#Reusable Report

[freyrsolutions]

Learn how document reusability reduces compliance time & costs in EU, UK, and ASEAN cosmetic markets - boosting global market entry for your cosmetic products.

[aarunresearcher]

The United States IVD market is experiencing robust growth, driven by the increasing prevalence of chronic and infectious diseases, including diabetes, cardiovascular disorders, cancer, and infectious diseases such as COVID-19. This, in turn, has heightened the need for accurate and timely diagnostic tools like IVD, thus creating lucrative growth opportunities for the market. 

[chilope]

Ask meme for people in their 30s

What was the first piece of furniture you bought?

What proportion of your meals do you cook?

Foaming hand soap or normal hand soap?

Favorite chore?

Least favorite chore?

Most precious thing one of your pets has destroyed?

Any groceries you've been getting into lately?

What cleaning product do you swear by?

What's your emotional support craft?

Youtube, cable TV, or streaming?

What's something you saved up for and then regretted buying?

How many cups can you see from where you're sitting?

Which filter are you most likely to go "eh, it's probably fine" when you find out you need to change it?

How often do you take baths?

Do you go down each aisle when you grocery shop, or only the ones you know you need stuff from?

Where do you go when you need to get out of the house but it's raining?

What's a movie you saw recently that you liked?

Pro or anti tchotchkes?

What's your go-to tape?

What's in your freezer right now?

Last concert you attended?

Favorite grocery store?

Paper bags, plastic bags, or reusable bags?

Do you get your government mandated 8 hours every night?

Favorite old person activity?

Would you rather sit on the porch drinking sweet tea or sit by the lake drinking beers?

Do you prefer Boardgame Night, Build-Your-Own-Pizza Night, or Movie Night with your friends?

Be honest, do you like all of the pictures of their babies that your friends send you?

Go-to holiday card format?

How many pairs of scissors do you own?

Do you still own your first car?

How do you take your morning coffee/tea?

What's something you collect?

What's your commute like?

Aisle at the grocery store you never bother walking down?

Do you keep a daily journal or agenda?

Do you still listen to the same music you listened to in high school?

What's the last filter you changed?

What little treat do you always get when you run errands?

Grocery list or no grocery list?

What's the oldest thing you own?

What's an unjustifiably expensive appliance that you really want?

Favorite book you've read recently?

Honest feelings on Settlers of Catan?

What's something you wish you had more time for?

What kind of stuff do you keep on the door of your refrigerator?

Lamps or overhead lighting?

If you could build your home from scratch, what outrageous feature would you want to build into it?

Do you bring a bag with you everywhere you go?

Pro or anti throw pillows?

How many blankets do you keep in your living room?

Did your relationship with your parents get better when you stopped living with them?

What's worse, the DMV or the Social Security Office?

Do you decorate your house for holidays? Which ones?

Favorite high-effort meal that you make?

Favorite low-effort meal that you make?

Do you tend to bring an appetizer, entree, dessert, or drinks to a potluck?

What kind of bag do you use for your bag full of bags?

If you died and your ghost was stuck in the outfit you're wearing right now for the rest of time, would you be happy with it?

Do you have an opinion on your local weather reporter?

Do you have a favorite brunch spot?

Where are you on the minimalism-maximalism kinsey scale?

Opinion on Bath and Body Works?

Last time you visited a farmer's market?

Anything you're procrastinating on right now?

Do you get your taxes in as soon as possible, at the last minute, or late?

Do you keep any stuffed animals on your bed?

Are your garbage bags scented or unscented?

What are you looking forward to next week?

[angryonabus]

grocery bags: a hard-hitting investigative report

Every week I come home from grocery shopping and say two things to my wife:

"L and I were super normal and appropriate at the grocery store this week! Everybody noticed and commented on how normal and appropriate we were!" AND

"If I live one hundred thousand years, I will never understand the mind of a supermarket bagger."

The first one is self-explanatory; the second is because the baggers at our grocery store invariably pack our bags in ways that defy all logic.

...my logic, at least. But life is a rich tapestry! Maybe I'm an outlier in my preferences! Thus: a poll.

CAVEATS:

You are buying enough groceries that they won't all fit in a single bag; you must use multiple bags.

You have enough bags of the type you prefer (paper, plastic, reusable), so 'not having enough bags' is not a concern.

Bags will be packed with reasonable consideration for keeping everything functional (e.g. nobody is packing a bag of chips at the bottom of a bag of canned goods.)

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Maya Mason x Intern!Reader HCs

We have a solid 10 minutes of screen time and I have MUSINGS so. You’re welcome.

Content/Warnings: Fluff and Smut, NSFW content separated from SFW, afab!reader but no pronouns used, one good girl mention, power dynamics, bitches be switches, mentions of some anal play, free use kink, degradation and praise, Orgasm denial, semi public sex

Tagging @msharkness here u go angel 💚

SFW:

When you started the position, everyone at the Studio pitied you. Maya is loud, audacious and not exactly known to cooperate very well. She has chased many interns right out of the industry.

But you refuse to let her break you. Every task she gives you, no matter how outlandish or ridiculous, you fulfill with bravado, handing her a finishes report just hours after. So of course, she begins to take a liking to you.

Every morning, Maya makes you grab her reusable mug and run to Starbucks. The reusable mug looks good for her image, but in reality she couldn’t care less about the environment.

