#used artificial turf

[captain-danwilds]

What do we canonically know about the Raven drills?

Here’s what I remember:

I’m pretty sure Kevin said there were eight of them and you couldn’t play until you mastered all eight.

The drills use cones and require enough power to knock them over.

The cones are numbered and you need to be able to go in any order that’s called.

But like what makes the drills increasingly difficult, is it the number of cones you’re expected to hit off a single hit (and thus relying on rebounds having the right angles and enough power to keep going)? Does the position of the cones change?

[artificialgrassopedia]

Say goodbye to lawn maintenance. Learn how artificial turf for residential use can transform your yard with lasting beauty, comfort, and sustainability.

[ranjitsinh22]

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #44

Three Teens, Three Crowns, and a Whole Lot of Nope

Imagine dis…

I was just shuffling around my playlist when I heard that song from the animated movie El Dorado and it made me thinking, so here it goes…

…

DANNY’S POV

The moment my best friends bit the ghostly dust, the universe decided to hand us a set of crowns we didn’t ask for. Because obviously, nothing says “Congratulations on your tragic deaths!” like a full-time job in the afterlife.

Tucker, in a plot twist no one saw coming (except maybe Clockwork, because that guy cheats), turned out to be the reincarnation of some ancient Pharaoh. Not just any Pharaoh—oh no—he got the VIP pass straight to the top of the Egyptian pantheon, answering only to me, the so-called King of the Infinite Realms. Because if there's one thing I’ve learned, it's that my best friend is destined to be the world's first tech-savvy, WiFi-dependent god-king of the afterlife.

Sam, on the other hand, had always been a little too into nature, and I guess the universe finally decided to roll with it. When she synced up perfectly with Undergrowth’s power, the big walking salad declared her his heir, making her the literal Queen of Nature. So now, Sam basically has dominion over every plant in existence, which means I can never make an offhand comment about preferring artificial Christmas trees without getting a death glare.

And me? Well, since I yeeted Pariah Dark back into the sarcophagus where he belonged, the Infinite Realms figured I should be the one running the place. So, lucky me—I got promoted to Ghost King, a position that comes with all the responsibility and none of the training manual.

Now, you’d think that’s enough responsibility for a trio of teenagers who just wanted to survive high school. But no, Clockwork took one look at us, decided we sucked at ruling, and thought, Hey, let’s make this fun! So instead of, I don’t know, giving us an actual lesson in leadership, he chucked us into a completely different dimension (because, sure, why not?) and told us to start cults.

Yep. You heard that right. Cults.

No warning, no instructions, just a “figure it out” and a push into the deep end. One minute we’re in the Ghost Zone, the next we’re scattered across this weird universe like a really weird cosmic prank.

So now I’m stuck in Gotham, which, by the way, might be more haunted than the Ghost Zone itself. I have no idea where Sam and Tucker ended up, but if I know them, Tucker’s probably convinced a bunch of tech bros to worship him as some cyber-god, and Sam’s singlehandedly turning a park into her new throne. Meanwhile, I have to somehow convince people to follow me without sounding like a lunatic.

This is going to be fun. (Spoiler: It won’t be.)

…

SAM’S POV

Gotham reeked of smoke, oil, and decay. Beneath its gothic beauty was a suffocating lifelessness, an unnatural cage of steel and concrete. The city was a graveyard where nature had been paved over and left to rot in the shadows of towering skyscrapers. It was unacceptable. It was offensive. And Sam was going to change it.

She wasted no time. The moment her feet hit Gotham’s cracked pavement, she started planting seeds—both literally and metaphorically. It began with whispers. A small movement. A group that promised something different. Gotham had no shortage of lost souls—criminals, outcasts, the downtrodden looking for something beyond the city's endless cycle of crime and punishment. But Sam wasn’t offering power or chaos like every other Gotham lunatic. No, she offered something much rarer: sustainability.

Food. Shelter. Community.

It started with fresh produce, rare and valuable in Gotham’s urban wasteland. No one questioned where it came from, only that it was fresh, free of toxins, and worth more than a stack of stolen cash. The deal was simple—manual labor in exchange for nourishment. Gotham’s criminals, many of whom spent their lives getting stabbed, shot, or beaten in some turf war, found the idea shockingly reasonable. Hospitals ate through their earnings. Gang life was profitable until you bled out in an alley. But a place that provided food, healing, and protection? That was something different. That was better.

The movement grew. What began as a handful of desperate people looking for a way out became something bigger. The streets whispered of a new force rising, one that didn’t deal in violence or corruption but in roots—roots that burrowed deep, that refused to be ignored.

At first, the Batfamily dismissed it as background noise. In a city filled with psychopaths dressed as clowns, what was a little nature cult? But when Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn vanished—not in a grand escape, not in a fiery explosion, but simply faded into the movement—their indifference turned to concern.

When Ivy resurfaced, she wasn’t the same. The wild unpredictability had been tempered into something focused. Controlled. She still worshipped nature, but now she had a leader, someone she called High Priestess. And that leader wasn’t some ancient force of the Green. It wasn’t a metahuman, a scientist, or a villain. It was a teenager.

A black-haired, violet-eyed girl who stood in front of kneeling followers, leading ceremonies beneath the growing canopy of Gotham’s first true forest in centuries.

Sam had never been one for blind worship. She despised mindless devotion. But this wasn’t about faith—it was about purpose. The people who followed her weren’t zealots; they were survivors. They had seen what Gotham’s endless cycle of crime and violence had to offer, and they wanted out. She gave them that. She gave them a cause. And if it meant being called a cult leader, then fine. Whatever. Labels didn’t matter. Results did.

And Gotham was changing.

The city fought back, of course. The corruption, the crime families, even the Bat himself—none of them liked an unpredictable element in their precious, miserable ecosystem. But Sam had never been one to back down. Gotham was sick, diseased, rotting. She wasn’t here to burn it down like some power-hungry villain. She was here to fix it.

And if the Bats wanted to stop her, well—

Let them try.

…

TUCKER’S POV

Metropolis was beautiful. It was clean, it was bright, and it was bursting with technology. Skyscrapers gleamed under the sun, state-of-the-art AI patrolled the streets, and futuristic inventions were integrated into everyday life like it was no big deal. This was a city that worshiped innovation, where science and technology weren’t just tools but pillars of society.

Tucker should have been in heaven.

But he had a mission to complete before he could sit back and enjoy the wonders of Metropolis. Clockwork’s orders. And if the old ghost had taught him anything, it was that ignoring his cryptic guidance usually led to bad things. So, no indulging in the city’s top-tier tech just yet. He had a kingdom to build.

At first, Superman didn’t even notice him. That was fine. Tucker wasn’t looking to pick a fight with the world’s strongest hero. He moved in the background, setting up encrypted networks, hijacking digital footprints, and planting just enough static in the city’s airwaves to keep any unwanted super-snooping off his back. The occasional glitch in Superman’s super-hearing? That was Tucker, laying the groundwork.

But the real disruption came when people started vanishing.

Not just any people—tech specialists, programmers, engineers. The kind of minds corporations fought over, the ones Luthor’s company owned through shady contracts and blackmail. One by one, they disappeared from Metropolis, slipping through the cracks like digital ghosts.

The city was no stranger to missing persons. Metropolis saw its fair share of people vanishing into the underbelly of crime, alien invasions, or one of Lex Luthor’s ever-growing list of sinister schemes. But this? This was too precise, too targeted. Luthor’s R&D departments were bleeding talent at an alarming rate, and the usual suspects weren’t responsible.

The only common thread? The Code of Ra.

It started as an urban myth—a secretive group offering sanctuary to tech minds who had seen too many of their peers exploited, coerced, or “recruited” by the so-called forces of good and evil. They were promised a place where their work was valued, where they were free to create without fear of it being stolen, weaponized, or locked behind corporate greed.

And at the center of it all? Him.

Tucker hadn’t just built a cult—he’d built a kingdom. One where technology wasn’t a tool for war, where engineers and programmers weren’t disposable assets, where knowledge was sacred. He offered an intellectual utopia, a society where the greatest minds could work without limits. And the best part? They wanted to be there. There was no brainwashing, no coercion. The world had burned them too many times, and Tucker had simply given them an alternative.

And, okay, maybe he leaned into the whole Pharaoh thing a little. He was a reincarnated ruler, after all—might as well own it. Gold-trimmed robes, sleek futuristic stylings with ancient Egyptian aesthetics, and a throne room that looked like a cyberpunk temple. He’d always thought he’d look good in royal attire, and damn, was he right.

But his people didn’t follow him because of the theatrics. They followed because he gave them something no one else had—freedom.

Superman, unaccustomed to dealing with cults, found himself in unfamiliar territory. He had fought tyrants, warlords, and intergalactic conquerors, but a movement built on voluntary devotion? That wasn’t as simple as punching a bad guy. Normally, this was the kind of mess Batman or Wonder Woman would handle. But Diana was off-world, and Gotham had its own cult problem. That left the burden squarely on Superman’s shoulders.

And Tucker? Tucker was more than ready to enjoy the show.

