giving away how happy he is. Laios was always, and would always be, an open book. He loves that about him.

      Chilchuck carefully made his way back down the rock, feet planted into the sand and pebbles and sea glass. He waded into the shallows, where the water was relatively warm. It wasn’t long until he was swimming, doing a bit of a pathetic doggy paddle to the base of the sea stack - and then one of those muscular arms gently wound its way around his torso, lifting him up out of the water and onto the little plateau. The routine was wound into them at this point, wordlessly slumping into one another as soon as he was able to reach his human half. Those big, strong arms wrapped around him, one hand coming down to pet along the drenched fur of his tail.

      He didn’t shake himself out like he wanted to. That was a bit too dog-like, for his tastes. Laios always laughed at him when he did it, with that soft, genuinely happy laugh.

      “Dork,” he mumbled, non-contextually. It earned a chuckle, vibrating through that broad chest.

      He’s pulled into a kiss, small and chaste, but sweet nonetheless. He curls his tail around the cecaelia’s hand, relaxing into his hold like always after he pulled away. That chest was the perfect pillow, letting him listen to his breathing, the beating of his heart. He knew it would sound different if he listened to it while the man was underwater, when he used his gills instead of his lungs. He found his body idly fascinating, but not as fascinating as Laios found his to be.

      The hand not occupied with his tail pressed softly against the back of his neck, thumbing across the muscles between his neck and shoulder. “You missed me,” he teased, curling one of those arms around his leg to hold him securely. He always wanted to completely surround him, hold him with everything he had. “That was… what, two days?”

      “Shut up,” he scolded, playfully. He smacked his bicep lightly, swatting at him like a fly. It just made the man laugh. His ears burned and he knew they were scarlet on the inside. He couldn’t help that Laios was the best thing going on in his life right now. His secret treasure. “I didn’t miss you, you were just annoying immediately. I mean, come on. You’re bright pink. I thought that the color change was for camouflage! Eedjit.”

      He laughed that sweet laugh again.

      “M’eudail.” He said it with the tone of an insult, a curse, even if it very much wasn’t, as he swatted him again. “Ye fuckin’ sook.”

      “You definitely missed me.” Laios was grinning, more of that oddly-textured skin flushing pink and red. “I can change the subject, though. Do you want to hear about a weird fish I caught the other day?”

      Chilchuck huffed, whiskers twitching. “Sure.”

      He could listen to him talk about just about anything for hours.

[thatbadadvice]

Help! My Mother-In-Law Buys A New Outfit Every Time She Pours Jet Fuel on Chilean Sea Bass and Throws Their Carcasses, Flaming, Into the Rainforests from the Open Belly of Her Private Plane

Care and Feeding, Slate, 1 May 2023:

Dear Care and Feeding, My husband and I have two children (2 years and 6 months). We recently moved back to my husband’s hometown to pursue a career opportunity for me. My husband has been home with the kids but was just offered a job. We found a daycare, but it can only take the kids three days a week right now (we’re on waitlists for full-time, but it seems like it could be months or more before we find two full-time spots). My mother-in-law has generously offered to watch the kids for the other two days. Overall, she is a lovely, responsible woman, but we have some significant value differences around environmental issues and I’m not sure how to navigate them. Our household focuses heavily on environmental awareness. We drive electric cars, we compost, we limit our air conditioning, we limit our flying, we eat all leftovers, we avoid plastics whenever possible, and we buy exclusively secondhand clothing. My mother-in-law is a big fan of consumption. Her house is full of plastics. She throws away whatever is left on her plate at the end of a meal, she keeps her house so cold in the summer that I need a sweater and she drives a minivan. I’m concerned about the message it sends to the kids if we stick to our values, except when to do so would be inconvenient. How do I bridge our two very different lifestyles going forward? —Environmentalist Mama in Limbo

Dear Environmentalist Mama,

I'm not sure how you can describe a person who air-conditions her home and drives a minivan as "lovely" and "responsible" but I will assume that this planet-hating harpy has gripped you so tightly in her environmentally irresponsible talons that you cannot see the wildfire-ridden forest for the trees (which she is personally cutting down for fun and profit). Do not let yourself be hoodwinked by promises of familial love and generous offers of free child care, as if these things matter more than assiduously composting! This woman is a monster who is single-handedly destroying the only earth your precious babies have to live on. Imagine the tragedies that will unfold if your children experience a loving connection with a person who purchases items made of plastic? They could come to believe that other humans are whole people with their own interior lives and decision-making apparatuses and values instead of ugly nasty baddies who dare to oppose Mommy's One True And Only Way?