You know she starts to like you when one day, there’s a second cup on the desk next to hers. When you ask which one she wants her drink in, she rolls her eyes. “Mine, obviously. The other one is for you. Go get whatever you like, before i change my mind. I want my usual!”

All your coffee and lunches are charged from her credit card.

You have lunch with her in her office, where she tells you the latest gossip from set as well as all her frustrations about her idiot coworkers. Seriously, if it wasn’t for her this company would have already failed.

She is short. Definitely shorter than you. At first, she seems very bothered by it. As your relationship develops, she starts to enjoy when you rest your chin on her shoulder or her head though.

She’ll grab you by the back of your head and place you there, your arms wrapping around her waist so she can rest her hands over yours.

As a boss, she’s quite strict and has very high standards. However, at parties and galas she will sing your praises to everyone who will listen, especially A List celebrity guests.

Its how Charlize theron learned your name. A fact that still makes your head spin to this day.

For your anniversary, she gifts you a small necklace with an M as a charm. When you ask how you’re supposed to explain it at work, she scoffs. “Make something up. I thought you’re in creative marketing.”

„Be a doll and fetch me those files from the art department. That’s my good girl.“

„Baby“ „Angel“

Once you go official at work, and honestly even before that, she always has a hand on your lower back, manicure digging into the fabric of your shirt.

She just likes to have you close, likes when people can see she has claimed on you first.

At work, she keeps pda on a minimum, she has too many responsibilities for that. But at home, she’s a big cuddler.

Loves to curl into your side or lay on top of you on the couch, loves her hands on her waist.

Adores it when you play with her hair, brush it, braid it, wash it for her when you shower together. Its one of the few times she melts into you, just lets herself relax and enjoy.

Maya is not a big fan of cooking, except for breakfast. Every morning, she will make you the best breakfast you coule imagine. Eggs, warm toast with molten butter, bacon and sausages, a little yogurt parfait with fresh berries and granola.

Her habit of making a big breakfast single handedly turned you into a morning person, because there is no way you’re missing out on your daily feast. Or the view of her in her satin pyjamas and fluffy socks, hair unkempt in a big bun on her head, the freckles on her nose full display.

You sit at your usual spot on the counter, watching her work away. She’ll brush past you, getting on her tiptoes to steal a quick kiss.

Or she’ll cage you in by planting her hands on the counter, taking her sweet time as she kisses you slowly, languidly.

If you’re late for work no one dares to comment on it because she tends to unleash hell on those who attempt to

At work, she has a strict no kiss policy. However that doesn’t extend to other activities…

NSFW:

Her work is frustrating. God its so frustrating. Thank goodness she has you at her beck and call, always there to help her out however she needs at the moment.

Loves to take you in her office, bent over her desk as she lets all her frustrations about her coworker’s incompetence out in you.

Or, when she’s stuck on desk duty, she likes to have you bent over her lap, lazily playing with you with one hand as she answers emails and calls with the other.

Both holes. I would even say she loves to tease your ass actually.

If you’re lucky, she was merciful enough to bite her nails off first. But you definitely had to take the full acrylics at least once when she was too worked up to care.

She made sure to take care of you afterwards, got you an ointment for the scratches and was extra gentle with you the next few days.

You have a free use agreement at work, if she needs to blow off steam, you are always right there to give her what she wants.

„I don’t know why Tyler would approve these candids.“ „I don’t know why you’re not bent over this desk yet.“

Maya makes sure you sit next to her in board meetings. When the conversation bores her, she‘ll just entertain herself by sneaking her hand between your legs. She loves to watch your face as you try to remain composed.

You can tell when she gets hates a pitch because she‘ll thrust into you harder under the table, and when she likes something she‘ll focus on circling your clit instead.

She’s absolutely a powerbottom at heart, and teaches you exactly how to please her and expects you to deliver. It you don’t, she‘ll keep you denied until you prove you deserve her touch.

She can leave you squirming for days, but you better never try to deny her. She will turn into an absolute brat if you do. No one denies her what she wants.

She has a tongue piercing that most people don’t know about, but it’s one of your favourite secrets about her. For obvious reasons.

At home, away from her dumbass coworkers and the fast paced work environment, she is a lot more gentle with you.

She loves to take long, steaming hot baths with you, making out sloppy as you take turns riding each others thigh, movements lazy and slow.

If you really want to treat her, you turn her around and gently thrust your fingers into her from behind, her knuckles white as she gripe the edge of the tub.

At work, all you get from her is sharp orders and degradation, but in the safety of her home, she whispers sickly sweet praise into your ear, talking you through it gently.

Seriously, the only time you can shut her up for a moment is when you have her in your lap, strap buried deep inside her as she rides out her orgasm, head thrown back and nails digging into your scalp. And even then she’s vocal, just not exactly coherent.