…

DANNY’S POV

The desert sucked.

Like, really sucked.

If he ever made it out of this, he was going to personally petition the Ghost Zone to just delete the concept of sand from existence. Sand was evil. It got everywhere, it was hot, and it made him feel like a melting popsicle under a blowtorch.

His ice core hated him. His human half hated him. The sun was having the time of its life roasting him alive. And then—nothing.

When he woke up, things got weirder.

For one, he wasn’t dead. Which, honestly, was a pleasant surprise considering the whole “heatstroke and possible dehydration” situation. For another, he wasn’t lying in the sand anymore. Nope. Instead, he was inside a coffin.

Not the first time he’d woken up in one, but still, rude.

He sat up, blinking blearily, and was immediately met with dozens of kneeling figures in dark robes. No one screamed. No one attacked. They just...stared.

Which, honestly? Way creepier than ghost attacks.

The air smelled like flowers, incense, and something ancient, like he’d been dropped in the middle of an old temple. Around him were offerings—literal offerings—of gold, silver, and silk. And the people? They were whispering. Murmuring things he barely understood, eyes shining with what he could only describe as religious awe.

Which was never a good sign.

Danny had questions. A lot of questions. But the big one?

What the actual heck was going on?

It took some time—aka him sneaking around, eavesdropping, and pretending he had any idea what he was doing—but eventually, he figured it out.

These people? Every single one of them had died before. Not in the casual, “oops, tripped and fell” way, but in the full-on, flatline, bright light at the end of the tunnel way. And somehow, they’d come back. Some were resurrected, others survived things they shouldn’t have, but they all had one thing in common: they felt drawn to him.

Apparently, he was some kind of cosmic beacon for people who’d taken a one-way trip to the afterlife but forgot to stay there. To them, he wasn’t just some random ghost kid—he was the King. The embodiment of balance, life and death, chaos and order. The guy who got to decide whether people stayed dead.

And that was so not on his resume.

But did that stop people from kneeling at his feet, swearing loyalty, and building a cult around him? Nope.

Did he ask for it? Also nope.

And somehow, it just kept getting bigger. At first, it was just the devoted ghost-adjacent weirdos. Then mercenaries. Then, a group of assassins and a guy named Ra. Even Slade freaking Wilson showed up one day, standing ominously at the back like the world’s most intense chaperone.

Danny didn’t do cults. He wasn’t qualified for cults. He was barely qualified for high school.

But Clockwork had said he needed to establish one, and, well...mission accomplished?

Now, all he had to do was find Sam and Tucker, reunite with his spouses, and figure out how to explain to them that, uh...he might have accidentally become a god-king of the undead.

Yeah. They were never gonna let him live this down.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried a new type of writing. How is it?

[reasonsforhope]

"Legislative momentum against PFAS has surged this year, as at least 11 states enacted laws to restrict the use of “forever chemicals” in everyday consumer products or professional firefighting foam.

The legislation includes bans on PFAS in apparel, cleaning products, cookware, and cosmetic and menstrual products. Meanwhile, lawmakers in some states also passed measures that require industries to pay for testing or cleanup; order companies to disclose the use of PFAS in their products; and mandate or encourage the development of PFAS alternatives, according to Safer States, an alliance of environmental health groups focused on toxic chemicals.

In total this year, at least 16 states adopted 22 PFAS-related measures, according to the group. Since 2007, 30 states have approved 155 PFAS policies, the vast majority of them in the past five years.

The thousands of chemicals categorized as perfluoroalkyl and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS, do not naturally break down and are found in the blood of 97% of Americans. Some PFAS compounds can harm the immune system, increase cancer risks and decrease fertility...

Earlier this year, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency released new standards limiting PFAS in drinking water. Water systems have five years to comply with the rules. Even before the EPA action, 11 states had set their own limits on PFAS in drinking water, starting with New Jersey in 2018.

Water utilities and chemical manufacturers are challenging the new EPA standards. But states also are heading to the courthouse: So far, 30 states have sued PFAS manufacturers or key users for contaminating water supplies and other natural resources, according to Safer States...

Sarah Doll, national director of Safer States, said one reason states have been so successful in enacting PFAS limits is that more companies are willing to stop using the chemicals.

“When California restricted PFAS in textiles, all of a sudden you saw companies like REI saying, ‘We can, we’re going to do that. We’re going to move to alternatives,’” Doll said.

In Vermont, state lawmakers in April unanimously approved a measure banning the manufacture and sale of PFAS in cosmetics, menstrual products, incontinence products, artificial turf, textiles and cookware.

“The same as everyone else, like Democrats, we want to make sure that we remove PFAS and get it out of products as soon as we can,” said Vermont Republican state Rep. Michael Marcotte, who said his district includes cosmetics manufacturer Rozelle Cosmetics, in Westfield.

Democratic state Sen. Virginia Lyons, the chief sponsor of the Vermont bill, said it is particularly important to get PFAS out of products that are essential to consumers.

“There are some consumer products where you can say, ‘I don’t need to buy that, because I don’t want PFAS,’” Lyons said. “But it’s really tough to say that [about] a menstrual product.”

California’s latest PFAS measure, which Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom signed last month, specifically bans the use of PFAS in menstrual products. Democratic Assemblymember Diane Papan, the author of the bill, said it was particularly strong because it covers both intentional and unintentional uses of PFAS, so “manufacturers will have to really be careful about what comes in their supply chain.”

While more states enact laws focused on specific products, Maine is preparing to implement the world’s first PFAS ban covering all consumer goods. The Maine law, which is scheduled to take effect in 2030, will include exceptions for “essential” products for which PFAS-free alternatives do not exist. Washington state has also taken a sweeping approach by giving regulators strict timelines to ban PFAS in many product categories.

[themumblingmouse]

...Ok that's on me for forgetting most people would think of artificial turf when I said that, I meant living law grasses. Which Admittedly I don't think should be Fully Banned, but you said no nuance!!!

Fun Fact though, artificial grass often DOES require water. Not to live of course, but rather to keep it cool, because it often gets too hot to walk on on its own (much hotter than any natural grass would get!). Pipes of water will be run underneath, and some types from what I understand use a type of transpiration through the material to keep it cool. This tends to be ESPECIALLY necessary for fields of artificial turf being used regularly for sports.

Not to mention when you had artificial turf the quality of the soil underneath is even worse than if you had living turf-which isn't great itself, but anything actually alive in the ground is better than plastic laying on top. Bad soil means more water runoff, more flooding, and less ecological stability overall.

Of course there is also pollution associated with artificial grass, since it's made out of plastic. Pollution associated with real grass tends to come from extra shit put on it-overfertilization, pesticides, herbicides, ect. Artificial turf creates its own pollution runoff from existing.

Also less intersting to me, but with a ton of articles about it, it also tends to result in more/worse injuries for players playing on it than natural grass.

Turf grass should be banned

my only hesitation is maybe not for sport fields because it might be better than having to constantly manicure and mow and water real grass all the time but you may know more about this than me

[fafnir19]

The Candy Man

Kenny spat on the cracked pavement, the globule of saliva mixing with the grime that had been a permanent fixture of the urban landscape for as long as he could remember. Nineteen years he’d spent breathing this air, kicking around these streets, and working a dead-end job in a grocery store that smelled perpetually of stale bread and desperation.

He tugged at the hem of his bomber jacket, a nervous tic. The neighborhood was changing, and not for the better. “Fucking yuppies,” he muttered, watching two men in impeccably tailored suits stroll past, their hands intertwined. A sneer twisted his lips. The area had once been a working-class haven, a place where blokes like him could afford a pint and a packet of crisps without wincing. Now, every other shop seemed to be a boutique selling overpriced trinkets or a café serving obscure coffees with names he couldn’t even pronounce. Liam, his mate, sauntered up, cracking his knuckles. "What's got your knickers in a twist, Kenny?" Liam asked. "This shithole," Kenny gestured around with a sweep of his arm. "Turning into some poncey playground for trust fund babies. Remember when this was a proper neighborhood?" Kenny scowled as he leaned back against the brick wall, the familiar scent of stale urine and cheap cigarettes comforting in its grim familiarity. "Remember the arcade?" Liam asked, his voice laced with nostalgia. "Proper machines, none of this touch-screen bollocks." "Gone," Kenny spat again. "Replaced by that… that sugar palace." He gestured towards the brightly lit storefront across the street, the Candy Shop, with its garish displays and the lingering, cloying smell of artificial sweetness. "Candy Man," Matt sneered. "Fucking fairy." They all laughed, a harsh, discordant sound that bounced off the surrounding buildings.

But Kenny felt it in his bones, a creeping unease. This wasn't their turf anymore. "Bet they're all fags anyway," Liam spat, eyes narrowed at a man strolling past, a splash of color in a tailored suit. Kenny nodded, a familiar anger bubbling in his chest. "Probably. Soon this whole place will be a gay quarter." Just then, their other friend, chalky-faced Ben, hurried over, panting slightly. "Heard they're hiring at the candy shop. Pays good, apparently." Kenny snorted. "You wouldn't catch me dead working in some fag's shop."

