#Pool Chemical Balancing

[thelittlemermage]

Every time I go on vacation patb fandom shits itself.

[zyaxchem]

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[bluechoicepools]

Swimming Pool Chemical Balancing: A Vital Element of Professional Pool Cleaning

Learn how maintaining the right chemical balance in your swimming pool contributes to clear waters and a safe environment for swimming. The ideal chemical balance is achieved and maintained by professional pool cleaning services, so your pool stays a welcoming haven for years to come. Ensure crystal-clear water and a healthy swimming environment by maintaining the proper chemical balance in your swimming pool. You can achieve and maintain the perfect chemical balance with the help of professional pool cleaning services. On a hot day, a well-maintained swimming pool is a refreshing oasis.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC X DP Fanfic idea: It's all Fun and Games Kids!

Danny Fenton moves to Gotham.

He moved there not because his parents ran him out of the house. His dad was bawling and begging him to stay while his mother spent three full days writing up different graphs to show how much safer was by nearing by so they could protect him.

(It's not like he still lived with them. Danny had moved out to his own place in amity when he was twenty-five. Moving clear across state lines wasn't much of a difference in his eyes)

He moved there, not because the ectoplasm was high. Ectoplasm is everywhere on Earth, and quite frankly, Gotham's was as polluted as its water was. It made the air spicy.

He moved there not because he was offered an amazing job or a life-changing opportunity. Danny's full-time job was writing novels. They were all based on his adventures in the Ghost Zone -with changed names of course- and were a hit online. He also had all of the Ghost King's gold.

He moved there simply because Danny wanted to.

Something about the city called to him, in a way that said "Hey this could be your home." He visited once for a Humpty Dumpty concert and fell in love with the sights, the people, and the life of Gotham.

Now some people would accuse him of being mad. Those people probably had a rebellious teenage stage where they had done crazy things like sneak out of the house, underage drink, sleeping around, or smoke something.

Danny, when he was a teenager, was fighting for his life and the lives of the ungrateful townspeople.

He didn't get to his rebellious stage. He didn't get his rush of doing something stupid because he was young and thought himself bigger than life.

So here Danny is, living his life as he pleases to make up for it.

He doesn't have to sneak out of his house since he owns it, he rather not drink or smoke (would they even affect him? His healing factor has never been tested against it) and Danny would like to be emotionally attached if he decided to sleep with someone.

What then does a man with too much time, too much power, and not enough bad young person decisions do?

He flirts with Death.

Death just so happens to be Batman-shaped.

Now it's all fun and games. He knows he doesn't have a real chance with Batman- it's Batman. Way out of Danny's league.- but that doesn't mean he can allow himself to fall into stupid situations and be dramatically rescued by the crime fighter.

Now if only his kids weren't so good at their jobs.

"You really should be more careful, Mr. Fenton. This is the third time this week" Nightwing says while untieing him. Danny does his best not to pout at the other. He had been having fun finding the answers to the riddles.

He wasn't at all worried about the fact he was placed over a pool of burning chemicals. He had been tried to a chair that was carefully balanced on overlapping ropes. It wire would snap with each correct answer, until he would fall his demise unless they could outsmart the Riddler.

Danny had gotten five out of ten correct before Nightwing burst through the ceiling.

"I don't mind," Danny says rubbing his wrists. "Better me than someone innocent."

Nightwing's lips purse "You are innocent."

"Yes, but I hardly matter in the grand scheme of things." Danny waves his hand missing the look of distress on the hero's face. He looks around the darkness of the ceiling hoping to spot a certain crouching figure.

"Is Tall Dark and Daddy here with you?" He asks Nightwing when he fails to see him.

"Please don't call him that."

Danny shrugs, suppressing his smile. He twirls back around to Nightwing pulling out a piece of paper from his jean's pocket. "By the way, I found the other victims, hid them in the cellar, and drew a of map of Riddle's bombs for you. You're welcome."

Nightwing stares before carefully taking the map. He taps his ear twice, muttering in a code- for that may be English but sounded like gibberish that it can not be anything else but code- and only after he hears a voice respond back does the hero give a strained smile. "Thank you, Mr. Fenton. This helps a lot."

"You're welcome!" He repeats with a bright smile. It's so odd for his efforts to be appreciated. Odd but nice.

Danny waits for the other to do his Bat-trained disappearing act- sometimes he wonders if Gotham gave her Knights a form of invisibility- but the man remains.

He shuffles his feet uncomfortable and Danny's eyes light up. Oh! Another attempt to get him to stop flirting with his father. What fun~!

"Mr. Fenton.....last week Red Robin rescued you from the Joker. Do you remember?"

"Yes. Red Robin is a great kid."

"A kid....weird for you to call him that when he's only a few years younger than you." Nightwing starts but Danny holds up a hand.

"I'm older than you"

There is a tight frown on the other man's face now. "You are not."

"I am." Danny pulls out his wallet flashing his ID card. The downside to his Ghostly powers is that he seems to be aging at a slower rate- at least physically. His parents theorized that he would take two years instead of the one that his aging required. Not an accurate number but the closest they had especially since both his parents were late bloomers and had baby face.

While Danny might be thirty-eight he appeared to be no older than nineteen.

"Mr. Fenton I don't think you should be carrying a fake-"

"Stay away from my father Harlot!" Robin screeches falling down from the shadows above. He points a very sharp sword at Danny's neck, sneering the whole time. "He has better things to do than rescue a love-struck worthless fool!"

Danny, leans on the top of the sword, eyes drinking into Robin's slight flinch when it cuts his skin a little. This is it. The Rush he had been craving for.

"I don't mean to be kidnapped Robin honest. It just sort of happens in Gotham." He makes his voice and body innocent in a way even Orphan can not tell he is lying. He knows because Clockwork confirmed the last time they met that the girl read his body language just as he wanted her to.

The two ghosts met up regularly to watch his overly "sweet" eyes fluttering and cheerful "Oh Batman you rescued me~!" performances together for a good laugh.

"You lie! You plan for this to happen to try and seduce my Father!"

Huh. The kid was smarter then his foul mouth and snobby behavior looked. Still Danny only had to twist his face into confusion for Nightwing to step in. The other vigilantes pulled the scowling child away, scolding him for harassing frightened civilians.

It was fun to see but nothing beat making polite come-ons to Batman- nothing gross like catcalling but more of overly thankful and dreamy sighs. Maybe he should see what Two-face is up to?

Surely the man would take him hostage and Batman's many children would be too busy to save him thus leading the Dark Knight himself to come to his aid.

Or in a world where Danny Fenton decides that it would be hilarious if he took on a Brucie Wayne persona in Gotham. Complete with a Heart-eyes-it's-beefy-Batman mentality that tricks the Batfam into thinking he is a Himbo who has bad luck for always getting caught up in villain schemes for being at the wrong place and wrong time.

Also, the Bat kids make it their life goal to keep Bruce from rescuing Danny since they do not like watching Fenton flirt with their dad. Even if Bruce himself ignores the boy they can't really threaten him.

Danny Fenton isn't being malicious or anything. He's just a boy with a crush who doesn't know better.

Clockwork is cackling, recording his favorite parts of Danny's interactions with the Bats.