After, she will call you a good pet, hers and only hers, her treasure. Always whispered quietly into your ear as your arms are around her sweat coated body, but she means every word nonetheless.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✨writing rant because i’m UNWELL and someone said enemies to lovers is “overdone”✨

okay listen.

i don’t care how “overdone” the trope is. let her fall in love with the enemy prince. let him smile like a knife and lie like a prayer. let her fall anyway. and then let her stab him with a hairpin. a hairpin!! we deserve this.

this isn't about originality. this is about execution and emotional violence and aesthetically pleasing betrayal.

tropes aren’t dead. they’re haunting us in new outfits.

every trope is a reusable little narrative skeleton and you get to dress it in whatever cursed, beautiful, petty, yearning flesh your heart desires. you can take enemies to lovers and make it toxic, or tender, or tragic. you can give them shared trauma. you can make them childhood friends turned enemies turned lovers turned enemies again. you can make the stabbing literal or metaphorical. you can make it an almost-stabbing, where she presses the blade to his throat and doesn’t do it. you can make her do it and then sob in his arms while he bleeds out whispering her name like a prayer he never meant to say out loud.

you can make it GAY.

that’s the power of tropes. they’re not restrictive. they’re launchpads. they give readers expectations so you can BREAK them. or better--fulfill them in devastating, soul-twisting ways.

also. like. if you think a trope is “overdone” maybe it’s not the trope that’s the problem. maybe it’s just being written without any real teeth. no emotional bite. no stakes. no tension. no pain. and that’s not the trope’s fault. that’s just boring writing.

give me the obsessive yearning. give me the knife-to-throat confessions. give me the battlefield truce that turns into a five-second pause before they go right back to trying to kill each other. give me quiet moments in enemy territory where they realize they’re not so different. give me the one bed. give me the i hate you but i’d burn down a kingdom for you and hate myself for it.

let the prince kneel at her feet, kiss her knuckles like he’d never crush them, and then go home and report to his war council like nothing happened. let her wear the hairpin he gave her while plotting his assassination. let them both suffer about it. let them choose each other anyway. or don’t. let them fail. let them fall apart in the final act and still reach for each other across the ashes.

i literally do not care how many times we’ve seen it. i want it again. i want it done well. i want it done with spite and softness and aching inevitability. i want to feel like the betrayal was worth it. i want to scream into my hands and text my writer friends like “why would you do this to me” while secretly living for it.

write your trope. write it the way it’s been done before or write it sideways and backwards and messy. just write it with emotion. and a little hairpin. and blood under their fingernails.

okay bye

Rin T.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

any chance of something whump-like for IDOAG? (inspired by me being SO brave and working on a grant report until very late at night)

congrats on yr bravery!

(to review, this ficlet is out of gratitude for my pilot of a musical audio drama about a rock band that secretly solves monster-related problems reaching 30% of its funding goal. we're actually at over 50% right now and i have one prompt in the wings but i'll need another today, so if there's anything you want to see, throw me an ask!)

October

By the time he hits “Print” on the co-op computer in the common room, Grantaire’s vision is going softly gray at the edges, and his stomach roils at the thought of coffee or breakfast.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Grantaire.

“What’s the matter?” says Jehan, materializing at Grantaire’s elbow. Well, probably Jehan had walked there; that sounds like something Jehan would do. Grantaire’s awareness is coming in ungainly lurches, like a poorly animated cartoon brontosaurus.

The printer chugs away, slowly spitting out the first page of the history essay Grantaire had started five hours ago. It is now 8 a.m. The paper is warm to the touch, in a way that makes Grantaire think of food again. His intestines clench.

“My dumbass body,” says Grantaire at last.

“Ah,” says Jehan. “When they figure out a way to download our consciousnesses into Terminator-style robots without physical weakness or flaw, I will be first in line.” A pause, and then, charitably, “You can be second, if you’d like.”

“Cool,” mutters Grantaire. He sways a little on the desk chair. The printer is only on page two.

“Hey, Jehan,” someone says. Grantaire swivels towards the door and immediately regrets it. His brain takes another few unsteady seconds to catch up with his body, and that’s when he sees Enjolras and Combeferre standing together, bright-eyed and perfect in the early morning light. They’re both wearing sweaters, and holding reusable coffee cups. They look like an advertisement for L.L. Bean, for the very concept of being a cute gay couple in Autumn. Grantaire feels like a bridge troll.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Combeferre adds. “Are you okay?”

The printer belches out what sounds like page three.

Last year, Grantaire had a system for writing papers like this. The system involved doing a shot for every page he finished. If he was really stuck, every paragraph. Obviously, this is not an option at Amis House, and so Grantaire had compromised, made sleep deprivation his drug of choice. It had seemed like a good idea at 3 a.m.—a phrase so forlorn it could be a country song, he thinks, scratching the back of his neck as the printer shudders and churns. He needs a shower.

“Why are printers absolute, uh, hot garbage?” he says out loud.

Enjolras opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I read an article about this,” says Combeferre. “The conclusions were complicated. I can send it to you?”

It’s such a perfectly kind and normal response, Grantaire could cry. He blinks hard. The printer finally regurgitates the final page of his essay.

“Yeah,” he manages, “sure, that would be great. Sorry, I’ve gotta run.”

Grantaire gathers the papers, checks to make sure they’re in the right order, and staples them together. Ka-chunk. The stapler is impossibly loud.

“There’s ginger tea bags in the kitchen,” Jehan offers quietly, and Grantaire nods because it’s easier than explaining that the problem isn’t his digestive system, it’s his entire being. He needs someone to wipe down the surface of his eyes, take a squeegee to his brain. He needs his soul dunked in warm sudsy water and then wrung out to dry. That would fix him, he thinks.

It’s too bad he’s not holding onto his thoughts very clearly, because he’s pretty sure there’s another country song in there somewhere. He snorts.