A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and a man emerged, all wet-gelled hair and a silk shirt unbuttoned just a bit too low. It was Mason, the owner of the candy shop, the one Kenny and his friends derisively called "Candy Man."

Kenny's eyes narrowed. "Look at 'im," he muttered. "Strutting around like he owns the place." Matt chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Maybe he does, now. Heard he's got some fancy sweets in there. Candy canes that cost more than a day's wages." Kenny snorted, “Who needs fancy sweets? Give me a packet of crisps any day." Mason, oblivious to their scorn, unlocked the door to his shop, the bell jingling merrily as he stepped inside. Kenny watched him, a storm brewing behind his sharp blue eyes. "We'll see how long he lasts," he muttered. "This ain't over yet." Beside him, Matt cracked open another can. "Yeah, well, what can you do? All these fancy yuppies moving in, pushing us out." Liam grunted in agreement, taking a long swig of his lager, “Fucking gentrification!” Their usual pastime was harassing the clientele of the candy shop, a bunch of gays and yuppies who were too scared to fight back. He had to admit it was pretty fun. So the three sprung into action, when an elderly woman emerged from the candy shop, her arms laden with pastel-colored bags. She glanced at them nervously, clutching her purchases tighter. "Oi!" Kenny yelled, his voice thick with malice. "How much you pay for that shite? Could've bought a week's worth of fags for that!" The woman hurried away, her face pale. Kenny grinned, a flash of white teeth in his rough face. "That'll learn 'em."

A few days later, Kenny found himself stocking shelves in the cramped aisles of the grocery store, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. It wasn’t his dream job; actually it was shit, but it was a job and he needed the money.

"Kenny!" his boss, Mr. Patel, barked from behind the counter, "get your arse in gear and stop daydreaming.” Kenny sighed, grabbing a box of cereal from the back. As he turned, he nearly collided with a man browsing the dairy aisle. He recognized him instantly: Mason, the Candy Man. His heart pounded in his chest. Without his mates around, Kenny felt a strange mix of anxiety and… something else he couldn’t quite define. He ducked his head, hoping Mason wouldn’t recognize him - he needed this job! Mason, oblivious, continued to examine the shelves, filling his basket with imported cheeses and organic produce.  

He approached the checkout, paid and then turned to Mr. Patel, "Hey, could one of your lads help me carry these groceries home? I seem to have overdone it." Kenny’s boss didn't hesitate. "Hey Kenny you blighter, work for a change something for your wage and help Mason!" Kenny's face flushed crimson as he reluctantly grabbed the overflowing bags. Head bowed, he followed Mason out of the store, his pace submissive yet inwardly resentful. The walk to Mason's loft was agonizingly slow, each step amplifying his inner turmoil. Mason's apartment was a stark contrast to Kenny's own council flat. It was on the top floor, a luxury loft with panoramic views of the city – a sleek, minimalist space of black leather, chrome, and glass. Kenny felt out of place, his bomber jacket and track pants a glaring anachronism. He placed the bags on the kitchen counter, his eyes wide with disbelief. The place was spotless and expensive. Mason patted his pockets, a frown creasing his brow. "Sorry Kenny, but I don't have any cash at hand for a tip. But don't you want to try my famous candy canes instead?" He indicated a tray holding a single, swirling purple and black candy cane. Kenny hesitated. "Aren't candy canes just for kids?" Mason chuckled, a low, resonant sound. "Oh and you think you are too old for candy canes? These are for adults, not so sweet like the ones for children!" Kenny, wary of offending his employer’s customer, reached out and tentatively grasped the candy cane.

He brought it to his lips, tentatively licking the tip. The flavor exploded in his mouth, unlike anything he had ever tasted before. It was sweet, but with a strange, almost metallic tang that tingled on his tongue. It seemed to stimulate every taste bud, sending a shiver down his spine. He licked again, more eagerly this time, almost compulsively, his senses reeling. Mason settled onto the black leather sofa, his eyes fixed on Kenny. "Do you like it?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. Kenny just nodded, unable to speak, his senses overwhelmed by the taste. He licked and sucked on the candy cane faster, desperate to prolong the sensation, until nothing remained. "More," he gasped, his eyes wide with craving. Mason smirked, a hint of something darker in his expression. "Now for the real cane," he said, and unzipped his fly. Kenny's eyes widened in shock. "What the fuck?" he stammered, taking a step back. "I'm not a fag or something!" Mason ignored him, pulling his cock out of his pants. It was covered in the same black and purple striped icing as the candy cane. Kenny stared, his stomach churning. He was disgusted, repulsed by the sight of another man's cock.

But the taste of the candy cane was so addictive, so all-consuming, that it overshadowed his revulsion. He hesitated for a moment, torn between his ingrained prejudices and his overwhelming desire. Finally, the craving won. He sat down next to Mason on the couch, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'm not doing this because I like it," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Mason chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Of course not, Kenny. You're doing it for the candy." Kenny edged closer to Mason, the black leather of the sofa creaking beneath him. He lowered his head, the scent of sugar and something subtly darker filling his nostrils. His tongue darted out, tentatively at first, then with increasing eagerness, licking the icing-covered flesh. Mason chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. He caressed Kenny's back, his touch surprisingly gentle. His hand snaked down, slipping beneath the waistband of Kenny's track pants, his fingers probing, insistent, finding the sensitive skin of his rose. Kenny was too eager and voracious licking the icing to even protest. The taste was even more intense now, mixed with the salty tang of sweat and the musky scent of Mason's skin. Kenny licked harder, his head bobbing up and down, his senses completely consumed by the pleasure. When Mason's cock was almost licked clean of the icing, he withdrew it, the sudden absence leaving Kenny breathless. Mason shoved two fingers, which he had put into the icing, into Kenny's mouth. Kenny suckled on Mason's fingers, his eyes half-closed, lost in the rush of sweetness. Mason's other hand gripped the waistband of Kenny's track pants, pulling them down, exposing his pale ass. Kenny lay prone on the sofa, his head lolling over the armrest, still greedily licking Mason's fingers. His ass, exposed and vulnerable, was offered up to Mason’s gaze. With a predatory grin, Mason positioned himself between Kenny’s spread ass cheeks. He pressed the head of his cock against Kenny’s rose, the slick pre-cum a welcome lubricant. With a forceful thrust, he breached Kenny’s tight opening. Kenny gasped, a sharp intake of breath from the jolt of surprise. He bucked against the intrusion, a primal instinct to reject the violation. But the taste of the candy cane dulled the edges of his resistance. Mason lay his upper body on Kenny's back, his weight pressing him into the sofa. He gripped Kenny tightly, one arm snaking around him, and let himself fall astride, so that Kenny sat impaled on his cock. Now Mason gripped Kenny’s hips, guiding him up and down. The candy cane had left Kenny in a trance-like state, relaxed and pliable, and he let it happen. He let the sensation wash over him, the push and pull, the friction, the growing heat. Despite having licked the icing clean, the taste lingered, amplifying the experience, blurring the lines of pleasure and disgust. Mason reached down, his fingers closing around Kenny’s cock. He stroked it firmly, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. A moan escaped Kenny's lips, a sound he barely recognized as his own. He enjoyed the feeling of being fucked, the fullness, the pressure and soon he was teetering on the edge. A jolt of pleasure ripped through him, a blinding flash of white-hot sensation. He came with a strangled cry, his body convulsing against Mason’s.

As the aftershocks subsided, Kenny slowly regained awareness. He blinked, his eyes focusing on Mason’s smug face. A wave of horror washed over him. What had he done? He had let a man fuck him. He scrambled off Mason’s lap, his face contorted with disgust. He stumbled to his feet, pulling up his track pants, his face flushed with shame and confusion. He couldn't meet Mason's gaze, couldn't bear to see the satisfaction in his eyes. Without a word, he turned and fled, slamming the door behind him - the taste of candy and sin still clinging to his tongue.

The next days were a blur of conflicting emotions. Shame, disgust, and confusion warred with an insistent, gnawing craving for the taste of the candy cane. Kenny couldn't get it out of his head, the sweet, metallic tang haunting his dreams. He couldn’t focus at work; the mundane tasks of stocking shelves and ringing up groceries felt like torture. So he tried to distract himself, hanging out with Matt and Liam, drinking cheap beer and spitting on the pavement. But it wasn't the same. He felt detached, disconnected, like he was watching himself from a distance. He needed the taste again, that rush of flavor, that strange, unsettling pleasure. He needed the candy cane.

Finally, he found himself standing outside Mason’s sleek apartment building, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He pressed the buzzer, his knuckles white against the shiny chrome. The door clicked open, and he rode the elevator up, the chrome and glass reflecting his own anxious face back at him. Mason opened the door, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Looking for something, Kenny?" Kenny swallowed, shame warring with desire. "I… I need another candy cane," he blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. Mason chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. "There’s no free lunch, Kenny. But, I can show you how to produce such candy canes. Interested in learning the trade?" Kenny hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his gnawing need eclipsing his pride. " Yeah, alright. Show me." Mason smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes. " "Excellent." He disappeared into another room, returning with a peculiar garment. It was a tight-fitting shirt, made of some kind of shiny, rubbery material, striped in black and purple. "Wouldn't want to spill candy syrup on your clothes, would we?" Kenny eyed the shirt with distaste. It looked ridiculous. "What is this?" "Protective gear. Think of it as your uniform." Mason tossed it to him. "Get changed. The kitchen awaits." Kenny reluctantly took the shirt, the rubber cool and slick against his skin. He stripped off his own shirt and pulled on the rubbery monstrosity, the tight fit instantly making him feel exposed, vulnerable. It felt… wrong.