You simply cannot bridge two lifestyles as different as the two you describe here. On the one hand, we have your blameless and perfect eco-conscious little household of brave, Dumpster-diving Oliver Twists, and on the other hand, we have an ethically compromised, unscrupulous, indefensibly ignorant shitbird who probably barbecues her factory-farmed meats over asbestos tiles and flies to Australia to distribute the ashes over the Great Barrier Reef. If Planet Earth does not spin out into an apocalyptic ball of climate disaster by the time your children are old enough to be knifing their peers over tire fires for their share of rat rations, it will be because your uniquely virtuous family had the moral fortitude to drive an electric car and limit your flying. After all, electricity comes from magical climate-neutral fairies and the jet fuel industry is waiting with bated breath for the day that you ground your family and send an international behemoth into wholesale free-fall.

If there is one guaranteed way forward through the climate crisis, it is to silo ourselves into individual categories of "good people" who use paper straws (like you! you are so good!) and "amoral reprobates" (such as your mother-in-law, who sucks!) who do not. The very future of humanity depends on demonizing and shaming other people until they behave as we want them to, privileging individual actions over collective resistance to and accountability for the worst global offenders, and rejecting community-building opportunities in favor of being the only best good person ever.

Build no bridge with this woman! She would probably just drive over it with her minivan, and then the blood of billions will be on your hands.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

Part 29

I keep messing up names but nevertheless we persist even though I am so disgustingly embarrassed and want to never write again lmao xx

Zoe wiped her brow with the back of her hand, sighing as she looked at the mess that was in front of her.

She was at Cillian's new home, surrounded by boxes, packing peanuts, open tool boxes and men putting together furniture. She was aware she had to be here for the deliveries, but she didn't know she had to tell them where to PUT the furniture. She did her best to arrange the couch and coffee table nicely in a way they would compliment the shape of the Great Room, but she was still hesitant in if Cillian would like it. She figured she would facetime him later when he was free and show him, and she can move it herself.

"All set, ma'am," The delivery man said, walking up to her with a clipboard. "Just need your signature here. Here's your receipt, your warranty, and bottom copy is yours for your records."

Zoe took the clipboard, went to sign and hesitated. The line she was supposed to sign on had CILLIAN MURPHY below it.

"Uh.. Should I..?" Zoe started, pointing at the line with her pen. Does she sign her name?

The delivery man looked over and smiled. "You can sign your name on his line, no worries. Happens all the time, we deal with a lot of assistants signing for their bosses."

Zoe signed, and handed the clipboard back before realizing what he said. "Oh, I'm not his assistant, I'm.. I'm his girlfriend," He said, voice drenched in doubt. That's what she was, right?

The delivery man took the clipboard from her and nodded. "My apologies. Let me know if you have any questions, have a good afternoon," He said, before grabbing his toolbox and walking out the door, followed by his 2 helpers.

Zoe followed them and closed the door behind them, locking it. The alarm guy was supposed to come by around 2pm, which left her a couple hours to herself in the house. She went to go get Scout; who was barricaded upstairs so he wouldn't bother the men putting together the furniture. He made a beeline for the living room, sniffing out the new couch. He promptly hopped on it and stretched out, which made Zoe laugh. She took out her phone to snap a pic. She promptly sent it to Cillian:

zoe: someone likes the new couch.

cill: Lucky bastard. Dog has the life. cill: I miss you. I wish you came with me. Zoe: I miss you too. how was your flight? Cill: It was fine. was gonna try and sleep but Hannah was talking my ear off about all the stuff coming up. Heading to hotel now to relax, have a read through later this afternoon, then i'm free. Start shooting tomorrow, i'll order room service and go over the script tonight. Zoe: can you squeeze in a call later on tonight? Cill: my entire night is based on squeezing in a call with you. Let me get settled and I'll touch base with you later. Zoe: :) sounds good. I'll talk to you later. Cill: Hey - Zoe: ? Cill: I love you. Zoe: :) I love you too.

She said it. She said it!

Didn't she? Technically, she did.

She put her phone away and plopped down next to Scout. She looked out over the sea of boxes, plastic, packing paper...just a mess. She looked over at Scout, who was fast asleep, and sighed yet again.

"Might as well be productive," She said to herself as she opened her Spotify and cranked up the volume.

about an hour later, the phone ran and interrupted Zoe's dance session in the kitchen. Her heart skipped a beat, thinking it was Cillian, but it was just her sister.