“I can make you some tea to go if you’d like,” says Combeferre, and it’s too much, it’s too warm, it’s too close to what Grantaire doesn’t even let himself think about wanting.

“That’s okay,” says Grantaire. “See you.” And he books it out of the room before he can get a glimpse of the pity on Combeferre’s handsome face.

[notroosterbradshaw]

slow dancing in a burning room - six

word count: 5.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, smut, language, angst.

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

a/n: well, they're broken. it's unceremonious and it's real and they're hurting so deeply, coping in ways only they know... the wrong way. You're here to meet Bad Choice Bradley, I presume? I hope you enjoy it. thanks to those who read, reblogged and commented on previous chapters. you’re doing god’s work. I truly appreciate all the effort you make to show your support and if you like it… please comment and reblog it! x

five.two

“Rooster,” Annie smiled before him, Ava strapped to her chest in her baby carrier sleeping peacefully.

Bradley felt his poor, old heart sink because he’d done so well to now avoiding you and your family since everything blew the fuck up in your relationship. It was a small town and the more you tried to avoid someone, the more likely they were to cross your path. “Ann,” he gave a slight smile. “How you doin'?”

“Morning coffee brings me back to life after a rough night,” she reported. “Not on base today? Look at the beard,” you said, fondly as he realised Annie didn't have a clue. 

“No,” he bit back the sour taste in his mouth. Obviously you’d not told your family about his pending trial… and in a way, he guessed he was thankful. It probably brought a certain amount of embarrassment to you, if he thought about it truthfully, given Viper and the respect he still commanded at work and from the locals. You didn’t need his bullshit on your shoulders. "Few more weeks to myself. Just finished my run,” he said even though it appeared the most obvious thing in the world. Shorts, runners, Navy tank glued to him, sweating from top to toe from morning humidity.

He just wanted to get his coffee and head home to shower. He should have just forgone the fucking caffeine. He had a perfectly good coffee machine at home for Christ’s sake. He cursed the fact you introduced him to this coffee shop and he knew, eventually he’d see you here, but he’d been so smart. He knew your work schedule and now, he was always the first in line when he knew your first classes for the day were clocking over. He was no dummy - sure, he had his moments when his head was stuck up his ass, but caffeine was his drug of choice and after you’d secretly revealed to him the best in the town and he was addicted.  “Lucky. You just missed her…” Annie told him softly, nodding off in the direction towards work... his villa was in the opposite direction and taunting him and his poor choices.

He hummed, unreadable. “Did I?”  He was pleased with the relief that washed over him. It was such a non-committal response and he knew he owed Annie so much better. Annie wasn't the cause of his recurring cycle of problems. But shit, he was so good at making his problems... everyone’s.

“Loves her morning coffee,” Annie waved her reusable cup towards him, and gee, it was so awkward. Rooster nodded, pleased that he wasn’t the only uncomfortable one in this conversation. Even Annie, usually outgoing, funny Annie, seemed completely out of character with her current word vomit.

And though he was desperate to, he would not ask after you because he knew there was no way you could feel as awful as he did but he forced it out anyway. “How is she, Annie?” he tried to hide the sadness in his voice, but it was impossible. He was so desperate to catch even the slightest whisper about you - whether it was Annie, Phoenix or any other mutual acquaintances. The radio silence was quietly killing him.

After a beat, Annie replied warily, “A wreck. Not that she’d ever let us know. We’re not seeing hell a lot of her so that kind of speaks for itself, I guess. Or it's exactly what she wants, I don't know," she rambled because Bradley could see Annie didn't know what to do to help you, and that hurt him more. The frustration in the air was paramount. The people you were once closest to now the one furthest at arm's length and he knew that was because of him.

“Right,” he replied, forcing a lack of interest in his voice. He didn’t want to sound emotional that you were upset, but he certainly didn’t want to feel sad for you for the decision that you made. Bradley needed you to know that you were feeling the way you were feeling for what you decided to drag you both through. He wanted to work things out, he didn't want either of you to be hurting like this - “Sorry to hear that.” He shrugged, knowing how cold it sounded and the surprise on Annie's face telling the story. What the fuck else was he supposed to say?

All the texts he'd sent bounced, and he knew you'd blocked him - what was the use of calling? He considered sending flowers, champagne, fucking skywrite if it got your attention, but all his desperate ways for your attention would fall on deaf ears. And as desperate as he was to go to you, knock on your door and hold you until reason came back into that smart brain of yours, he knew for now, you simply needed your time. He just hoped it wasn't forever.

“So... how are you?” Annie asked, welcomingly changing the subject.

He shrugged, sipping his coffee. He didn't feel like admitting he was about to head home, shower and see his JAG. It just didn't feel like it could roll off his tongue properly without the rest of his life crashing around him. He’d been so good to protect his façade and damn, he lied so easily. It was his most hated personality trait and he wished he could stop it, but sometimes it was just easier. “PT,” he lied, but he knew fully well Annie didn’t care for his physical recovery - she had good intentions but he knew she wanted to pry into his convoluted, messed up brain, see if he was as tragically missing her sister, if he was as tormented as you were. 

Dissect and get into the deepest, darkest crevices. 

But Bradley would never tell. There were enough people trying to get in there as it was. And right now he wasn’t going to give anyone the benefit of that bullshit. That hurt stayed with him, no matter the cost. It motivated him, got him through the day to be better, stronger, harder and he wasn't letting his guard down for anyone, not Annie, not Phoenix, not Mav.

