#NETS

[mindblowingscience]

Drones and artificial intelligence are uncovering ghost nets from 50 centimeters to larger than five meters along the coastline of the Gulf of Carpentaria, proving the success of a program aimed at maintaining the pristine environment of this region. The project, led by Charles Darwin University's (CDU) North Australia Center for Autonomous Systems (NACAS) in partnership with the Anindilyakwa Land and Sea Rangers, began surveys last year with the goal of mapping the distribution of ghost nets washing ashore the Anindilyakwa Indigenous Protected Area (IPA), which covers nearly 1,000 km of NT coastline.

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[meadowfics]

the economist

husband!the salesman x banker!reader

reader works for the games as the normal, everyday banker who assists the unknowing winner with their prize

warnings: rushed writing. I used the actors name for the recruiter, since he has no canon name. this is not a representation of the actor himself.

the bank is quiet today.

however, your mind is not. it is full of anticipation. you sit at your desk, a polished mahogany thing that smells faintly of lemon cleaner, and shuffle papers that don’t need shuffling.

your role as a financial advisor is simple on paper.

you guide clients, manage accounts, offer sage advice about investments.

however, your real job. aka the one that matters, comes once a year when the winner of the annual island games walks through those glass doors, clutching a card with a number too big to comprehend.

45.6 billion won.

you’re the one who helps them make sense of it, who smiles and nods and tells them the smart decisions they can make with their money.

you’re good at it.

you pretend like you don't know, or work for the games.

you're great at pretending to be a normal banker.

you’ve always been good at it.

you lean back in your chair, glancing at the clock. it’s late afternoon, and the winner hasn’t shown up yet.

you’re not worried. they always come eventually dazed and hollow-eyed like they’ve seen something they can’t unsee. well, they did but anyways... you’ve learned to read them, to know when to push and when to let them sit in silence.

the frontman’s orders are clear.

'help them do the right thing. make them believe they can forget the blood, the screams, and the way the games made them strip down to something desperate without exposing that you work for us.'

you’re their lifeline to a new beginning, and you take pride in that.

at home, things are different but no less calculated.

your husband, gong yoo, waits for you. you see him now as you take your shoes off by the door.

he stands by the espresso machine in your sleek apartment, the one you bought with the kind of money most people only dream of. he’s probably already made coffee, even though it’s seven pm.

he does that when he knows you’ve had a big day. only today is a big day.

the winner came in this morning, and you know he’ll want to hear every detail.

before this you locked up the bank and headed home, the city lights blurring past your car window. seoul is alive tonight. it was full with people who have no idea what happens in the shadows.

you’re used to keeping secrets.

it’s part of the deal when you’re married to the recruiter, the man who hands out cards to the desperate, luring them into the games with a smile and a promise.

you don’t judge him for it.

you love him, and he loves you.

it’s a strange kind of love, built on silences and the thrill of being part of something bigger than yourselves.

at home you catch your husband's dark eyes catching the light as he turns to you.

he’s still in his suit, the one he wears when he’s out playing recruiter, though the tie is loosened, and his hair is slightly mussed.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, and your heart does that familiar flip.

“coffee?” he asks, holding up a mug. gongyoo's voice is smooth.

“you know me too well,” you say, taking it.

the warmth seeps into your hands, grounding you.

you take a sip, and it’s perfect.. it is strong, and a little bitter.

just the way you like it.

he watches you, his head tilted slightly.

“so,” he says, drawing out the word, “who was it?”

you smile, because this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the moment you’ve been waiting for.

every year, you come home with a name, a story, and every year, he listens like it’s the first time even thought he recruited the person to play the game.

you set the mug down and lean against the counter next to him, close enough that your shoulder brushes his.

“seong gi-hun,” you say.

your husband's eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment, he just stares at you.

suddenly he laughs, a sharp, disbelieving sound.

“player 456? the horse gambler? really?”

you nod, grinning, “really."

“no way.” he runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head, “i thought for sure it’d be someone like cho sang-woo. guy had that cold, calculated thing going on in the market, or even that thug, what’s his name....jang deok-su? he seemed like the type to claw his way to the top.”