[roosterforme]

The Intern Prologue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You barely have a minute to yourself after graduating at the top of your Ivy League class before your father insists you find an internship. Your days of lounging by the pool and partying are numbered as he has an endless parade of his colleagues visiting the house. But one of them is familiar to you in a way that warms your skin just like the San Diego sun.

Warnings: Language (eventually 18+)

Length: 1800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

"We need to start talking about your summer internship."

You had been home for less than one full day, and your father was already on his favorite topic of conversation: your future as a business mogul poised to take over his empire.

"Can we talk about it tomorrow, Daddy?" you asked, flashing him your sweetest smile as you yanked your sunglasses down lower on your nose. It was the end of May. You'd just graduated with top grades and a master's degree in business analytics and finance from his Ivy League alma mater. You were doing everything you could to uphold the family name as his only child, but you just wanted one day off before you got fully immersed in his world.

He sighed and glanced between you and the enormous pool behind the house you grew up in just outside San Diego. "Tomorrow morning. We will talk about it at breakfast," he said sternly. But then you watched his features crack into that soft smile he only ever shared with you. "I'm really proud of you, Sweetheart. You'll do big things."

Your annoyance with him melted away. "Thanks, Daddy." Most of your motivation to succeed came from him and his own personal success, but he worked nearly all the time. You would find a way to balance out a summer internship along with hanging by the pool and partying with your friends. You'd spent years perfecting this routine in college so that you graduated first in your class while still devoting your weekends to your sorority sisters and fraternizing with the fraternity boys.

Your father kissed the top of your head, and once he was gone, you rolled onto your belly. You wanted to feel the glorious heat from the California sun on every bit of your skin. While you enjoyed the different seasons on the east coast and the beautiful Ivy League campus, you certainly missed this weather. You were half tempted to untie your bikini top now that you were alone, but your father always had a parade of his colleagues and employees coming through the house to talk shop. And a lot of them were older and ex-military, and your dad would have a fit. You smiled, because that made you want to do it even more.

You spent all morning and most of the afternoon laying out by the pool with a book that wasn't holding your interest and your enormous water cup. You only ventured inside to get lunch where you waved off your father's chef when she tried to make something for you. It was her job, but you were twenty four and far less helpless than your father when it came to most things around the house. You made a sandwich and took it back out to the pool where the groundskeeper was testing the water. 

Everyone here was calling you 'Miss' which was already getting on your nerves. Nobody cared who you were when you were strolling through campus at the University of Pennsylvania, because their mommys and daddys were even wealthier and more famous than your dad. They just called you by your first name and let you blend in. 

"Miss, the pool chemicals look good," the groundskeeper told you. "Enjoy your swim."

Before he wandered off to work on his next chore, you called out, "Thank you." The funny thing was, your dad never used the pool. All he did was work. He probably only kept it open for the past six years while you were away in Philadelphia just in case you wanted to use it when you were home on breaks. 

And that's what had you walking over to the edge and dipping your toes in the water. There was a bit of a chill to it, probably because the sun had warmed you to your bones. Goosebumps ripped along your skin, and your nipples furled softly in your bikini top. You were suddenly very aware of your body as you heard your dad's booming laughter coming from inside the house along with dress shoes on the Calacatta marble floor. 

You swirled your toes around again as you turned to look through the open French doors at the group of men and women all in black suits. Most of them were as old as your dad with graying hair and scowling faces that conveyed how little they appreciated having their time wasted. All except for one. He was younger and taller than the rest, and he was the only person you knew by name. You hadn't seen him since you were home in December, but Bradley Bradshaw looked just as good now in his navy blue suit as he had with a glass of champagne and pink cheeks in his silk Fair Isle sweater at your father's holiday party. Maybe even better.

Now that he was a mere fifty feet away from you, it surprised you a bit that you hadn't really thought about him in months. His brown eyes met yours and he took a few steps to separate himself from the group. He shot a crooked little grin your way, and you smiled back before your eyes shifted to the pristine pool water. 

That night had been fun, even though your dad insisted you wear a modest forest green dress instead of the black one you brought home from Philadelphia. The champagne and mulled wine made it almost entertaining for you to drift from one of his geriatric colleagues to the next, intentionally asking them almost bizarre questions just to see how they would react. But Bradley had been there, and when you asked him if he'd ever had wine from Domaine Tropez in the south of France, he responded in a deep rumble of a voice saying, "I have a box of wine in my refrigerator that just says White Wine on the side of it. Does that answer your question?" 

You couldn't remember the last time someone made you laugh so hard, and he didn't look at you like the spoiled brat you almost enjoyed playing the part of.

"The vineyard sent me a bottle of rouge for my birthday. Want to try it?" you had asked him, feeling a little drunk and silly as he set his empty champagne flute on a passing tray. 

"You want to waste it on a guy who drinks boxed wine?" he asked, his voice impossibly deep and his mustache twitching with amusement. "I thought you were supposed to be smart. Your father talks about you all the time."

You had been about to take him by the hand and lead him to the kitchen where you'd stashed the wine so your dad wouldn't drink it, but then Bradley got pulled into a conversation with someone else. But you felt his eyes on you frequently throughout the night. And he did make it a point to say goodbye to you, letting you see those rosy cheeks up close one more time.

Just then you were jolted back to the present as you nearly toppled into the pool. Your father's voice carried outside, inflection full of pride as you heard him say, "My daughter flew back last night. Graduated top of her class with the same degree I earned. Following right in my footsteps, if you can believe it. Higher marks than I ever had."

There was some soft laughter and words of congratulations aimed at him, even though you were the one who had worked so hard. You rolled your eyes and planted both feet on the edge before diving as gracefully as you could into the pool. You swam nearly all the way across underwater, grateful for the bit of silence as you collected your thoughts. The water cooled you without being cold enough that you wanted to get out, and when you surfaced, you took a deep breath. 

Everyone seemed to have moved along from the open French doors, probably heading deeper into the house toward your dad's study or his conference room. You swam off toward the pool float that was drifting along in the shallow end, and you pulled yourself gracelessly up onto it. Just as you were fixing your bathing suit, about to settle in for another hour of sunbathing, a shadow crossed your face, and you nearly landed back in the water as you jumped.

"Congratulations."

It was Bradley Bradshaw standing over you with his hands on his narrow hips and his tie loosened in a way that you couldn't stop looking at. You desperately wished you had your sunglasses to help shield your eyes from the bright light as well as the fact that you were on the verge of checking him out. 

"Heard you graduated with a splash," he added, smiling as you dipped your foot in the water.

You rolled your eyes and settled back against the raft. "Crazy, isn't it? There's almost nothing you can't accomplish when you set your mind to it and have a billion dollar bankroll behind you, just helping you along the way."

His laughter made you feel warmer than the sunshine. "Are you daring to call yourself privileged?" He kept his eyes on yours, and you were impressed that they weren't straying south.

"Are you daring to say you aren't, Mr. Bradshaw?" you asked him with a smirk. "I didn't know you could buy Armani suits at JCPenney. I guess even an Ivy League valedictorian can learn something new every day."

He rubbed his hand over his lips and mustache to try to hide his amusement, and you wiggled back against the raft with a smile of your own. You weren't sure what possessed you to talk to him like this; he was your father's colleague after all. But you felt validated as he squatted down in his three thousand dollar suit to test the water temperature with his hand, because he shook his head slowly at you and said, "I'm impressed you even know what a JCPenney is. You're a bit of a brat, aren't you?"