Not you. No one.

“That’s fantastic,” she said as Ava wriggled against her, waking. “I’m glad for you, Rooster,” Annie bobbed to settle the little one, whining and probably ready for her morning feed. "You need your head in the clouds."

If that ever happened again.

“She got big,” Rooster said, keenly changing the subject and turning his attention to Ava. He reached for her her little hand and Ava wrapped her chubby little palm against his pointer. Bradley knew even if kids weren't in his future, the future he had quietly hoped to share with you, this was a cute kid and it only reminded him of you when you were playing World’s Greatest Aunty and putting the idea in his head that maybe… yeah, he could get the family he always wanted with you. It was going to take more to desensitise himself, he realised. 

“They do that,” Annie said, with a gentle smile. “Way too quickly. I feel like she's minutes away from rolling, crawling, and then up and walking out to college."

And Rooster laughed, because there was Annie, the Annie he grew up with. They both needed that little break in the terse. "I hope not that fast," he gently pressed a kiss on Ava's knuckles and loosened his finger, free again.

"Well, I’d better get her home for some food and start our day. Good to see you, Rooster,” she gave him a small smile. “If you need anything, call me, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

Bradley did the cordial thing and nodded. “Will do. See ya around, Annie," he said, not waiting for a dragged out goodbye and heading in the other direction. He had a house to start bringing back to life even if he had fallen apart in every other way.

It had been about month since you and Bradley… yeah. Since then. Things had been fairly busy for you, you’d stayed to yourself, regardless of nagging from your family, some other friends who wanted to claim your time now you were single again and, of course, Natasha. She was shipping out in a few days and wanted to have a drink but the last place you’d be caught dead at was The fucking Hard Deck. Reassuring everyone you were good, or okay, was next to useless. No one believed you anyway.  

You'd kept yourself busy. The apartment needed to be unpacked again, with no time like the present, a perfect time to purge and it felt so much better in your small part of the world that you’d rid yourself of those little things you simply didn’t need anymore. Clothes, kitchenwares, changed up the orientation of the bedroom, indulging and confusing yourself with feng shui and vastu shastra on household karma/good vibes among other things. 

But you really did feel lighter. You built a cute study nook for your business stuff. You and Bradley had planned to use one of the rooms in the Bradshaw place, giving you more time to work from home, instead of staying later after classes to do your never-ending small business accounting.

But that wasn’t the case now and you had all the time in the world.

“Fuck, Nat. Stop,” you muttered to yourself, scarfing down some leftovers for dinner. It was late and frankly, you had little to no interest in heading out, even if it was to a venue of your choice. You had to give Natasha credit: she was trying so hard to release you from your self-imposed imprisonment. You know what you were up for - 20 questions about how you were coping. You'd be lying to say you weren't worried about his impending trial and were curious to reach out. But it probably would just distract him and he didn’t need that. You were sure it was this week or next. 

Maybe you would get Grandpa to contact Bradley? 

But as far as you were concerned, Bradley seemed to be doing just fine. Like you’d agreed, you didn’t need each other anyway. Besides, he hadn't contacted you - and you hadn't let him after yep, taking the high road and blocking him. Maybe he needed this more than you did, you tried to reason with yourself. A guy like him didn't deserve to be tied down with someone who had the baggage you did. He deserved better. 

You tossed your fork on the plate, suddenly not hungry for the stir fry you were desperate for only minutes earlier although the need to get tiddly didn't sound terrible at all.

Enjoying his quiet drink, Rooster knew his time was running out as Phoenix sidled her way to him, a fair smile on her face. Unreadable, and God, he hated that. “Didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” she commented, as she put two beers on Payback’s tab, placing one before Bradley. 

She followed his gaze to the pretty woman across the bar, making pathetic doe eyes and suggestive overtones with her beer bottle and tongue. Natasha would never get used to it. And sadly, Rooster seemed pretty into it, for what she could gather. “Know her?” Phoenix asked as Rooster’s lip quirked and he stumbled to find an undefined answer.

Truth be told, yeah. Rooster did know her. Not super well, but well enough to remember how into him she seemed as she led him back to her place last week, the first person he’d fucked since… and, he supposed, it was fine. It was good, she was eager to please and she had zeroed in on him the minute he walked in last week and again tonight. Rooster didn’t generally put his boots under the same bed twice, but he lately wasn’t feeling particularly fussy. He did ask himself if there was a supposed grieving period for how long he should probably wait before getting into the game again but his brain (and Hangman) told him what he needed to hear.

Fuck her. 

“Oh, Rooster, no. You slept with her?” Natasha asked, the disappointment dripped from her voice and Bradley felt about three feet tall.

“Oh, fuck this,” he bemoaned. “She broke up with me, I have to be celibate too?” he asked. It seemed so rehearsed and he didn't lie but he knew the shit he was going to cop for spending time with any woman that wasn’t you. 

Natasha sighed. “No, I guess not.” 

“Believe it or not, I can fuck who and when I want, Phoenix,” he gruffly reminded her. "You don't get to dictate."

“No, you’re right,” she agreed. Who was she to argue? She was desperate for her friends to get over this little ‘blip’, but seeing you separately and the hurt you’d both caused each other, she began to wonder if this blip as she'd hopefully referred to is as was really the end of what could have been the best thing that happened to both of you. 