In the kitchen, Mason was already preparing the ingredients. He moved with a practiced grace, measuring and mixing with an air of expertise. As he explained the process, his hands brushed against Kenny's back, his ass, his crotch. Kenny flinched, disgusted, but he didn't pull away. The promise of the candy cane was too strong. "Now, the icing needs to be just right," Mason murmured, his breath warm against Kenny's ear. "A little more of this, a little less of that…" When the candy canes were almost ready, Mason turned Kenny to face him, his eyes intense. He licked over Kenny’s face, a slow, deliberate caress. "Now, you are my Candy Ken!" he whispered into his ear. Kenny recoiled, the words sending a jolt of panic through him - the implication clear. It was almost too much. He opened his mouth to protest, but Mason was already producing a vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid. "The secret ingredients," he murmured, adding a few drops to the icing. He dipped a finger into the mixture and held it out. "Lick it." Kenny hesitated, but then obeyed and licked Mason's finger. The taste exploded on his tongue, even more intense than he remembered. It was pure pleasure, a rush of sensation that washed away his inhibitions, his disgust, his fear. He felt himself relax, his body going limp. He let himself fall onto Mason's black leather sofa, his pants dropping to the floor, his legs splayed open in invitation. He was beyond caring, beyond thought. He was so relaxed.

Mason needed no further encouragement. He spread Kenny's cheeks and shoved his erect cock deep inside him. Kenny moaned, the taste of the candy cane still lingering on his tongue. The combination of the taste and the sensation was overwhelming, a perfect storm of pleasure. "Oh, Candy Ken," Mason groaned, pounding into him. "You're so good." Kenny didn't protest, didn't resist. He was lost, consumed by the sensation, the taste, the need. He came, a shuddering release that left him weak and breathless. When he finally came back to himself, he was lying naked and spent on the sofa. Mason stood over him, a satisfied smirk on his face. The realization hit Kenny like a punch to the gut. He was addicted. He would do anything for that taste, even submit to this. The sickening certainty that his future would be to get regularly fucked by Mason, and he would endure it, just to receive the candy canes, haunted him.

The next day, Kenny quit his job at the grocery store. The minimum wage, the drab routine—it all seemed pointless now. He sought out Mason, an uneasy mix of shame and anticipation twisting in his gut. "I need a job," Kenny mumbled, avoiding Mason's gaze. Mason chuckled, that knowing glint in his eyes. "Is that all you need, Kenny?" Kenny swallowed, the taste of the candy cane suddenly vivid on his tongue. "And… more of those sweets." "Then you're hired," Mason said, a predatory smile spreading across his face. "You’ll start at the Candy Shop tomorrow." Kenny dove into his new role with an eagerness that surprised even himself.

He learned the recipes, the techniques, the art of crafting confections. Mason taught him everything, but he kept the special ingredients of the candy canes a closely guarded secret.

Some months later, Kenny worked in the Candy Shop. He hummed to the melody of Sammy Davis Jr.’s "The Candy Man," his voice a low, almost hypnotic drone. "The Candy Ken, the Candy Ken can, the Candy Ken can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good…The Candy Ken makes everything he bakes, satisfying and delicious…" His sharp blue eyes sparkled with glee as he polished the gleaming chrome counter. The bell above the door chimed, announcing a new arrival. Kenny glanced up, his sharp blue eyes widening in surprise. It was Matt, his old mate, back from youth reformatory after half a year away.

Matt stood frozen in the doorway, his jaw slack as he took in the sight before him. Kenny, clad in nothing but black pants, a purple apron draped over his naked upper-body, and a black silk bow tie around his neck, looked every bit the part of the Candy Shop's star attraction. "Oi mate, what are you doing in that fairy shop?" Matt finally blurted out, his voice laced with disbelief.

Kenny’s smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "They are paying far better than the grocery store, and I learn how to produce sweets!" "Mate, that isn't…" Matt began, but Kenny cut him off, his attention already shifting. "Sorry, need to care about the customer!" A man in a brown leather jacket and black leather pants had entered the shop.

Kenny approached him with a practiced charm, his posture radiating confidence. "Hi, I'm the Candy Ken. What can I do for you today? Have you already tasted our candy canes?" The customer's gaze lingered on Kenny, a suggestive smirk playing on his lips. "Don't you want to taste my cane, Candy Ken?" Kenny laughed, a bright, innocent sound and his eyes were twinkling. "I'm on duty, no sweets for me while working!" The customer chuckled, leaving a generous tip on the counter as he departed. Matt watched him go, his face contorted with disgust. Matt turned to Kenny, his expression a mixture of confusion and incredulous,  "Uhm, mate, didn't you notice that this fag asked you to suck his cock?" Matt asked, his voice rising in indignation. Kenny shrugged, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Yeah, but have you seen the generous tip he gave me?" Matt spat onto the floor, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent shop. "Need to go, can't stand any longer that fag shop!" He turned and fled, the bell above the door jingling a fare well as he left. Kenny watched him go, his expression unreadable.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Kenny's old chav friends vanished from the neighborhood like smoke in the wind, priced out by the rising rents and the influx of trendy boutiques. Their faces etched with a bewildered mix of resentment and longing, could no longer afford even a pint in what had become their old stomping ground. The pubs they once frequented were now wine bars serving artisanal cheeses with names they couldn't pronounce. The betting shops had turned into yoga studios, and the greasy spoon cafes were replaced by brunch spots boasting avocado toast and organic smoothies. So, Kenny’s circle of friends changed. No more tracksuits and cheap lager, no more casual violence and petty theft. Now it was designer jeans, craft beer, and discussions about art installations. He didn’t even notice it happening, the slow creep of refinement, like the tide coming in. The bomber jacket and track pants were replaced by tight preppy clothes, unbuttoned shirts, and tight slacks that showcased his now well-defined thighs. He’d started using moisturizer, and there was a subtle, citrusy scent that clung to him, a far cry from the stale cigarette smoke and body odor that used to be his signature.

Over time, the lines blurred. The initial disgust at being fucked by Mason faded, replaced by a strange mix of addiction and something else, something he couldn’t quite name. Was it just the candy canes? Or was it something more? What began as a means to an end—a begrudging submission to Mason's desires in exchange for a fix—morphed into something else entirely. The disgust that once churned in his stomach at the thought of another man's touch faded, replaced by a strange, unsettling pleasure. The sensation of being filled, once an act of violation, now felt…good. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the sweet, sugary rush, the way it made him feel weightless, pliable. He didn’t realize it, not until it was too late. It wasn't an instant realization, more a gradual understanding that dawned on him over time: He caught himself admiring the way a man’s jeans hugged his thighs, or lingering a little too long when a customer flirted with him. Then he caught his reflection in the shop window, the preppy clothes clinging to his frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing a hint of sculpted chest, the tight slacks showcasing his toned ass.  Kenny, the rough-and-tumble lad from the wrong side of the tracks, had been erased, replaced by Candy Ken, a flamboyant, open-minded homosexual himbo - the kind he once hated. He was a walking advertisement for the new quarter, a testament to its power to reshape and redefine.

The candy canes were a top seller. More and more men tasted the sweet, and more and more men found themselves drawn to other men. The quarter transformed, becoming a beacon of flamboyant excess and unapologetic hedonism.

Years passed, and Mason, wealthy from his candy canes, stepped into the shop and surveyed his domain with a satisfied smirk.

"It's been a wild ride, Candy Ken," he said, his sharp blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's time for sun, sand, and younger men. I'm thinking of retiring to a sunny beach somewhere, sipping cocktails and watching the waves roll in." Ken, a tight black chefs jacket straining against his muscular chest, leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping over the throng of stylish men browsing the candy displays. "And leave all this to me?" He raised an eyebrow, a hint of playful skepticism in his voice. "You think I'm ready to run the whole show?"

Mason chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the shop. "Honey, you were born ready. Besides," he winked, "I'll be leaving you with the secret weapon." He gestured towards a small, locked cabinet behind the counter. "The recipe for the special ingredients. The black makes them addicted, the purple awakes homoerotic desires. If you only want to keep the economic success of the Candy Shop, you could just sell black candy canes." Kenny smirked, running a hand through his blond hair. "Candy canes in just one color would be rather boring, don't you agree? Besides, I've got bigger plans. The Candy Shop needs to go with the times. I'm thinking of opening an online store, shipping these little delights all over the world. Imagine, Candy Ken candy canes in every corner of the globe." Mason clapped him on the shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "That's my boy! Always thinking big. Just remember, Candy Ken, it's not just about the candy. It's about the experience, the fantasy. You're selling a dream, a transformation." The chav Kenny was long forgotten, a distant memory fading like a cheap cologne. In his place stood Candy Ken, refined, confident, a cornerstone of the quarter's burgeoning gay community. He was on the brink of becoming The Candy Man, a legend whispered in hushed tones, a purveyor of pleasure and liberation.