Now you were the one trying to hide your smile behind your hand. "Don't get it twisted. I've never actually been to one. But all the prep school kids used to talk about shopping for suits off the rack along with knockoff handbags just to rile up our parents."

You thought you heard him mutter the word brat again as he stood. "Well, as much fun as this has been, I'm not dressed for swimming, so I guess I'll go find the other Armani suits and get back to work instead."

"Shame, that," you replied, clicking your tongue. "Bring your Armani swim trunks next time and stay a while."

Now that he was standing at his full height, his gaze slowly drifted down your body, and his cheeks turned ruddy just like they had after an evening of indulging in champagne last December.

"Maybe I will."

------------------------

Stay tuned for chapter one. We're about to go on an adventure. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 1

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[dancingdonatello]

HI!! 💕💕

can i request a donatello x gn reader who has a pet softshell turtle? i saw a tiktok where raph and donnie were holding their turtle species and omg it was so cute- 😭💕

have an AMAZING day/night!!

donnie x gn reader

“Donnie, it’s time you meet someone very important to me.”

That’s what you had told him a few days ago. Now, he stood at your doorstep dressed in the fanciest of clothes he could find. He was prepared to meet and impress your parent.

He wasn’t prepared for you to laugh at him when you opened the door and saw him.

“What?” He asked. You didn’t answer and instead pulled him into your house and up to a room that you had never let him go in before. “What’s going on?”

“As much as I love seeing you in a suit,” you paused as you fell into another bout of laughter, “you might want to take it off.”

“Why?” He demanded before you opened the door. Only then did he see the reason why.

The room was mostly empty, just filled with bins and food containers. But in the middle and most obviously the center piece of the room, there was a large pool of water.

“You… have a turtle.” He was flabbergasted. “As a pet?”

“And another as a boyfriend.” You patted him on the arm before you walked over. You picked the turtle up and it squirmed unhappily in your hands. “Look! It’s a soft shell too.”

“Amazing,” Donatello said flatly. “Now where is your parent that I was supposed to meet?”

“You were supposed to meet her!” You held the turtle in your hands out towards him. “Isn’t she pretty?”

Donnie turned to leave.

“Aw, Donnie…” you whined. “You’re hurting her feelings.”

Donnie scoffed again but stayed put. You smiled victoriously.

“Come on,” you sat down on the floor and patted the floor in front of you, “let’s just hang out.”

Your boyfriend reluctantly turned around and sat in front of you. He looked very unamused but you didn’t care. You set your pet on the floor and it immediately hissed at Donnie.

“Wow, she does not like you.” Her long neck reached over and she bit onto the finger of one Donnie’s hands that had been laid on his lap nearly. “She really doesn’t like you.”

“It’s because she knows I am better than her in all ways,” he said emotionlessly, even with his finger in the turtles mouth. “You are nothing compared to me,” he whispered lowly to it.

“Not true.” you shook your head. “Watch. Daphne, let go.”

“You named it Daphne?”

“Look!” You interrupted with a screech. “She let go! She listens better than compared to you.”

“What? I listen,” he defended himself but you were moving on.

“Daphne, sit.” The turtle coincidentally laid down when you said it. Donnie groaned when you cheered. “Such a good girl,” you cooed and picked her up. She bit you this time.

“Can it balance chemical equations?” Donnie scoffed.

You looked over at him, shocked at how… displeased he looked. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Can it develop and operate highly dangerous and radioactive weaponry? I don’t think so.” Donnie’s eyes were burning holes into your poor turtle.

“No, but it is cute.” You held poor Daphne a little closer protectively before you had an idea. “Donnie, just hold her. Feel the connection.”

“Feel the connection,” he mocked you. But he still took the turtle into his hands when you passed her over. He inspected it with a grumpy look. “Looks healthy.”

The turtle reached forward with its long neck and touched its snout to his.

“Oh my god,” you breathed out and took a hundred photos. “I am printing these out and plastering them all over my walls.”

It was all fine until Daphne started to churr. She had crossed the line.

“Daphne!” You snatched her back. “That is inappropriate!” Donnie snorted and shook the mud off his hands with a sigh.

“I guess she’s alright…” He interrupted your chastising of Daphne. “Still can’t take over the world though.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re one of a kind, Donnie.”

leo | raph | mikey

art

[macfrog]

what are joel, sarah, ellie, and reader doing on a typical day like today?

i had an ickle answer for you, non, but then @mrsmando sent me a tiktok and said it was scom coded, and - well. here's what my babies were up to today.

the whole world 1.8k words | series masterlist warnings: lots of sickly-sweet family love, couple teeny mentions of ellie throwing up, joel's a flirt at the end

“…beautiful blue skies all day today with highs of eighty in some parts, cooling down into the sixties as we head into the evening…”

Your skin still smells like the pool.

Chlorine, chemical summer – and the sweet spritz of sunscreen. It’s still glistening, still shiny and tacky on your arms.

The girls were bathed the second you got back inside. Sleeves rolled to your elbows; suds slipping down swollen, sun-kissed cheeks.

One hand at Ellie’s back, the other swishing water at her tummy to make her giggle. Joel knelt at your side, wrestling with Sarah over a soaked sponge the entire time.

He kept wringing it over her head, cracking up at the look on her face – water dripping from the tip of her nose and her pouted bottom lip.

Mama, she announced – with a twang even sweeter than her dad’s – I ain’t talkin’ to Daddy no more.

You scoffed, nudging a rubber duck along the water to Ellie’s open hands. I’ll believe that when I see it, Duck.

As the water drained from the tub, Sarah let Joel bundle her in a towel and follow her – a trail of damp footprints along the hall carpet – into her bedroom to grab her pajamas.

Lasted long, didn’t it? you muttered to Ellie, swaddling her in a dino bathrobe.

It’s May. Everything is alive and bursting with color. The birds and the bugs and the static from the radio. The windchimes and the orange slices and the tickticktick of the neighbor’s kid’s bicycle, whirring past the house.

Your daughters giggle, sharing secrets through nuzzling noses and flashing toothless grins. Nearly seven and just turned one. All their mom’s beauty with their dad’s old soul, so you’ve been told.

You figure it’s just a flowery way of saying perfect. Everything about them is perfect.

Everything about this is perfect. The slow-setting sun, needling between the trees as she slips from the sky. The cool shade under the porch, the soft tinkle of ice in your glass. The scrape of the dog’s claws on the wood as she slumps down.

This life you’ve dreamt up, held together by string lights and hanging plants; made real by the trike parked over in the corner, the teething toy wetting the tablecloth.

It’s all so fucking perf–

A clatter echoes from the kitchen.

“Shit – Jesus –” Joel hisses, another crashing sound swallowing the rest.

Sarah peers up at you, eyes wide. Knees tucked under her chin, tiny in the chair beside you.

“Did you hear that?” you ask her, lifting your eyebrows. Doing your best not to break into a grin.

The corners of her mouth twitch. She looks just like you, in this light. Same cheeky smirk. You never really noticed it until you saw it on her.

“No,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into her knee. She giggles.

Your eyes thin. “Mhm.”

“Mhm,” she mimics, reaching for her Barbie.

You lean back in your chair, arms wrapping a little tighter around the toddler in your lap. “You sure you’re okay in there?” you call through the house.