You were no longer a couple. Rooster had moved into his parents' old place alone and seemed to be enjoying taking to it with a sledgehammer. You were doing your usual MO when things went sour – you didn’t answer calls, and rarely responded to texts before anyway. You were working and looking at growing the business, so it was the best excuse in the books not to come to the bar, a surefire way of making sure she didn’t pump into Bradley.

“I can’t see him, Nat. He was the love of my life. And not being able to touch him, kiss him, laugh with him? It would just kill me,” you had told her sadly, week’s earlier when Natasha came over unannounced and sporting Thai food and rosé. 

“What is so fucking funny is that I keep hearing how badly she is doing, yet no one gives a flying fuck that maybe, just maybe, I’m going through it too," Bradley muttered, Natasha surprise crossing her face as he continued, "Nat, we were moving in together. But it’s over now,” he poured what was left of his beer down his throat, knowing that coming out tonight was not his wisest idea. Bad Choice Bradley was bubbling in his bloodstream and frankly, he didn't mind if he escaped. He was so sick of doing everything by the rules, but where had that gotten him? Absolutely no-fucking-where. Jobless and Loveless. “And for the record?” he hissed purposefully to Natasha. “I was in that fuckin’ relationship too. I didn't call time.” 

“Okay, okay,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re wholeheartedly allowed to feel that way. We just don’t see you… as down about it,” she used her words carefully.

“It was weeks ago,” he sniped.

“It wasn’t that long - ”

“Jesus, Phoenix. She was the fucking love of my life,” he hissed. "I wanted to work this out. She blocked my number, she wants nothing to do with me."

Natasha held her palm towards his chest but didn’t dare touch him, she could feel the heat, the anger reverberating off him. “Okay, I agree. I’m sorry, I know you’re hurting, buddy. And I’ve let you down.”

He frowned and paused. “What are you talking about?” 

“This isn’t just the breakup, Rooster,” Natasha said, adjusting her posture to stand with him and continuing before she could let up. “Everything has been a bit of a shitstorm. Your past is always following you around, you were part of a suicide mission that almost got you killed and now you’re waiting for trial and I should have been doing more to make sure you were okay with that."

And for the moment, Bradley was silenced and frown in reply.

"Are you still seeing the shrink?”

He huffed out a breath, replacing his beer eagerly with the one Natasha had slid towards him. He didn’t need this holier-than-thou bullshit where Natasha got to try and save him to be really honest. He just gazed back at her, now unreadable. 

“Isn’t it mandatory?” she pressed lightly. “You should really be talking to someone – ”

“I’m still going, I’m hating it. If I don’t get clearance from the shrink, I never get in my jet again regardless of how the trial plays itself out. Satisfied?” he rolled his eyes. “See ya later, Phoenix,” he said, leaving his her side and heading over to his new friend, who greeted him with a tender kiss on the side of his mouth, and while he wasn’t repulsed, you used to do that to him, and he didn’t like it half as much as he used to.

“Didn’t think you were going to come over and say hi, Rooster.”

“I’m here with friends,” he admitted, whom he’s just ditched to come over here and line up an easy lay for the night. 

“You wanna dance?”

He nodded, a small grin gracing his features that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Yeah, lemme hit the bathroom first really quick, okay?” 

“Sure,” she smiled as he grasped her forearm, gave the easy smoulder and disappeared. And she, with the name he couldn’t recall (but really wanted to), devotedly followed moments later. Messy, unplanned bar head wasn’t on his bingo card for the night, but he’d surely take it. He tried to be surprised when she cornered him into the stall and undid the few top buttons on her shirt, her breasts brushing against his chest as she groped his half-hard cock and played with the zip on his jeans before letting her soft, warm palm slide beneath his boxer briefs. His breathing immediately shallow because her hand was better than his hand and she sank to her knees and licked her lips, she didn't give an ounce of hesitation to take him deep.

He guessed he never really had to work hard to get what he wanted. 

And he couldn’t hate himself more for it, because he compared everything to you. The way your big, beautiful eyes would peer up at him, begging for reassurance you were pleasing him, giving everything he deserved and more, your delicate strands he’d mess his long fingers into… it wasn’t the same but he came deep in the back of her throat that she swallowed and tidied up devoutly and he kind of wanted to be sick. But as she did that thing with her tongue, he wanted to cum so badly, as she gripped his thighs to keep her balance, he regarded her, knowing this wasn’t a woman he could fall in love with. He would only ever love one woman and right now, she wanted nothing to do with him. 

He shook the notion from his head, concentrating on how silky her tongue caressed the head of his cock and remembered this didn’t happen all the time and to enjoy it as he thrust into her face, closing his eyes and imagining you again, getting him over the line as he knotted his fingers in her hair and fucked her face. Seeing you and those pretty sounds you’d make gagging on his cock, deep as you possibly could and what you couldn’t, pumping in your delicate palms. 

He grunted as he came in wild spurts down her throat until he was spent and watched as she tidied him up, sweetly placing his softening dick back in his boxers and pulling his jeans back into place, sweetly caressing his throbbing groin. 

With a quiet laugh, he helped her to her feet, cupping her chin a little rough. "You didn't need to do that, you know?"

"No," she agreed. "But you tasted so good time, I couldn't wait for more."