"So, what do you say, Candy Ken?" Mason asked, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and anticipation. "Ready to take the reins?" Ken grinned, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Born ready," he repeated, his voice laced with a newfound confidence.

[archivedblog16]

Charlie is just selfish and entitled. The show tries to make you think she’s caring but naive and than tries to trick you into thinking she’s saving people “you’ve touched so many souls” like no she didn’t! Husk, vaggie, alastor and her dad had to do the work for her all she did was cry, and whine that her hotel isn’t working, her dad didn’t believe in her dreams (he did, he just didn’t trust heaven and sinners and he’s not wrong) her speech in the finale before the fight was annoying because it wasn’t earned she did nothing, she didn’t inspire anyone. Others did everything for her and she taking all the credit. Hmm I wonder who that reminds me of?

Yeah, Anon I never understood why Lucifer and Vaggie say that to Charlie when in reality she hasn’t. I get it, they really believe that Charlie has been a positive influence and want to make her feel better but narratively it’s the exact opposite. Episode 1-5 illustrates that the hotel isn’t working and even Charlie is freaking out, but now episode 6 and beyond shows that the hotel works apparently.

Episode 3, Scrambled Eggs: the reason why Angel Dust, Niffty, Sir Pentious, and Husk bonded off screen and had the start of their artificial friendship was because of Vaggie and her turf war idea.

Episode 4, Masquerade: Husk out of all people manages to connect and get to the root of Angel Dust’s issues (even though majority of critics understandably here hate how the song was executed/written).

The most I give Charlie credit is for the initiative of wanting things to change unlike Lucifer and Lilith and her idea of the hotel because without it most of the characters wouldn’t have met or even interacted. The only people who Charlie truly touched was Lucifer and Vaggie, the worst part they aren’t even Charlie’s demographic. Sir Pentious is one of the sinners for a short amount of time that Charlie connected with, otherwise that’s it.

Funny enough, Lucifer was supposed to be a distant/emotional abuser parent. I would’ve loved to see that instead we got misunderstood dad #3. He didn’t do too much besides rebuild the hotel and beat up Adam. Alastor ironically and annoyingly barely contributed to the hotel unless it was convenient for him. But he definitely did play a role in episode 7, Hello Rosie along with overshadowing Charlie in the song, “Ready For It.”

Either way, Charlie for most part didn’t do much besides acting like a summer camp counselor who taught the characters stuff that anyone and their mother can do. Literally, some of the activities Charlie did throughout the first half of the show were things my private catholic middle school/high-school did for retreats. 💀

Episode 8 was very shallow and acted like everyone was pals or homies, when I know dang well most characters barely interacted with others or the information was told to us. Charlie really does remind of Vivziepop for all the wrong reasons, it’s crazy how series Charlie and her are so similar.

[aeriona]

How Inkfish Change their Ink Colour

Here's an extremely long, (poorly) illustrated speculatory post about how ink and inksports could THEORETICALLY work in Splatoon! yippee!

Ink is a mucous that Inklings, Octolings and Cuttlings produce with their ink sac, where it can be expelled through the mouth and siphon (and through the skin via the ink vessels, but don't worry about that just yet). You can take a look at my diagram of the ink vessels here.

Spitting up or sweating ink is a common stress response in ink-bearing cephalopods, it also serves as an extremely rude gesture if you happen to aim it at someone else's face.

Inkfish actually can't change ink colour on their own, so instead they have to rely on artificial means to brighten and saturate the colour into something more easily recognisable.

The history behind inksports is extensive. In ancient times, inkfish would use naturally occurring dyes (such as clay, plants etc.) to change their ink colour, often to denote a particular social group. In modern times, colours are artificially synthesised and treated to have a minimal impact on the inkfish's body as possible, as believe it or not constantly eating red clay wasn't exactly good for you.

The colour of an Inkling or Octoling's skin is determined by chromatophores, which can be basically any colour or shade they choose. The chromatophores function completely independently from the ink sac, so it's possible to have differing skin and ink colours (although you'd probably confuse your teammates a fair bit).

This is fine and cool and all, but how do inkfish prevent different team colours from just blending all together in a match? WELL! While turfing capsules also change ink colour, they can also alter the chemical qualities of the ink itself by introducing something called polarity!

There are two kinds of turfing ink- polar and nonpolar. In easy terms (I am not a chemist), it's what allows two different colours of ink to sit on top of each other in separate layers instead of diluting together like paint. Before a match starts, each turfing team is given dye capsules in their respective team colour, with each team having opposing polarities to prevent inks from mixing together during the game.

Before technology got involved, people would simply use oil and water to prevent one ink colour from mixing with another's. Nowadays, oil and fat derivatives are commonplace as it's less likely to cause health problems as the body slowly processes it out.

Splatting works when enemy ink reacts with the outermost ink vessels in an opposing team member's skin, forcing the victim to contract their ink sac and spit up all their ink (usually in the form of a super-jump back to spawn, though in the moment it's not uncommon to overshoot it). It's also possible to splat someone with blunt force trauma, but we tend to call that assault. Splatting is usually not dangerous, but it's still not a terribly pleasant experience and is somewhat painful, akin to a nasty static shock.

This splatting reaction is also why water is used in turf stages as a restrictive barrier, as water causes the same splatting reaction in the body as enemy ink does (at least until the dye wears off).

Okay that's all I got, I'm not gonna go into ink weapon mechanics because I'm tired... perhaps another day haha. Hopefully that all made sense and I apologise deeply if it didn't. Feel free to shoot me an ask if something needs to be cleared up or explained in further detail haha

[yuna542]

🔙 [12.]

~Gold or Silver~

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader/Oc

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Drama, Action

Warnings: None

Taglist: Open

Word count: 3k

Summary: The Kook princess is back after a year and reignites the war between Pogues and Kooks on Kildare. But she quickly realizes that after this year, nothing is the same as before. Deception, secrets from the past, and dangerous conspiracies sweep across Kildare, leaving her no choice but to work with the Pogues and her personal nemesis to find the truth and maybe even $8 million. A dangerous treasure hunt begins that turns her world upside down.

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

„'Cause there's this tune I found

That makes me think of you somehow an' I play it on repeat

Until I fall asleep, spillin' drinks on my settee

Do I wanna know? If this feelin' flows both ways?“

Today was the day of the opening of the new golf resort, which was financed mainly by Ward Cameron and Rick. The two of them had already started the project before we moved back to Kildare.

Officially, the Island Club had provided for a renovation and reopening, but every finely dressed guest sipping from their $600 champagne glass knew exactly from whose wallet the funding actually came from.

That's exactly why the Camerons and we had been treated like aristocrats all day. The building was too white and far too plain for me, even the lawn trimmed to within an inch of its life was not to my taste, but the view from the hill overlooking Figure Eigth and the way the beach flickered through the hot air on the horizon was breathtaking.

"Really pretty. Dad and Rick seem like a real dream team," commented Sarah next to me, who was relaxed and swirling a glass of champagne.

I, too, already had my second glass in hand, trying to escape the awkward conversations of Rick's business associates or the many prying questions from the gossips at the Island Club. After all, with our return, Rick's new projects on the island and not to mention my fresh relationship with Rafe, we were the number one topic of conversation not only around the Kooks.

"If you're into artificial turf and expensive holes in the ground," I muttered, sipping the prickling alcohol which tasted better each sip. I had been avoiding Rafe all morning. The fact that we were now in a relationship scared me, but came across all the better to Ward and Rick.

The last week had actually been quite nice. We had often been together on the beach, spent time either on Tanney Hill or in Lionelly Ville, but that awkward distance still hovered between us.

However, only I seemed to still perceive it, or Rafe skillfully ignored it.

Rick and Ward's eyes had gleamed when Wheezie had told them without my consent. The dollar bills had just been spinning in them like a slot machine. For the two of them, this meant a future-oriented collaboration that would bring them even more money than they already had. Now that Rafe was also primed to take over Cameron Development, that was doubly convenient for Rick, too.

For Kildare, a collaboration between Rick's ferry company, Rimshore Cooperation, and Cameron Development would be like a marriage between Elon Musk and Bill Gates.

Both had patted each other on the back fraternally, and were probably already planning the dowry when I was sold off like an expensive racehorse at the wedding.

"Mm. I don't like golf either," Sarah replied and we exchanged an amused smile.

"Oh my god! That dress is stunning!", I heard Rose Cameron shout from behind us and turned around. Immediately I was dazzled by the bright orange of her tightly tailored pencil skirt. Her blouse blew in the balmy breeze and I wondered if such a bright orange should have been paired with an apple green.

I, on the other hand, looked almost boring with the white floral dress. It fit close to my body and I was especially taken with the balcony neckline when I found it among my clothes.