Joel’s arm swats around the kitchen doorframe. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. It’s just – goddamn it – it’s fine.”

“Heard that,” Sarah says. She stares at the doll’s hair, combing it flat.

“Shh,” you whisper, hearing the creak of the floorboards.

Joel materializes on the porch, balancing three plates in his arms. A stained towel slung over his shoulder, his shirt loose and chest dappled with sweat.

“Alright,” he pants, bending to set yours down first.

Ellie twists in your arms, her green terrycloth spikes flapping as she turns. The hood slips over her eyes and you pull her free.

You grab her hands before she can slam two tiny fists into the ravioli. “Jesus, Nel,” you snort.

She pulls herself to her feet, swaying from side to side on your thighs. Watching Joel intently as he sets Sarah’s plate down, then his own.

He straightens, running the towel between his hands. “Can I sit next to Mama?” he asks his daughter.

She shakes her head. “I’m showin’ her my Barbies.”

“Can you show her them from your own chair, Duck?”

Another head shake. “How is she s’posed to see ‘em?”

His eyes flash up to yours. His expression sets like stone.

All these years, all that time you spent desperately trying to crack him. Chiseling away with tools made from jokes, from teasing. From frisbeeing his newspaper and aiming for his plant pots.

A little smile; a quiet, “How am I s’posed to see ‘em, Joel?” – and you melt him instantly.

He breathes a laugh, shaking his head as he wanders around the table. This huge, broad man, squeezing into the space by the windowsill. Dotted with toy animals and scattered miniature accessories.

He pulls the chair out and settles back into it.

You nudge his calf beneath the table.

Joel’s hands find your knees, slipping around them. He pulls your ankles into his lap, thumb trailing circles on your skin, and picks up his fork.

“Alright, Duckie,” you elbow her gently, “Barbies down. Look what Daddy made us.”

She fixes the pink pumps back onto the doll’s feet, straightens her spacesuit, and sits her carefully on the edge of the table.

Ellie blows a raspberry and collapses again into your lap. She yawns, turning to snuggle into your chest.

“You wanna try a little?” you whisper, blowing on a piece of ravioli.

She steals it from your fork and suckles on it. Her long lashes blink slower and slower until her eyes are closed, full cheeks still chewing.

Joel scoffs. “That’s her mom. Right there, that’s all you.”

“Fallin’ asleep with food in her mouth?” you chuckle, kissing her head. “Glad I’m leavin’ some legacy.”

“Uhuh,” he replies, tongue in his cheek. His eyes flash golden when they meet yours, brighter than the sun.

Ellie’s warm under your cheek; her skin still as soft and plushy as the day you met her. She quietens, stills as she drifts off. She’s solid in your arms – sturdier than her sister ever was at her age.

Or, as her uncle Tommy said, the first time he held her: She weighs a goddamn ton, don’t she?

She weighs nothing to you. Your arms were made for cradling her. Hips were designed to hold her. She’s the perfect size to fit in the crook of her dad’s arm. Her favorite game is being tossed in the air by him until she throws up.

“Ah-ah, Duck. Not right now,” Joel says, shaking his head. “Wait ‘til we’re done, or she’ll just beg.”

Sarah huffs, lifting her fork from the dog’s mouth. “Sorry, Shim.”

The shepherd trots around to Joel’s side, settling her chin on his thigh. She breathes a pleading sigh.

“I know, girl,” he ruffles her ears, “I ain’t fair to ya, am I?��

She falls to a heap under the table, and spends the meal pouncing at scraps Sarah accidentally drops.

The sky drains, the world darkening until you’re lit in shades of orange and gold; the candles flickering and stretching funny shadows across the porch ceiling.

Joel bribes Sarah with staying up later, so long as she helps him clear the table. She babbles away as they fill the sink with dishes; follows at his heels and catches him up on the politics of second grade.

He leans down to take Ellie – sound asleep and snoring – from you.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he says, and kisses you. “C’mon, Duckie,” he groans as she climbs into his other arm. “Bedtime.”

Upstairs, you split off into the girls’ rooms. Shimmer follows you into Sarah’s, curling up at her feet in a nest of pink blankets.

Your firstborn is already tucked under her covers, her nightlight spinning hazy stars around the walls.

“How much do I love you?” you whisper, stroking her hair.

Sarah takes a few seconds to answer, sleep already overcoming her. “More…more ‘n the…” she yawns, “…more ‘n the whole world, Mama…”

“The whole world,” you repeat, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Sweet dreams, little Duckie.”

Joel meets you in the hallway. He holds the baby monitor up. The screen lights; the fuzzy outline of your baby in her cot. Arms outstretched, above her head; fists balled and a determined frown on her face as she snoozes.

“Like a log,” Joel mutters, nudging you over to the stairs. “’nother thing she got from her mom.”

You smile – a loose, sleepy thing. “’s my girl.”

He follows you downstairs.

The reflections of the candles glint from each photo frame on the wall, lighting them one by one as you pass. First birthdays, first Christmases. Sarah perched atop a pony in Jackson; Joel in a suit holding Ellie, seconds before she spat milk down his tie.

Each one a tiny thread, linking you from who you were to who you are now. Stringing you together, binding the wound you never knew how to tend to.

At the bottom of the stairs, you feel a tug from your back pocket.

“Joel –” you giggle, stumbling into his arms. “We got dishes to – Joel –”

“Come on,” he whispers against your lips, stealing soft kisses. “It’s a nice night, let’s just sit for a while.”

He leads you out front and rocks back on the swing. He sets the monitor down at his feet and opens his arms. A goofy smile on his face, eyes twinkling.

You fold your arms. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know. But I love you.”

Your breath catches, the way it always does. Almost seven years, two kids and a fucking joint mortgage – and it still catches you off guard when you remember.

He loves you. He always did.

“That’s what makes you the idiot,” you reply, stepping forward. You slip into his lap, knees either side of his hips, and link your arms around his neck. “Fell in love with your nemesis.”

“Hm.” Joel’s arms scoop around your butt. “All that time, I thought we were friends.”

You laugh, leaning in to him. “We were never friends,” you say, “I never wanted to be just your friend.”

His chest rumbles beneath yours. He presses more kisses into your neck, kneading your waist. He takes your jaw, pulling back to look at you.

This man, and the silver through his beard, and the marks on his careful hands. This man, who never looked surer of himself – never looked more like the gleeful kid you once spotted in a photo frame – than when he has one daughter in one arm and the other slung over his back.

This man, who once built you a closet in exchange for a fake date. Who, drunk on liquor and something more, followed you back to your hotel room and changed you forever.

Made you his, forever.

You forget what it ever felt like to be anything else.

[jo-harrington]

Standard Operating Procedures 1.04 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The summer is ending, school is about to start, the seasons are changing...and so are things between you and Eddie.

Previous Part: Corrective Action

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual Pining and Slow Burn, Fluff, Food/Eating, Talks about the Future, Romantic Tension/Sexual Tension

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other writing.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie had always had a sweet tooth.

His mom swore, up and down, that her only craving had been for Zebra Cakes when she was pregnant with him.

His favorite food as a baby had been mashed peaches.

And now he was sure his body was chemically composed of more Dr. Pepper than water.

So it should have been no big surprise that he was so attracted to you.

Ahem.

So it should have been no big surprise that he would have planned a snack cake taste test extravaganza for your usual Sunday Not-a-Date Date.