Bradley blushed, mostly ashamed. He certainly had nothing to be proud about. “I’ll be right out…” he said to her and she nodded and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick was improper, her hair was well and truly a mess. Just how he liked it… if it was you. And he knew she would run out to tell her friends exactly what had happened, darting out alone.

Rooster looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his reflection and rubbed his tired face. “Who the fuck are you, Bradshaw?” he accused himself. He took a deep breath, ran his hands under the cool water, washed his palms then splashed some water on his flushed face. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself before inhaling sharply and straightening up. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Natasha muttered to herself as Bob caught wind of her strife and looked up from his peanuts, concerned for his friend. "Fuckkk."

“What’s up, partner?” he asked, perplexed. She lifted her phone and the text you’d just sent. “Oh,” Bob said, adjusting his glasses, a trait he did constantly as he grew nervous. “That is… that is not good.” 

“No…” Natasha agreed, casting her gaze to find Rooster, but he was nowhere to be found. “Shit.” 

Rooster had spotted his new friend with her group and gave a slight nudge towards the exit when she caught his eye. Excitedly, she gave a wink back as her friends gave her teasing words of encouragement but Rooster didn’t care. He just needed to get out of there. 

The bar was stifling and he didn’t feel like Phoenix’s third degree on his life choices anymore. He wasn’t a dickhead – he was well aware he was making poor decisions. Bad Choice Bradley. But this wasn’t his first one lately, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

Darting through the throng of officers and civilians, he made a beeline for the door, thrusting it open, and he’d be lying to say in his frustration, there was some heat and malice behind it.

“Jesus, goddammit,” the voice hissed on the other side, the heavy door hitting a patron on the other side trying to enter. Rooster tried to catch them, almost knocking them to the ground in the process and he couldn't believe his dumb luck that it was you who were on the other side as he tried to phantom his escape. You skipped backwards quickly as Rooster yanked the door back, trying to stop its force. His face paled when he realised just who it was he’d almost knocked off their feet.

He whispered your name, and you’d swear you had seen a ghost. “Shit, I’m so fuckin' sorry," he said, the recognition all over his face as he took you in, scared and studying you.

"Shit," you muttered. Bradley could hear the pain in your voice, whether it was through injury or just disgruntled, he couldn't be sure. “Hey,” you said nervously. This was not how you wanted to see him for the first time since you’d broken up. 

“I was just leaving,” he explained, reminding you the door had walloped you in the elbow and you rubbed it in recollection, a gentle thrum from its impact. He looked back over his shoulder. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he said again. He so badly wanted to reach out and kiss your injury better. The injury he caused, and he loathed himself for it. “How bad I get you?” he asked softly, taking a step closer. 

Before he got closer, you closed in on yourself and covered the sting in your elbow with a step or two. “It’s fine, Brad – Rooster. It’s no worries,” you reassured him, flippantly. Your body language told him everything he needed to know. He was flatlining. 

He nodded slowly, saddened at how you recoiled from him. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

“Okay. Sorry, huh?” 

“It’s fine really,” you said as a pretty young thing wandered out. She joined Bradley on his hip and you didn’t miss how her hand curved into his elbow and how his face changed, the guilt masking his handsome features. She looked back at you both expectedly. 

“Ready to go, Rooster?” she asked as he paused, gauging your response. He knew his timing was about as bad as it could be. 

And yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

“Yeah. I’ll be just a minute,” he said, the embarrassment etched all over his skin as he ripped out your heart and toyed with it in his beautiful hands before you. His ears reddened and he licked his lips as she wandered away, calling back over her shoulder when she’d reached his Bronco. Well, she knew his car, maybe this wasn’t as new as it looked. 

Yep, it looked exactly as it looked. 

You’d thank Natasha personally for the warning in a moment - she probably wouldn't like it though. “Friend of yours?” you figured trying to balance your tone. Who were you to get upset at him? To Bradley Bradshaw, you were no one and that was what hurt the most.

“Something like that,” he admitted quietly. 

Maybe you didn’t need that drink Nat promised. You needed Penny to drown you in the top shelf. “Nat’s waiting for me,” you explained to him. “Have a good night, Rooster,” you told him as he reluctantly pulled the door open for you to scurry under his strong, golden arm and get lost in the Friday night throng. He watched after you until he lost you.

Rooster ran his clammy palm over his face, he felt ill as he stepped away from the door. He wanted to be sick, he knew exactly how pathetic he looked. Why the fuck didn’t Natasha tell him you were coming? He would have hauled ass ages ago and without incident. He pulled his phone out and threw a brutal one-liner at her about giving him a head’s up next time and made his way to his car, where his friend/date/hook up/whoever was waiting with a bright grin. 

“Thought you were gonna ditch me,” she laughed lightly, he could hear the uncertainty in her voice. 

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling too well right now, and I have a real early start tomorrow morning. Think we could take a rain check?” he asked, keeping a safe distance from her. She raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? Five minutes ago, you seemed really fucking into that blowjob in the bathroom,” she hissed at hime. And it was fine head, her lipstick was still smudged on his cock, he would always be appreciative of anyone giving him their best. But again, it wasn’t your pretty lips, nose desperately trying to nuzzle the soft hair at his happy trail, staring up at him like he possessed all the stars in the sky. God, he was truly beginning to hate himself and he missed your mouth, however smart it was, wrapped around his cock, giving him an earful... kissing him.