Sarah was wearing a blue linen dress that fluttered incessantly in the wind and Rafe had choosen a simple shirt in the same blue as when I had last seen him a few hours ago.

"Thanks. Your outfit is incredible, too," I fluted exuberantly.

Incredibly ugly, I added in my mind.

Rose beamed and put a hand on Sarah's shoulder.

"Where did Rafe go?"

Like I was his babysitter. Irritated, I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear and covered my bad mood with a laugh.

"I don't know. Maybe he's out in the field practicing already."

That seemed to make sense to her, and she put a hand to my cheek.

"I'm so glad you guys found each other. After all these years. It's so special for our families."

No pressure at all...

I pressed my lips together and she took it as shyness, which is why she raised her empty glass.

"I'll let you girls chat then."

With a wobbly step, she strutted across the lawn like a drunken stork in her high heels. Just the word relationship sent shivers down my spine, but I wanted to give it a chance. So hopefully I would get rid of this strange tingling sensation and weird thoughts of Maybank.

Now everyone was standing in the new birchwood pavilion, drinking and chatting animatedly. Rick had disappeared into the building with Ward, while some of the guests were already trying their hand at golf.

The railing in front of us was adorned with plain laurel leaves, and the put-upon laughter of Island Club members echoed over to us from the blue carpets.

"Is she always this hyper?", I asked, still watching Sarah roll her eyes.

"Only when she's been drinking."

When a waiter came over to us, I unintentionally automatically looked for JJ in his face, but I didn't know the man who took our empty glasses.

Countless times today I had looked for Maybank, but he had not appeared anywhere.

Probably he was preparing the summer fire at the caves. On Kildare it had become a tradition for the young people to have a big party at the beginning of the summer vacations, where big bonfires burned and usually there was even a theme to dress up in.

In the last years the party became more and more important and also the costumes were made with great effort for this day.

It was held on one of the northern beaches, because there were tons of caves that were flooded with water in winter. But in the summer, the tide went out so low that you could get lost in the caves if you weren't careful.

I'd been looking forward to the festival since I arrived, and all day I'd been afraid I'd miss it if we didn't get out of here in time.

"What are you dressing up as? Gold or silver?" asked then Sarah, who must have been thinking the same thing at the sight of the white beach. Gold and silver was the theme for tonight and I already liked it a lot.

In fact, I had already picked out an outfit and I couldn't wait to get ready for the party with Sarah.

"Silver. I have heels to match," I explained, smoothing out my dress.

"Fits perfectly. Topper and I will be going in gold. Rafe, too, as far as I know."

My gaze drifted off into the distance again, and subconsciously I wondered what a certain Pogue would choose.

-

Just a short time later, we stealthily stole away from the golf course and picked up Sarah's things before getting dressed and made up in my bathroom.

Sarah's dress was full of gold sequins from top to bottom, flashing with every movement.

With only my underwear on, I started braiding her hair and worked sparkly gold stones into it.

Britney Spears was playing in the background and we sang along loudly while already pre-drinking with a big bottle of wine.

I had missed such girl's evenings and the togetherness did incredibly well after the week with Rafe.

Just then my cell phone vibrated and with a quick glance at the display, I flipped it over and threaded the next glitter stone into Sarah's hair.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously as she spread gold glitter on her eyelids.

"Just Rafe," I murmured, tweaking my creation a bit.

"How's it going?"

The alcohol didn't allow me to disguise my honest response, so a sigh escaped me.

"It's going well... I think."

Sarah turned around and could immediately read the lie on my face. To avoid her incredulous look, I changed my clothes and slipped into the silver bikini I was going to wear under my outfit. When the light fell on it at a certain angle, it threw back a shimmer of rainbow.

"I know how Rafe can be. What's going on?" she echoed, spreading shimmery lip gloss on her lips.

"He's so...pushy. He never leaves me alone and it's all kind of moving too fast for me."

Now that I'd finally said it, I understood this distance between us, too.

The feelings weren't coming as fast as I'd hoped, which is why the whole situation was making me so insecure.

"I understand that. Have you two slept together yet?"

Immediately I froze, but Sarah was genuinely interested and trying to help her friend, even if it was about her brother. If not her, who else could I tell the truth to?

"No. I haven't felt like it yet."

Not that he hadn't tried. But I had stopped him each time before it could get serious. Sarah nodded her understanding and sat behind me on the edge of the bathtub to tie my hair up.

"That's okay, too. You should just do what feels right and not let yourself be rushed."

Her words calmed me a little, however, the incessant pressure I felt as soon as it came to Rafe did not subside. It seemed like my job to make sure the relationship worked and that was a crappy feeling.

The rest of the time we chatted about unimportant things and when we were done, we looked at ourselves proudly in the mirror.

The silver corsage and skirt I wore over the bikini clung comfortably to my body and the jewelry on my neck and wrists tinkled softly when I moved.

Sarah had tied my hair into a small braid at the back of my head, so most of the curls still fell over my shoulders in chaotic curls.

Around my belly and thighs I wore fine silver chains and around my eyes were lines of plastic gemstones, in the form of waves.

The high shoes with the plateau heels and the little butterflies on them completed the picture and on my dark skin the silver looked as if it would liquefy any minute.

Sarah, on the other hand, shimmered and shone like a golden disco ball and I was already wishing her luck with the thin heels on the sand. We took hundreds of pictures and posted them, looked at other people's instagram stories and as we sat on the floor, giggling while going through posts, Sarah suddenly stopped at one picture. It was from Kiara. It showed the preparations for the party, how everyone was working on decorations, Pope was in the center, lifting a big barrel of beer and John B was helping him. Sarah stared at the picture and I smiled confused, as I realised the blush on her cheeks. But I couldn't think about it any longer, when she swiped to the next pic, which was JJ Maybank with his hair a mess, showing his middle finger to the camera while lifting something that looked like a bench.

His shirt was tied around his hips and the sweat was glistening on his toned stomach.

"Sky?"

"Hm?", I quickly answered and turned my head to the mirror again, as if I didn't saw something interesting at all.

Sarah only lifted her eyebrows and looked at me.

"Did you just check out your enemy?", she asked and I simply shook my head, while concentrating on my lipgloss.

"He looks fit, that's all..."

"That's all huh...", she teased me with a sarcastic laugh.

"What about you? Didn't you stalk John Bs pics last night while we were watching a movie?"

Surprised she just stared at me.

"You noticed?", she looked caught and I smiled evilly.

"Of course! The movie was boring as hell."

She pressed her lips together for a moment and took my hand after a few seconds.

"Let's just never talk about that again."

We both started to giggle and I nodded.

"Deal! It‘s too weird. Pogues are no good.“

Satisfied, Sarah typed a message and just a few minutes later we were picked up by Topper and Rafe on motorcycles.

Both were wearing golden jackets and had neatly gelled hair. As we walked out the door, they were obviously amazed and Rafe let out a whistle.

"You guys look hot," Topper commented, giving Sarah a curt kiss of welcome.

Rafe immediately pulled me close and kissed me stormily before helping me on his bike.

"You look like walking jewels," he commented and I smiled softly.

"Well, of course. After all, I missed the last summer party. I have to catch up."

They started the engines and we drove out to the beaches. You could hear the music and the big fires crackling from far away. Like trees, the burning cones of wood rose into the air in front of the caves, coloring the sand an unnatural orange.

There was a lot of booze and boisterous celebrations. Immediately I was infected by the euphoric mood. Even the caves had been equipped with torches and strings of lights hung everywhere on the palm trees.

A DJ booth and several seating areas made of wicker chairs and small wooden tables had been set up. Directly I got the feeling to be stranded in the Caribbean. Of course, everything was held in gold and silver accents and everywhere were flowers attached, which were sprayed with gold or silver paint in accordance with the motto.

The costumes of the others were in different styles. While some wore fancy dresses and suits, others walked around in garish swimming trunks and ridiculous shirts.

But it was exactly this mixture that made the summer partys charme. Everyone had their own definition of the theme and that's what made it so exciting.

When we arrived at the dance floor, heads automatically turned in our direction and the whispering began. Satisfied, I earned envious or eager looks and let my gaze roam over the people.

At the bar, some were already lining up, as there were obviously delicious cocktails.

Rafe had put his arm around me and pulled me tightly at the hip to show that I belonged to him.

Immediately, a feeling of trepidation spread through me that only got worse when Kelce and Topper's other friends joined us. Most of the kooks were dressed in gold, which made me stand out, but that was just fine with me.

The guys greeted each other with handshakes and laughed loudly. But I was still searching the crowd. For what, I didn't really know.

As soon as I spotted the Pogues in a seating area, a nausea loosened inside me.

JJ was sitting on the back of a wicker chair where Pope sat with a beer-can in his hands.

His blonde hair was sticking up from his head as usual and he wore only a short golden vest over his bare torso.

His shorts were beige, rather than gold, and on his nose he had a pair of gold sunglasses whose lenses were shaped like hearts.

He looked funny, yet I couldn't take my eyes off him.