You'd revealed early on that your grandparents were both "in the sugar business."

"My grandpa," you told him once as you walked through the mall window shopping on your lunch. "Worked the chocolate chip line at the Maurice Lenell bakery."

"Are those the fancy cookie tins--"

"That they sell at Christmas? Yes."

"Wayne always gets one with his holiday bonus," Eddie reminisced. "The pinwheel ones with the red sugar on the outside are my favorite."

"And my grandma worked at the Hostess factory," you continued. "She always always brought home boxes of rejects. I probably would have been too shy to make friends at school if they hadn't flocked to me for baked goods."

Because of this though, you had never fraternized with the enemy, as Eddie so dramatically put it: Little Debbie.

"And now," his gaze turned dark and mischievous as he threw open the doors to the van. "You shall feel the full power of the dark side."

He outdid himself, truly.

Piles of snack cakes from the gas station, sorted into two neat little stacks, a little notebook for scorekeeping, and a 6-pack of Mountain Dew as a palette cleanser.

“You keep saying,” he said as you settled in amongst the pillows and blankets he’d set up in the back so you’d both have a cozy spot to snack. The radio was softly playing in the background. It was nice. “That you wanted to drink the water in the mall fountains. Did you know that Mountain Dew is the closest you’re gonna get?”

You’d both run garbage late one Wednesday night and thrown coins into the fountain on your way back to your stores. And that’s when you’d revealed your deepest darkest secret.

“Because they’ll both probably kill me in the end?” You joked.

“No, because Bromine is in both.”

“Ok nerd.” You snorted.

“Not…a nerd,” he shoved you as he plopped down beside you. “But I did this project for chemistry class last year. On Mountain Dew. And how it gets that color. And it’s also how they keep the fountain water clean. Or pool water? I can’t remember exactly right now.”

“Ok nerd.”

“I’m sorry,” he clutched his hand over his heart. “My lady wanted to taste only the finest of fountain water. And I deliver her the closest thing and am openly mocked? Twice?”

You stuck your tongue out at him and slapped his shoulder, then asked what the rubric was for the taste test.

And then you snacked til you made yourselves sick and did what you always did, balanced conversation and companionable silence.

That was a new thing. The silence.

Not for the two of you, but for Eddie.

He wasn't used to silence, he was used to loud music, noises and raucous laughter and adventure--real or fantasy--with his friends, but since the two of you started hanging out, he was getting used to the silence a little more. Enjoying it. Savoring it. Looking forward to it.

The anticipation of waiting for something wonderful--thoughts or observations or confessions--coming of your mouth made him feel warm inside.

Eddie had pondered your friendship earlier in the day as you'd run in to let him know you couldn't take lunch together.

"There's this crazy long piercing line and I'm just running to get a slice of pizza and then going back up. I'm so sorry, I'll see you after work ok?"

Your energy was frantic and your words faster than lightspeed, but your eyes were filled with concern and care for him. The little hitch of your eyebrows and the extra pause you took so you made sure that he understood that you weren't ditching him you just...couldn't do lunch and didn't want to leave him hanging.

Even when everything was falling apart around you, you cared to make sure he understood.

It was nice.

And it wasn't just you. But it was nicer when it was you.

He didn't get a lot of understanding like that. Especially not in Hawkins where his last name and his appearance caused everyone's hackles to raise a little. And even the people who did want him around...well it was hit or miss if they decided to stick around.

But since working at StarCourt, things had been different. He had a boss and coworkers who liked him, inside jokes with people who worked at other stores. He had you. He wasn't Eddie The Freak Munson. He was Eddie from TapeWorld. And Eddie from TapeWorld seemed to help people warm up to Eddie Munson.

What a weird concept. People wanting him around. Coming to StarCourt and being around people who accepted him and valued him...understood him. He'd only felt that way with Hellfire...and with Corroded Coffin.

People were good and people liked him. A sweeter treat than all the Hostess in the world.

It had been a few months now; a few months of an actual job, a consistent crush friend, and everything seeming to look up for him. Give or take a few minor hiccups but...he was feeling good.

And school was starting soon, maybe this would be the year the tide turned? No more waiting for the future to finally happen for him; he was making things happen for himself.

It might finally be his year...

"So," he leaned over, into your personal space, and fished a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. "Kyle gave me this thing yesterday."

"Oh yeah?" Your eyebrows raised in curiosity as you happily munched on a sugary treat.

He'd spiraled a little bit when he'd been handed the sheet. Three little words at the top.

Schedule Change Request.

Way back at the beginning of summer, after the initial shock that he'd gotten the job at TapeWorld, he figured he was just counting his days until he was fired and that the start of the school year would have been the final nail in the coffin if he made it that far.

Instead Kyle was...asking him to stay.

"I’m probably not gonna be able to give you as many hours with school,” he sighed. “Which is a real bummer. But I’ll put you on as much as I can."

"You're not kicking me out?" Eddie asked, shocked.

"What? Are you nuts? Ed, you're like...my best guy! I need you here. Selling those guitars, getting those sales bonuses. And because you're my buddy. So make sure you put your for-sure days off on there...you know I'm gonna forget.”

He explained it all to you, which led to you cackling loudly.

"Oh my God," you laughed. "Eddie!"

"What? I know it's silly."

"No, I'm not laughing because of that," you began. "My first position at Claire's had been a summer job too and I seriously thought that I was gonna get fired once school was back in session."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. And it's a real thing because no one tells you that you're done when summer's over. You're gonna see come Christmas, Kyle will have to hire seasonal associates--and hey, ok...seriously if Gareth or Dave come asking for a job...it might seem fun...but don't--and he'll have to make sure they have end dates on their paperwork otherwise it's a whole thing."

You went on and on about helping your old manager with paperwork and you'd forgotten to put an end date as you were filling everything out. And then someone's mom came to complain at the end of the season when their kid was let go.

"And she kept screaming and screaming. And that's why I have a strict parent policy at work. Even though I'm the reason that got so fucked up; trial by fire. Jen was pissed."

Eddie reached out and unwrapped your hand from the Sno-Ball that you had crushed as you told the story. He adored it when you got so animated, but the poor little pastry was now just a mess of crumbs and frosting and marshmallow goo on your fingers and now his as he plucked the half-destroyed treat from your grasp.

And the thing was...

The thing was, Eddie wasn't...he was decidedly not smooth. He was gross. He was a gross boy. He hacked loogies and did spit handshakes with the guys all the time. He had no five second rule when it came to food dropped on the floor; it was an optical inspection and then usually straight down the gullet.

He could be romantic and seductive if he wanted to be; he could charm the...ahem...pants off some people if the need arose. And he had.

But that wasn't this.

This was a caught up in the moment of having a good time with his friend and doing what he would have done if one of his buddies crushed a snack cake. He'd be his usual gross self and expect them to groan and screech and laugh at him. Boys will be boys and all.

This was a too little too late moment of realization as he, Eddie Munson, lacking the foresight of having napkins in the van for this little snack cake taste test since he usually wiped his honey-bun-icing slick hands on his jeans after he unhinged his jaw and shoved it in on mornings when he was running late, saw no other way to clean sweet frosting off your hand except to lick it off your thumb.

The van suddenly got smaller and hotter as his tongue traveled up the pad of your finger, over the ridge of each joint and to the center of your palm. His eyes traveled up to meet yours as he flicked the sweetness off of you, and his breath hitched when he saw the way your eyes widened.