"Hello?" She said, putting it on speakerphone.

"oh hi, is this my sister? the one who was supposed to call me and her niece last night and the night before???" Jen yelled.

oh shit.

"Crap. i'm sorry Jen, I have so much happening -"

"What is going on with you?" Jen cut her off. "You used to call all the time to talk to Soph. Miss a day here and there, fine. but come on, man, don't tell her you're gonna call and then don't, because I'm the one who has to deal with her crying."

Double shit.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I feel like shit. I'm sorry. Is she around now?"

Jen sighed. "No, she's at ballet practice, I wanted her out of the house so she didn't hear me ripping you a new asshole"

"Give me a break, I have so much shit going on here I'm forgetting everything, it's not just you guys, I'm forgetting deadlines at work, I'm forgetting where I put stuff, it's like I have amnesia." Zoe snapped, wiping down the counter.

"What is going on?"

"I'm helping Cillian move into his new place while he's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"He's filming. He bought a new house, I'm here and arranging the furniture deliveries and unpacking and shit."

"..Zoe.. why?"

"Jen... because I want to?"

"Zoe what's going on between you two? I thought this was a contract and it's done now so you guys are done."

"I know but.. we are still together. I don't want to talk about it." Zoe said, trying to shut it down. She could tell Jen was going in protective sister mode. It wasn't needed.

"Zoe, don't be blinded by anything. Be realistic-"

"Jen you don't get it. You dated the same guy since high school, can you please back off and let me be happy for once?" Zoe snapped.

"Fine. Fine. But just know if he hurts you I'm kicking his ass back to Ireland."

"I'll give you 10 bucks if you can point out Ireland on a map." Zoe laughed.

"I don't care. I'll use google maps."

Cillian put down his glass and looked for the bartender, hoping he would notice him. He desperately wanted to go upstairs, call Zoe, and go to sleep.

His plans were altered by Hannah. She wanted to grab some food at the hotel bar after the script readthrough to go over schedules. Cillian said he didn't understand since he already had the filming schedule, but apparently there was press that had to be done in between.

"I also have a dinner scheduled for you with Lizzie Hughes," Hannah said, downing the rest of her wine as she closed her planner. "It's scheduled for this Friday at 8pm."

Cillian gave her a look. "Sorry, who's that?"

"She's a new model for Versace. We just signed her as well, she's blowing up and she's in talks to be casted in the new Wicked movie."

Cillian was still confused. "Okay.. does she have a role in Peaky this season, or...?"

"No, no role."

Cillian was annoyed. "Okay, so what am I supposed to be doing with her over dinner?"

"I just thought it would be nice! Get you out there-"

"Get me out there? What are you talking about?"

Hannah spoke carefully. "You know, with the breakup, get you out there dating again."

"Hannah." Cillian spoke firmly. "We are not broken up. We are still together. In fact, I was supposed to call her, so if you'll excuse me," He said, getting up from his barstool.

"Cillian, you can't be serious about this girl. She's a nobody. She's not going to help your image -"

"Hannah," Cillian said, now angry, spinning around to face her. "She's not a nobody. She's Zoe. and I love her. I don't give a fuck about my image. If you have a problem with that, I told you -"

"I got it, I got it," Hannah said, internally rolling her eyes. "First call is tomorrow 8am. I'll come get you? I'll grab you some tea," She said, trying to change the subject.

Cillian stared at her, then just turned around and walked away. He was entirely too tired for this, and just wanted to go talk to Zoe. Well, he wanted to go home, but talking to Zoe was the next best thing if he couldn't go home to her.

Hannah watched Cillian get into the elevator with the doors closing behind him. She sighed and put her head in her hand, frustrated.

Hannah's goal was to have the most elite client list in the industry. She had a fantastic portfolio, managing the best of the best and churning out the juciest stories to the tabloids, wether they be fake/PR or not. She did what she had to do to push her clients to be the best they can be. In turn, it was more money in her pocket and more face recognition amongst her peers in the industry, earning her more respect.

Cillian dating a loser journalist was the complete opposite of what she needed him to do. Him dating her wasn't anything scandalous, but it was like an annoying mosquito that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times you swat at it. Hannah hated things getting in her way.

She hated annoyances and pests.

She definitely hated bugs. That's exactly what Zoe was to her, an annoying, pesty bug.

And what do you do with bugs?

You squash them. And that's exactly what Hannah planned to do.

tags: @lau219 @borntodiemp3 @shopgirl6us @cillianmurphyvevo