Kiara was sitting on a bench next to him, wearing silver leather pants and a pretty gray top. Pope had also opted for silver and was wearing a shirt and shorts in the matching fabre.

John B wore a tank top that looked like it had been spray painted gold and simple black bathing trunks to go with it, which gotten some spray paint too. However, he had also a gold cap on his head that was definitely self-painted with little smiley faces on it.

"That sounds good to me. What do you say, Sky?"

Completely perplexed, I stared at Rafe as he snapped me out of my appraisal of the Pogues. I had become dully aware of the conversations, as if I were underwater.

Rafe seemed a bit puzzled by my confused look, then repeated:

"Kelce asked how you liked the new golf course. We spent the whole afternoon there."

"Ah. Yes. Turned out great," I said absently, trying to catch another glimpse of the Pogues as JJ laughed out loud and I really wanted to know why.

"It's really a blessing for the island to have Rick back. Ward and he will definitely start more projects and maybe the Cut will finally go away. Nobody needs that dump."

Kelce's words were directed at the group, but I felt personally addressed. The other girls, who were now also standing with us, agreed with him and Rafe also nodded vehemently.

Maybank stood up straight and laughingly returned a comment from John B. In doing so, he turned in our direction. That's when I tensed as JJ suddenly lifted his gaze and his unabashedly blue eyes scrutinized me.

There was a brief glint of confusion and then disbelief in them, then there was just that cheeky twinkle that blocked the view of his true thoughts like a thick wall.

The sound of the sea seemed to grow deafeningly loud, and Rafe's grip on my waist grew more uncomfortable as JJ came our way with Kiara and John's empty cups. My stomach rotated as if I had swallowed a spinning top and I turned urgently to Rafe.

"Why don't you get us something to drink?"

He smiled and his hands traveled up my back.

"Anything for my girl."

As a parting gesture, he pressed an emphatic kiss to my lips that only served to mark his territory. Because he too had noticed the looks the other guys were giving him, and when he gave JJ a venomous look, it was clear he had seen him too.

The other kooks were emitting whistles and lewd noises. Rafe and I, of course, were quite the latest gossip, especially in our age group.

When he got to the bar, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if handcuffs had been removed from me and I risked another glance at JJ, who was now also heading for the bar.

Was it my imagination or had his eyes darkened and his hands now clasped tightly around the mugs?

He rushed past me so that he brushed my shoulder and stared stubbornly straight ahead.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Sarah.

So it wasn't just me who had noticed the sudden change in mood.

⬇️

[13.]

© Yuna542 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[michaeldark22]

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[saint-ambrosef]

climate change fatalism is so exhausting. it easily becomes a ecological scapegoat to blame instead of humans taking accountability for how their individual actions affect the environment.

i had a conversation earlier in a fb garden group where a women told me that since desertification was changing her local landscape and making it harder to grow native plants, it was actually okay and even good of her to be planting invasive exotic species that could adapt to the "new normal" climate in her area so that the wildlife would have at least something for shade/shelter/food. in the same message she mentioned trying to eradicate native weeds on their acreage because it had no personal use to her or her non-native livestock.

and i was like. no girl. the desertification in your area has been caused by decades of bad agricultural land management practices, something that is fully reversible. those weeds you are ripping out provide more benefit to wildlife than your nasty exotics, and ranchers removing these "undesirable" natives for decades is why the land has grown barren. planting invasive exotics to replace the artificial loss of biodiversity will only hasten the problem you seek to fix.

but the point of my post isn't this specific woman, it's the general attitude she represents. it's a lot easier to blame the nebulous figure of climate change than to work toward ecological restoration. it's simpler to plant invasive exotics than to reverse decades of poor land management. it's more enjoyable to grow a pretty flowering shrub and pretend it's necessary due to climate change than to allow native ragweed to grow even though the allergies suck because it feeds the birds and pollinators. and it's a helluva lot easier to blame climate change for the worsening of your local environment than to admit that overgrazing your livestock and ripping out native plants just because they have no immediate value to you might have contributed heavily to the decline of your microbiome.

climate change has quickly become this collective responsibility that no one individual is responsible for, because it's so easy to blame the slightest change in environment on it. "we're running out of water because of climate change!" it's because urban landscaping practices channel away water instead of letting it soak into the groundwater wells, and turf lawns use 80% of the city water. "the city is so much hotter now!" yeah because twenty years ago developers planted fast-growing but short-lived/weak trees which have now all died, meaning our roads and neighborhoods have way less shade and foliage to absorb the heat. "the bees are disappearing because of climate change!" sharon it's because there's not a single thing in your yard that a native pollinator would recognize as a food source.

anyways i don't know where exactly i'm going with this. i guess i'm just tired of climate change fatalism because it removes personal incentive to do anything to reverse environmental harm that we could be fixing on an individual level. but "global warming" has become a very convenient excuse for many people, unfortunately.

just makes me wonder how often things blamed on climate change are actually a result of direct human actions that are reversible

[katsu28]

KAIT I LOVE U HI can i request Baby’s Breath - a wholesome moment with Hangman please?

hi thank you for requesting ily!! in honor of glen becoming a dog dad here is jake becoming one too i hope you enjoy it <3 (part of me wanted to scrap this and rewrite but we are embracing difference today folks!)

baby's breath: a wholesome moment, jake "hangman" seresin x reader, 1.4k

Growing up on a ranch, Hangman was no stranger to animals of all kinds. He’d always wanted a dog of his own when he finally settled down somewhere, but never got one because of how often he was gone on deployment. After you came into his life and made it clear you were going to stay, he brought up the topic of wanting to adopt a dog together. Thankfully, you wholeheartedly and very excitedly agreed with him. 

It was a win-win for everyone; Hangman would finally get his furry friend, you’d have someone to keep you company while Hangman was away, and the lucky pup would find a forever home with two people ready to spoil the absolute shit out of them. 

That was how you ended up here at Top Pup, Miramar’s biggest animal shelter. 

Hangman had heard his fair share of loud things before—jet engines, gale force winds, Rooster after a few too many beers—but he wasn’t expecting an animal shelter to be this…well, loud. He could hear the barking echoing off the walls of the place as soon as you both stepped inside, rattling and clanking of pens accompanying.

The woman at the front desk brought you out back to a wide pen lined with artificial turf, where dogs of all sizes roamed around interacting with other folks who’d had the same idea as yourselves today. 

As soon as you stepped into the fenced area, you were surrounded by dogs instantly, all of them nosing their way into the fray to get a sniff at a potential forever home. 

“Can we just adopt them all?” You asked, aiming a pout up at Jake as you tried your best to love on every single one of them. 

“I don’t think we have enough space for all of them, darlin’.” He chuckled, kneeling down next to you. A few of them left you to sniff at him and he welcomed them with open arms, giving a few chin scratches and rough pats that they thoroughly enjoyed. “How ‘bout we start with one and see how it goes, then we can talk about adding to the pack.” 

“You’re no fun.” You were only joking and Jake knew that.

He gave a playful shake of his head, grinning. “Bite me.” 

“C’mon girl, sic ‘em!” You joked towards the fluffy black dog currently enjoying your love, nodding in Jake’s direction. Her head tilted, tongue lolling out of her mouth and ears pricking up, but she made no move towards him. “You’re just a big ol’ sweetheart, aren’t you baby? Yes you are, I love you.”

Had you been paying a shred of attention to your boyfriend, you would’ve seen him snapping a quick photo for his not-so-secret album of pictures of you he scrolled through when he missed you whilst he was away. 

Time went by in a blur, and soon you lost track of how many dogs you’d met. They were all adorable and your earlier statement about wanting to adopt them all still stood, but none of them gave you that feeling—that zing that made you say ‘yes, this is the dog for us’. 

That was, until Jake caught your attention from across the yard. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass at the very corner of the yard, beaming at you as he waved you over. 

“Honey, come look at this little guy,” Jake called, excited. You ruffled the fur of the dog you were knelt next to one more time before making your way to where he was, spotting the tiniest pup you’d ever seen curled up on a pile of blankets a few feet away. “The lady said he and his four siblings had just been dropped at the door a few days ago, but the rest of ‘em have already been adopted. Said he’s been huddled away over here pretty much ever since. Didn’t even get a chance to give him a name yet.” 

The pup’s fur was a gorgeous white with cream markings on his face and ears and the same colored patches along his back, big dark eyes peering out at the two of you curiously. Jake put out a hand on the ground in front of you, making little kissy sounds to see if he’d show any interest. When all the puppy did was blink slowly, he kept his hand out, just in case. “He seems shy. I barely noticed him over here.” 

“Hi baby,” You cooed, taking a seat on the ground next to Jake. “You’re just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, little dude!” 

It took a little while for the puppy to warm up to the two of you, but you were more than happy to be patient. Eventually, he padded over to Jake on unsteady paws, sniffing at his outstretched hand tentatively. He was barely as long as his forearm. His little nose twitched a few times and then he promptly crawled into Jake’s lap, and you swore you could see your big tough boyfriend melt a little inside. 