How was he supposed to deal with this? How was he supposed to handle this epic potential fuck up right here? How was he supposed to stop his brain--and maybe some other parts of him--from wanting to take the hand that gently held your wrist and pull you closer so he could kiss the sugar from your lips and not just...

Lick it off your hand.

Jesus, he was an idiot.

Caught between a rock and a hard dick.

Hard place. Fuck.

But that was the conundrum right? Because Eddie did want to kiss you; he enjoyed kissing...a lot actually, and it would be...nice if all of these dates were actual dates so that he could just kiss you and squeeze you and all of the nice things that came with...having someone who liked you back. So he didn't have to shoot Kyle a dirty look every time he teased "have a nice lunch with your girlfriend" knowing fully well that it was exactly what Eddie wanted.

He'd heard the spiel many times when Kyle had come back from his own lunch and then stood over Eddie as the younger man unpacked shipments, and told him, flat out, hands on his hips "you just need to ask her out man I'm getting sick of this."

And the guys had teased him a bunch.

And Wayne kept asking when you were coming around again.

Well this could be it.

A horrible start to asking a girl out on a date but wouldn't that be a funny story, and Eddie really did like a funny story.

This is. This is the moment.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something and so did you. You both backed down from actually saying anything. Eddie's hand tightened on your wrist and he was sure he could feel your heart beating faster. And was that you leaning a little closer to him? And did your eyes look at his mouth as he licked over the seam of his lips really quickly for courage.

He opened his mouth again...

Courage. He could do it. This was gonna be his year, and you were gonna be his girl.

...and then slammed the broken remains of the SnoBall in.

Quite literally slammed, shoved, fingers flailing as he tried to smoosh the chocolate cake and pink-coated marshmallow and remnants of frosting inside.

He let go of your wrist and then backed away from you as far as he could.

Idiot.

You let out a nervous laugh and looked down at your messy hand. You tried to use a discarded wrapper to clean yourself up when Eddie just...pulled off the flannel that he'd layered on to help wipe you off instead.

Like he probably should have done in the first place.

You didn't say anything, just smiled gently at him, like you always did. Always patient. Always forgiving of his mistakes.

What had you even been talking about before?

Oh...right.

"Note to self," he muttered around the SnoBall. "Never becoming a manager."

Your eyes crinkled a little as your smile got bigger and you grabbed onto the front of his shirt and shook him a little.

"Save yourself!"

The rest of your evening went by unremarkably.

You both got too hyped up on sweets and Mountain Dew, ran a few circles around the van in the StarCourt parking lot, headbanging and screaming, after Eddie threw on a tape he said the two of you could dance to. Then to Dairy Queen where you soaked up all the sugar with chili cheese dogs.

An otherwise normal Sunday for the two of you.

Mishap forgotten.

Nerves forgotten.

Misplaced feelings...forgotten.

For now.

---

Next Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.05

[lets-try-some-writing]

Just read what you wrote about autobots reacting to rain, and now I'm wondering what would happen if they saw the kids jump into a pool full of chemicals (chlorine and whatever else they use to maintain a pool).

Basically, on a hot summer day the kids were complaining about the heat, so agent fowler got a pool for them to cool down in. The bots saw what the people assembling the pool put in the pool, and they freak out when the kids jump in with no hesitation.

Ooooooooooooooooh boy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The bots do not like rain. On Cybertron, the stuff was acidic and capable of killing a mech through prolonged exposure. Even on Earth, they still aren't fond of it. Big bodies of water have received the same treatment. Not a spark likes them. Bumblebee may appreciate the rain and running in it off and on, but not a single Autobot enjoys any large body of water. Its wet, gets everywhere, and most notably, could hide any number of threats that they cannot see. Not to mention their very code demands they remain away from anything that even resembles and acid pool. Optimus is especially wary due to his time growing up in the wilds.

These fears were largely not an issue due to the bone dry nature of Jasper. But one hot summer day, the children decided it would be a grand idea to swim. The team knew in theory what the concept was. They had seen enough videos and were largely alright with the children swimming in purified water. If Ratchet could run scans and have them come back with nothing but majority H2O, the team could be content. As such when Agent Fowler finally caved in and got the children a pool for the base as well as all the necessary cleaning tools, the children were thrilled.

They constructed the pool in the training room just to make sure they didn't mess with any of Ratchet's stuff and promptly began filling it up. Bulkhead and Bumblebee were roped into getting buckets to help fill it up faster while the rest of the team hovered nearby to watch. Once the pool was ready, Miko threw in the filter and got the pool cleaning systems running before scurrying away with the others to get her suit on. The team didn't know what she had done but remained passive for a long moment until Ratchet got suspicious. He dipped a chemical tester into the pool water and scowled at it as he waited for the results. By the time he read them, the children had already canon balled into the water and begun laughing.

But of course that joy was short-lived as Ratchet all but screamed and demanded the team get the children out NOW. The medic hurried to try and do something but skidded on the water on the ground and promptly lost his balance. Upon reading the results of Ratchet's scan for themselves, the rest of the team lost their minds.

Smokescreen who had not wanted anything to do with the pool backed away screaming as the children splashed him. He scrubbed down his armor in terror and flew toward the washracks. Ultra Magnus, Wheeljack, and Bulkhead were too large to get near to the children and all three were similarly terrified of the "Contaminated' liquid. Bumblebee and Arcee were the only ones small enough to take one for the team and put a pede into the pool and carefully scoop up the children. They shrieked as the liquid seeped into their seams and both dropped to the ground as soon as the children were handed to Optimus. The Prime for his part mentally prepared himself to have mangled servos for the remainder of his functioning as he rushed to the nearest pure water source and sprayed down the children with the hose.

The children were not pleased at all to say the least. However as they watched the team huddle around staring at them and their own frames in horror, their anger faded quickly. They instead felt guilty as Smokescreen began wailing about how he was too young to end up like a mech called Kup. The entire team was lamenting their fates as Ratchet checked them all, the medic having already come to terms with the possible mutilation of his back if the "contaminated" liquid was as bad as he initially thought. Miko fussed over her Wreckers, Jack went to Arcee and tried to comfort her as she looked at her leg sadly, and Rafael did his best to explain.

It was only after the team had quite a while to realize that they were not about to be mutilated for life that they looked over the children and came to the conclusion that, like rain, the water wasn't going to kill them.

Rafael: "What your scans picked up were just some cleaning chemicals. Chlorine and a few other things."

Ratchet: "Those are dangerous aren't they?"

Rafael: "Well they can be in large quantities and some people's skin don't handle it well, but it won't kill a person unless they eat it or something."

Smokescreen: "So... we aren't about to die?"

Jack: "Well I think you would be dead already if that were the case."

Yet another instance of the team nearly losing their minds over a simple thing. The Wreckers almost passed out from relief and while Optimus will never admit it, he was genuinely terrified of losing his servos. Bumblebee and Arcee looked at each other with completely deadpan expressions, both murmuring about how they "should have expected this". Ratchet merely grumbled and shakily stopped planning how to tell June and Fowler that the children died from being turned into sludge under his supervision. At the same time Smokescreen had to hastily wipe his face to try and act as though he weren't two seconds from a breakdown.