“right?” you laugh, and it feels good.

you’re just two people talking about a game, as if it does not end in death, “i was so sure sang-woo had it in the bag. he was smart, ruthless. but his childhood friend gi-hun… he’s messy, and actually has faith in people. i didn’t see him coming.”

gong yoo leans closer with his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “tell me everything.”

so you do.

you tell him how gi-hun walked into the bank this morning, his hands shaking as he handed you the card with the account details. how his eyes darted around, like he expected someone to jump out and take it all away.

you tell him how you sat him down, offered him tea, spoke in that calm, practiced tone you’ve perfected over the years. you told him he could buy a house, travel the world, invest in things for himself and his daughter, or start a business again.

you told him gi-hun was free now, that the money was his to shape his future.

he listened, but you could see it in his eyes...he wasn’t hearing you.

not really.

the games were still there, carved into his mind.

“he kept muttering about a promise,” you say, swirling the coffee in your mug, “something about his daughter. i didn’t push. the frontman says not to dig too deep.”

gong yoo snorts, “smart. last thing you need is a winner who can’t let go.”

you nod, but there’s a flicker of something in your chest, a tiny crack in the armor you wear.

you push it down.

you’re good at that, too.

“he’ll be fine,” you say, more to yourself than to him, “they always are, eventually. i set him up with a solid plan for low-risk investments, and a trust fund for his daughter. he’ll move on.”

gong yoo’s smile softens, and he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“you’re too good at this,” he says, “they’re lucky to have you.”

you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment, “and i’m lucky to have you.”

he pulls you closer, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. this is your life...coffee at seven pm, secrets shared over the hum of the city, a love that thrives in the spaces between the games.

you don’t talk about the 455 players you never got the chance to meet. you don’t talk about the cards your husband hands out to them, or the way you guide the eventual winner toward a life they’ll never fully live.

you don’t need to.

you both understand.

what you don’t know, what neither of you know, is that seong gi-hun isn’t like the others.

he’s not going to buy a house, or travel the world, or forget.

he’s sitting in a cheap motel he just bought as of right now, staring at the card you gave him with your name and number printed neatly on it.

gi-hun is thinking about the games, about the people he lost, about the system that chewed them up and spit him out.

he’s thinking about you, the kind banker who smiled and promised him a new life.

he’s thinking about your husband, the man who handed him a card in a subway station and changed everything.

gi-hun is coming for you both.

masterlist

[lovingbasketball]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Orange and White ~

[henk-heijmans]

Mending the fishing nets, Johnshaven, Scotland, 1946 - by B. Anthony Stewart (1904 - 1977), American

[myfairynuffstuff]

Herman Österlund (1873 - 1964) - Net Drying. 1918. Oil on canvas.

[overdoso]

O crime e a tragédia da indústria pesqueira.

[greenpostua]

😨 Так виглядає поле після масового застосування дронів на оптоволокні.

В цих волокнах плутаються і гинуть тварини та птахи, а також весь цей матеріал буде поступово кришитись і розсипатись, додаючи величезну кількість мікропластику в наші ґрунти та води.

[postcard-from-the-past]

Making fishing nets in Taormina, Sicily, Italy

Italian vintage postcard

[viagginterstellari]

Beach - Rio de Janeiro, 2023

[artandthebible]

Christ at the Sea of Galilee

Artist: Anonymous Painter; Lambert Sustris (Dutch, 1515 - c. 1591)

Date: ca. 1570's

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC, United States

Description

The resurrected Christ is depicted backlit by the rising sun on the shore of Sea of Galilee as he appears to seven of his believers in a boat. As told in John 21:1–13, they had been fishing all night without success. Christ told them to cast their nets to the right side of the boat, where the catch would be plentiful. When Peter saw Christ, he jumped into the water to swim to shore. Here, as daylight begins to brighten the waves and sky, Peter extends his leg from the boat, about to jump.

[doubleclutch]

Kyrie and Cam after his return to Brooklyn last light.

[lovingbasketball]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Cerulean ~

[whatthehali]

also draft is so unpredictable and they have SO many roster spots that I love the nets just rolling the dice this much instead of trying to trade some of them