You’d always talked about adopting a bigger dog—one Jake could rough-house with in the yard, one that would be able to protect you if need be when Jake wasn’t around. He’d told you about the dogs his family had when he was growing up, cattle herding dogs and big Shepherds that could (and did) knock his younger self to the ground. They were absolute sweethearts when it came to the family, he’d said, but loyal to a fault and wouldn’t hesitate to protect their loved ones. Kind of like Jake. 

Admittedly, you’d originally been leaning towards a larger dog too, but the tiny pup looked right at home comfortably nestled in Jake’s lap. This was the dog for you, and one look at Jake told you he was thinking the exact same thing. Soon enough, the paperwork had been filled out, adoption fee paid, and the pup was yours. 

A trip to the nearest pet store to grab everything you’d need proved too tiring for the little guy, who’d fallen in your arms before you had a chance to let him see what toys made his little ears perk up. Then you were home, settled on the floor of the living room in the pen Jake had set up next to the couch with your new furry little addition curled up on the floor between the two of you. He was awake now but still sleepy, trying to keep his head up to take in his new surroundings but starting to nod off again. 

“What should we name him?” Jake wondered aloud, tilting his head at you as his fingers scratched circles behind the pup’s ears. 

You shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “I dunno, throw some names at me.” 

“Uh…let’s see. How ‘bout Brisket?” 

“We get it, you’re from Texas,” You huffed, rolling your eyes playfully. Jake flicked your knee. You let your gaze fall on your pup, watching his eyes flutter shut the longer you stroked along his back. “You don’t look like a Brisket to me, my love.” 

“I thought I was your love?” 

“I can have two, can’t I?” 

“So long as that one doesn’t get any ideas,” Jake muttered, narrowing his eyes at the pup, who gave a tiny, tired growl. “Whoa, okay! Copy you loud and clear, big guy. No need to get all tough on me.”

“What about Fido?” 

“That’s so unoriginal. What are we, living in the 40’s?” 

“Snowball?” 

Jake fixed you to the spot with an unamused look. “I’m not naming our son Snowball. He’s gotta have a tough name. Something like…Turbo. Or Rambo. Bruiser!” 

You honestly didn’t really register the names he threw out, too focused on the first thing he’d said. “Our son? Does this mean we’re parents?” You asked softly, not able to fight the giddy grin working its way across your face. Jake slid a hand around the back of your neck, bringing you into the sweetest of kisses, fondness dripping like honey. 

“We’re parents, darlin’.” He repeated, smiling against your mouth. You suddenly flashed forward to the next time Jake would say those words, sometime far in the future with a baby of your own (human, not canine). It seemed so off in the distance, but you already knew in your heart it was something you both wanted eventually.

For now, you had all the love in the world to give your brand new fur baby.

“Parents of our yet to be named puppy.” 

“I still think Brisket is a solid option.” 

“We’ll workshop it.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[sustainabilitythoughts]

A more sustainable back yard

The article below provides sustainability tips on a variety of topics for your yard, including lawn care, fire pits, alternatives to peat moss, alternatives to artificial turf, and alternatives to impervious surfaces.  Some additional tips that are not in the article:

Select native plants to support local insects, birds, and animals. 

Don’t overwater.  If the area is soggy or water is running off into the street, cut back on watering.

Investigate non-toxic methods of pest and weed control.  When you do need to use pesticides or herbicides, use them only in the affected areas and follow instructions for how much to apply and how to dispose of empty containers.  Keep the chemicals out of the water supply; remember that chemicals in storm sewer water can enter natural waterways. 

Large areas of rock or concrete can raise the surrounding air temperature significantly on hot days. 

[bigblueoctoling]

I Hate Octavio With All Of My Heart

I'm genuinely so pissed about Octavio being at the grand fest at all. Like it's genuinely a serious hampering on what is otherwise a really nice event. It's even worse that cuttlefish is there. This genuinely severely lowers my opinion of the Splatoon writers.

So like. On its face, I despise the general angle of going easy on Octavio. It's not headcanon that he's objectively a pretty terrible person for a lot of reasons- like, it feels very intentional that one is meant to read it like Octavio is an old war vet who's artificially keeping the "us vs them" mentality of the great turf war. It feels intentional that one is meant to read him as a very vain and controlling person who actively spreads propaganda (see Splatoon 1). It feels intentional that, at the *VERY* least, what Octavio did to Callie in Splatoon 2 was Bad, if not Morally Reprehensible. It feels like, with the way Octarian society is described in Octo Expansion and Side Order, we're textually meant to read the hyper-militarization of their society as a bad thing.

I feel like, if Splatoon was ultimately intending to present Octavio as a morally grey antihero type of character, they have completely and utterly failed to do so. Merely having him be the leader of Octarians doesn't implicitly make him a good guy just because Octarians are oppressed- Octavio is obviously, on some level, a figure with political power in Octarian society. Octo Expansion largely served to show that the surface world has progressed past the conflict of the Great War- so if Octarians are still facing oppression, that only really falls into the hands of the Octarian elite. If the intent was EVER to imply that that doesn't define Octavio, they made literally no effort to show it.

All of this being said, you could still argue that Octavio's help in Splatoon 3's ending is meant to represent him turning a new leaf- It's an argument that I'd still fervently disagree with, but you could hypothetically make that argument.

Except Splatoon also doesn't make that argument. Literally one line Marie says in the post-game has her posit that Octavio might have turned a new leaf- A line I've always hated, but it feels as though the game has just sort of ignored the busywork of actually showing that any change has been made to the primary antagonist of the franchise and has just leapt to the conclusion because Octavio has done one vaguely morally good action ever- an action done to save the planet, which obviously is also in his own personal best interest.

Isn't Octavio, like, a threat? Like, he literally has a criminal record and is a military leader, why is he allowed at this venue?

Moreover, why are Octavio and Cuttlefish suddenly chummy?

The fact that Octavio is sat with Cuttlefish makes this feel like a cheap, hollow gesture to appeal to the fandom- like, yeah, people like to ship cuttlefish and octavio, but that's not, like... basis to decide what the canon is? Like, you need to actually establish their relationship in the canon first, you need to show them interacting together LITERALLY A SINGLE TIME BEFORE JUST ACTING LIKE THEY'RE BEST FRIENDS WHEN EVERY SINGLE PREVIOUS INTERACTION BETWEEN THEM WAS DIRECTLY ANTAGONISTIC.

And, just to reiterate: I DESPISE the idea of shipping the two of them. Not for any moral reasons, I just personally find both characters wretched people. But like, if you wanted to do this, you should actually do it? Instead of just plopping a literal war criminal in the middle of a venue as if it's totally fine. Like I genuinely despise that he's here. It's so fucking lame.

I think if you actually give a shit about Octavio's character, you should be pissed too. Like... They're just acting like they've totally redeemed Octavio and he's gone through a whole redemption arc when he's done literally ONE GOOD THING EVER, and it was still something exclusively for his personal gain (the planet not being destroyed). This is pretty major character development they're just not actually bothering to do or explain they're just sort of shoving him and cuttlefish together as if that instantly makes them best friends. It's so fucking lame and pandering, it feels like the end of a cheap kids movie where they have a funny dance party and the main antagonist is also there for no reason.

Like, I genuinely gotta wonder, is it my fault? Am I the one who doesn't see the textual evidence of Octavio being a good guy, somehow? Have I somehow missed something? Because it genuinely feels like a complete rejection of how they've characterized him up to this point, to just suddenly act like Octavio has been redeemed and there's totally nothing wrong with being his best friend. Like I feel like I've been playing a different Splatoon Franchise than anyone who'd think that's normal.

[mawofthemagnetar]

Completely Fixing Golf

A guide to completely fixing golf by someone who doesn't play golf

Okay so why are we doing this? because humans play games. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. Humans play games and invent new, silly games to play. Happens all the time. So I think completely cancelling an entire game is a bit sad. So. Let's completely fix golf.

CHANGE #1: FUCK GRASS!!!!

this one's pretty obvious. All that grass? tear it up. we don't need it. waste of water. bad for the environment. crops are dying you prick. so change one: no more grass. Let it go back to whatever the natural flora of the area is.

The holes and the flags can stay, they're pretty innocuous. "But snake I live on the prairies the grass will get too tall I can't see the hole" so mow a circle around the hole and ONLY THE HOLE and make the hole bigger. duh. this leads into

CHANGE #2: FUCK GOLF CLUBS!!!

okay this one's a bit misleading. You can keep the golf clubs if that's REALLY so important to you. you bring a little piece of artificial turf around to tee off with if you want to keep using clubs.

but you know what else you can use? a potato cannon. For the golf ball. hell yeah. Now it's an artillery practice game!!! This improves absolutely everything I think and there are no drawbacks. CHANGE 3#: NOTHING ELSE I'VE COMPLETELY FIXED GOLF.

"but snake I live in a heavily forested area and if we let the trees back-" so play between the trees. dumbass.

"But snake I live in a desert-" okay so you're telling me you have perfectly open fairways for your golfball cannon. With nothing in the way. And you can see the flag 'cause there's no foliage. Why are you complaining exactly?

"but snake-" Shush. Golf is fixed now.