The team never spoke of the incident again and collectively acted as though nothing happened whenever the children brought it up. It was agitating to the children, but they got back at the team once they were allowed back into the pool again. There was always a bot there to watch them just in case they started melting or something, and whoever the poor bot on duty was, they got splashed. Most flinched or stepped away, but Smokescreen always. screamed.

The children find it hilarious to this day.

[caesariawritesstuff]

What's Mine

Summary: Jonathan Crane isn't often a jealous man...but when that little green monster ignites within him, he won't hesitate to let everyone in Gotham know what's his.

Content Warning: Angst, Jealousy, Murder, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 1.2k

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ● Masterlist ●

There were many things Jonathan Crane was good at it, and chemistry was his particular forte. It was not unusual for him to procure and produce something for one of the other Rogues. It was often he retrieved the necessary ingredients from Ivy, or other chemical plants around Gotham. And tonight, he had a particularly interesting order to drop off for a rather annoying Clown.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye, watching you in the passenger seat across from him inside the truck. Your eyes were cast downwards, focused on a notebook in your lap. As a chemist yourself, his most prized pupil, you were busy working out your own chemical equation to engineer your own version of a toxic, something tailored to your own needs. Pride swelled in Jonathan’s chest; he’d taught you well.

But you were more than just a henchwoman of sorts, even if you did work for him. Jonathan just couldn’t quite exactly figure out what you were. A ripple of desire pooled in between his legs, a throbbing in his loins. Oh, how he’d savored the sensation of your tongue on his cock and your lips wrapped around his member, bringing him to ecstasy last night. He’d eagerly returned the favor, and could still taste you on his tongue.

Silently, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the road, focusing on the task at hand. It was not hard for him to turn off the lewd thoughts that balanced far into the depths of depravity. It was only when the truck came to a halt on neutral ground between the criminal territories, outside an abandoned factory, that all thoughts of desire vanished completely from his mind.

The clown was already here. Crane would recognize that brightly colored, purple vehicle anywhere. Joker pranced around, voice high-pitched and crazed, Harley at his side. The very behavior of a man who feared being forgotten. A man who was desperate for the attention of everyone around him. Jonathon wanted no such thing – his work was his only focus, his desire to understand and weaponize fear.

Once his own henchmen parked the truck, he got out, his movements precise and smooth, because he was not the kind of man to do things without reason. He did not act on impulse, much like the clown in front of him.

“Look, Scaredy-Crow is here!” Harley cried.

Her words did not bother him, he was above such things. Joker turned, stopping in his tracks, and flashed him a blood-red, Cheshire grin. “Crane,” he said, giggling between words. “Come, let’s talk business.”

Joker wrapped his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders. He immediately bristled at the touch, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. He was not afraid of Joker – of course, he’d rid himself of his fears long ago. But he would be a fool to trust the Joker in any kind of capacity.

As Joker led him away to discuss payment and exchange of the chemicals, he listened intently, but his gaze shifted ever so slightly. Several feet away, you were busy instructing several of the Clown’s goons on how to carefully transfer the tanks of chemicals and properly use them – because one wrong move and a cloud of toxin would envelope and kill everyone in the nearby vicinity. Not that Crane cared much about everyone else, but he wasn’t interested in dying at the hands of some henchmen incapable of listening to instructions.

But it wasn’t the fact that the goons looked disinterested, or Harley tapped her feet with clear impatience. It was that the goons were eyeing you up and down as though you were a piece of meat. Like something to be devoured and preyed upon, a feast for the taking. As you turned to grab something off the back of the truck, one man in particular gave your ass a swift smack.

You jumped, startled, mouth falling open in surprised. Eyes widened with a sudden moment of fear. Your eyes search the crowd, before locking with his. Jonathan knew immediately what you would be experiencing: the race of cortisol and adrenaline in your veins, the dilation of your eyes, the pounding of your heart. Your body would be responding to the sudden danger, the threat…

A sudden rush of jealousy and rage swam through Jonathan’s veins. Green and raw like a venomous viper, twisting in his stomach, ready to strike. His throat tightened, mouth going dry. He was seeing red. If he was a more impulsive man, he’d have allowed himself to pounce, to stab the needles of his gauntlet into the man’s neck and allow him to feel his worst fears…but he was not that kind of man. He was calculated and controlled and would not let such pesky emotions control him.

He was The Scarecrow.

Joker laughed, finally noticing what had captured Jonathan’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder, grinning, and said, “Come now, Crane. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing your little assistant to one of my boys, now are you?”

“You should teach them not to touch what’s mine,” Jonathan replied in a level tone.

Joker only threw his head back and laughed, quickly returning to the matter at hand, as if the interaction hadn’t happened at all. But Jonathon could not ignore the quiet, simmering rage under his skin and he curled his fingers into a white-knuckled grip. He would not allow this incident to go unpunished.

But he kept himself controlled, and finished his business. Bags of cash were thrown into the back of the truck. Jonathan waited until you were finished instructing the men on how to handle the chemicals, and once the two of you were safely inside and driving away from the factory, he reached across the seat and braced his leg tight against your thigh in a possessive grip.

He didn’t need to say anything.

It was only when the two of you returned to the hideout that he fucked you into oblivion, mouth nipping at your skin, marking your flesh, whispering “mine” into your ear, that he felt some of his frustration satiate. But it wasn’t enough.

Once you’d fallen asleep, he rose from the bed and concocted his plan, quickly grabbing a canister of his toxin. He redressed into his typical garb and disappeared into Gotham’s shadowy streets; it did not take him long to figure out who the idiotic henchman were and where they were staying. They were far too ignorant to cover their tracks. And just as easily, he opened the door and rolled his canister into their own hideout – allowing it to explode into a cloud of orange, billowy smoke.

Their screams came instantly.

Jonathan watched, a smile tugged at the corners of their mouth, as the men tore themselves apart. Ripping the skin off their face in thin ribbons of flesh, tearing out their eyes, bellowing their fears at the top of their lungs. He reveled in it, a sick satisfaction coursing through his veins.

And when the men finally died, torn apart by their fears, he turned on his heels and left.

That would teach everyone in Gotham not to mess with what was his.

[hesh-w]

Weird question but how many bedrooms were in ur house in San Diego? Your house looked pretty big 😭

It had four bedrooms. :)

Logan and I shared a room until middle school, so then he got the one right beside what became mine. Mom and dad had their room, of course. And dad had his office in the fourth one.

I know it looks massive, but it's mostly vaulted ceilings and the second floor.

So the first floor:

- Kitchen, dining room

- Living room

- Bathroom

- Two hall closets + under the stairs space

- Dad's office

- Laundry room

Second floor:

- Master bedroom + bathroom

- Bathroom

- My room

- Logan's room

- Hall closet

- Smaller lounge, more of a media/game space

It was definitely a good-sized house, but everything fit nicely, and we never had any problems with it. Except balancing pool chemicals.

We weren't rich by any means, but we were pretty well off due to dad's career and some things mom sold on the side. (Antiquing)

[nico-di-genova]

Alex’s habit of picking up hobbies at the end of the year and committing himself fully to them is honestly so funny to me.

2020: chemical balance of his pool, spent weeks researching the chemicals he needed and how to mix them and then went on to talk about it endlessly.

2021: pilots license side quest

2022: got really into mixed drinks. Followed this guy on Instagram (@ clubdirty) who posted mixed drink recipes made with specialty liquor and sodas. His cabinet subsequently became an insane assortment of random liquor and mixers.

2024: golf? Potentially?

[bluechoicepools]

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[poolsmedia]

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In 2024, smart home technology has dived headfirst into pool management. Automated systems now allow you to control everything from water temperature to chemical balance with a tap on your smartphone. These intelligent pools not only save time and energy but also ensure optimal swimming conditions year-round.

Key features:

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Eco-conscious homeowners are increasingly opting for natural swimming pools. These chemical-free alternatives use plants and biological filters to keep the water clean, creating a harmonious blend with the surrounding landscape.

Benefits:

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Infinity pools continue to be a top trend, especially for properties with scenic views. The vanishing edge creates a stunning visual effect, making your pool appear to merge with the horizon.

Popular applications:

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Modern pools are no longer just for swimming. In 2024, we're seeing a rise in multifunctional pool designs that incorporate various lifestyle elements.

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Built-in hot tubs for relaxation

Shallow lounging areas for sunbathing

5. LED Lighting for Nighttime Ambiance

Transform your pool into a nighttime wonderland with advanced LED lighting systems. These energy-efficient options offer a rainbow of colours and programmable light shows, extending your pools usability well into the evening hours.

Popular lighting effects:

Color-changing mood lighting

Underwater light shows

Illuminated water features

Conclusion

Whether you're planning a new pool installation or looking to upgrade your existing one, these trends offer exciting possibilities to enhance your backyard retreat. At POOLS MEDIA, we're committed to bringing you the latest in pool innovation and design. Dive into these trends and make a splash with your dream pool in 2024! Ready to transform your backyard? Contact a local pool professional to discuss how these trends can be incorporated into your unique space. And don't forget to check back with POOLS MEDIA for more expert advice and inspiration for all your swimming pool needs!

[goldenteaset]

Oof, if you think hot springs stinging bruises and cuts is bad, which personally I can't comment on because I can't speak to the salt content in those waters, but I went to a pool with an attached spa thing earlier this year and soaked in some briney water and I'd cut my leg pretty badly the day before in a stupid accident and while I was floating around the warm water I was about ready to rip my entire skin off and yell, it was so uncomfortable and painful. It went away after a while, but it seriously stung for some minutes

Cannot recommend

D: I'm glad it went away, but talk about a 0/10 experience, ouch! There's a reason that pirates often threw salt water after whipping as punishment... (In regular pools/hot tubs there's chlorine to worry about instead of salt, which stings less in my experience. Unless they mess up the chemical balance, but at that point you'll likely to not go in anyway as the pool will look like a pea soup swamp...)

[lovelyrocker]

Pool Girl

RPF

Characters: Timothee Chalamet, Reader

Pairings: None Yet

Warnings: None

Word Count: 991

Ch. 1 “Fill In”

She grunted then made a disgusted facial expression as she pulled the gunk -from the stopped-up pool filter. She wiped her sweaty forehead with her forearm as she pulled another clump of whatever this green gunk is. The water started flowing freely again and she stood disposing of the contents in a bin. She finished the cleaning of the pool in the backyard of the fancy house in Beverly Hills.

Y/N climbed back into the truck on the side of the road with a huff and pulled out the clipboard, looking for the next house. 2908 Seacrest. She looked back at the address on the road where she was currently parked. 2907 Seacrest. Looking around she saw the gate across the street that read 2908. “Well, that was easy.” She said to herself, tossing the clipboard down on the seat. Grabbing the pool orders she crossed the street and walked up the entryway. Carefully she typed in the code to the back gate, and it clicked, letting herself in. 

Timothee walked into his house, tossing his keys on the counter, going to the fridge, pulling out a battle of water. Mid gulp he noticed movement in his backyard. Walking closer to the door he saw a young woman in what looked like high school gym shorts, rolled up, and a bright yellow tank top, slouched down at his pool. 

He opened his back door and started towards the pool. “Hey! Can I help you?” 

The girl looked up at him, staying crouched down, measuring something. “Yeah, are your parents around?”

“‘Scuse me?” He stops in front of her. “Who are you and how did you get in my backyard?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh!” Y/N stood. “I used the code on the order.” She looked at the papers she had with her. “Is-” She flipped the paper. “Mr. Chalamet here?”

“I’m Mr. Chalamet.”

“No, I mean Timothee Chalamet. Your father. I have some pool stuff I need to talk to him about.”

“I am Timothee.”

Y/N gave a subtle eye roll. “Look, kid, is your mom or dad around or not? If not I can just leave them a form of what is needed. I really don’t have time to play this back and forth with you right now.”

“Where’s Sal? The guy that usually does the pool?” Timothee asks as the girl gets out a notebook and starts writing.

“Sal is away on personal business. I am his niece, I’m filling in for him for the next few weeks.” Y/N tells him, continuing to write, not looking up at him. 

“What’s wrong with the pool?”

“That balance is off. So, either the chemicals haven't been put in like they should be, you aren’t keeping the filter cleaned, or someone pissed your pool a bunch of times.” She squats down and picks up the tiny tubes, looks over them and then stands back up. “Here you go.” She rips out a piece of paper. “Give that to your parents. It explains what to get and what to do.”

“Mr. Chalamet?” A voice calls from the back door as Y/N and Timothee both look back at him. “I need you to sign this and I’ll be on my way.”

Timothee grabs the pen and folder containing a document. He smiles at the man. “Jerry, I told you, don’t call me Mr. Chalamet, Tim is fine.” He signs his name in scribbles and hands the folder back to the man. “I’ll see you later, man.” He slaps the man’s arm as the man walks back through the big house. Timothee looked back at her. “So, what else needs to be done with the pool?”

“Uh, you’re using the wrong chemicals in it and it will get green if you don’t change it to this.” She gestures to the paper she handed him. 

“Got it.” He nods. “That week Sal was gone, I couldn’t remember what to get. Usually he would take care of it all. I appreciate it.” He held up the paper.

“Well, I’m slammed right now catching up from the two and a half weeks of no one running this. But, If you are unsure, I can come back in a few days and check up. Make sure it’s all good.”

“Do I need to make sure my parents are home for that visit?” He smirks. “Because I’ll need to know ahead of time.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “They live in New York.”

“Ha- ha!” She gave another eyeroll. “Do they know you give a hard time for the workers that come around?”

“They have an idea of the kid they raised.” He grinned. 

“Uh- huh.” Y/N nodded with obvious sarcasm. “You can find all of these things and the new filters at the hardware store. “ She explains as she gathers her work items. “Put that chemical into the pool tonight and stay out of the pool unless you want chemical burns on your junk. I’ll be back in two days.”

“Morning or afternoon?” He asks with a grin he was trying to hide. “So my parents can be here.”

“No idea. Depends who is on the list. Just know it will be within the next 48 hours.”

“Will do.” He opens the back gate for her. “Do you need any help bringing that to the truck?”

“Nah, I got it, thanks.” She shut the gate and walked down the path.

Timothee watched her as she tossed the items into the back of the truck and climbed into the jacked up white Chevrolet. He couldn’t stop the playful smirk on his lips as he watched her write on a clipboard then toss it to the side before driving away. As he walked back to his house he looked down at the paper, seeing her name on the top. He smirked again. “See you in 48 hours, Y/N.”