He shook his head dismally. “Look, I can’t do this, okay? M’sorry,” he unlocked the car, hopped into the driver’s seat and keyed the ignition, peeling out of the carpark to the allotment of insults and birds being hurled his way. It would be some time before he decided to venture back to The Hard Deck, which was probably best.

And deservingly so, he reminded himself. He'd take a few weeks off from the bar, he’d been through this before. Never go back to the scene of the crime, especially after one-night stands. He knew better, but it all seemed so easy tonight until you were before him and ruined everything. 

He pulled into a car park, the ocean bustling before him and he sat for a moment, his palms latched onto the steering wheel, his knuckles white as the adrenaline of the night coursed through his veins. Taught and teetering, he stared out to the ocean, needing answers to all the questions in his messed up brain.

God, you looked so beautiful. You had done something different to your hair, not a lot, just subtle, but he noticed it, the scent of his favourite perfume, it was so ridiculously expensive but it was the only real fancy thing you afforded yourself even if you used it sparingly, that drifted off you and enveloped him. He remembered it on his pillows, it lasted for the week until the sheets were changed. 

But your eyes… They told the story. Seeing each other was a shock to the system, but you just looked so upset when… fuck, whatever her name was made her presence known. Getting his phone from his pocket, he sighed and found your last texts to each other. 

It was all so sweet. 

You: I love you, big boy. Hurry home to me xxx

Bradley: Love you too. Lemme finish up and I’ll be right there x 

He ignored the subsequent texts he tried to send that all bounced back. Now it all seemed like another world and another time.

“So, yeah, that was fun,” you told Natasha as she gave Penny the signal to keep lining the shots up. 

“You okay, darlin’ heart?” Penny asked sadly. Not that she wanted to pry, but Live had asked her to keep an eye on you if and when she could and she didn’t know if your mother was really wanting to see how brokenhearted you were.

“I’m awful,” you confided, voice strong but powerful because if you didn’t talk about this, you’d sink into another one of those solitary states where you wallowed in the misery of your broken heart, you were going to explode. “I have ruined the best thing that has happened to me then I get to see him take a one-night stand home.”

In no world would Natasha tell you this wasn’t their first hook-up and tossed back one of the lined up shots to avoid putting her foot in her mouth. “He’s slipped back into old habits,” Natasha shuddered as the tequila burned. She wasn’t defending him, but it was what it was as Penny made some polite excuses to continue working. “He a fucking moron, all dudes are the same. Easy pussy, get their dicks wet. They should all be lobotomised," she raised her shot and you, Natasha and Penny whipped the shots back.

But Rooster Bradshaw owed you absolutely nothing. And he proved he knew it too.

“He talked to me like a stranger. He’s never spoken to me like that in thirty years.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has he said he’s missed me or anything?” you asked, sadly and as Natasha prepared to answer, you dismally added, “I’ve ruined everything because I was scared about all the wrong things. Nat, I’ve messed this up and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

She nodded but she heard what she heard. “…do you want to fix it?”

“I can’t function without him. I am just bumbling along, missing him while he is recovering alone. He's about to stand trial... he needs support,” and you know fully well that Natasha, Penny, Mav and others had Bradley's back but you also knew there were only a few people he'd truly let help him. “Will you still be here for the trial?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be here… I’m a witness. It’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Can you tell me how it goes?”

She nodded. “Of course.” 

“I can’t believe I gave all this up.”

She nodded. “I hate seeing you hurting like this.” Both of you, she wanted to add.

���Does he talk about me?” you asked quietly.

Phoenix sighed, she didn’t want to get into this. Anything he’d ever told her was done so in confidentiality. And while you were her great friend, he was too. Rooster didn't have many confidants. "I - "

“Natasha. Does Bradley want to fix us?” you raised your eyes, and Natasha saw the tears that threatened to spill. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Only hours before he was talking about his latest conquest. She saw that woman follow him into the bathrooms but she had no idea where her friend stood, even if she knew you two were so much better together. She could tell you how angry about it he was. But there was no way that was going to help the situation even if she was desperate to say or do anything that could possibly help.

You shrugged and took another shot. “Whatever, he’s clearly moved on and I will just have to accept that. Another round?" you asked, a casual frown gracing your features and Natasha nodded.

"One more," she loaded the bar up and couldn’t imagine being in her plane tomorrow if this was how the night was going to go. 

masterlist.

Big thanks as always to @gretagerwigsmuse for helping me get this fic over this line x

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[atlabeth]

between colleagues pt 2 - anthony lockwood

part one

summary: the morning after and some shopping. this is still a great plan. right?

a/n: lol this took forever to come out but ive been busy asf and dealing with a lot of personal issues but i am really loving these two and they made me feel better so i hope you all enjoy!! they really are just two idiots in love lmao the shop scene was v fun

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): fem!reader, small mention of death in regards to a case, reader freaking tf out for a second. but basically no warnings this is all fluff

also im aware i use this gif a lot but it's like my favorite one of him so uhhhh yeah

Your shoulder was stiff when you woke up, and you had to stifle a groan of discomfort as you rolled onto your back. So much for staying off your injured side, you thought disdainfully. Typical of you to sabotage yourself in your sleep. 

A glance over at the other empty bed proved Lucy was awake, and a glance at the clock on the wall proved she might have been awake for quite some time. 

It was six in the bloody evening. Lockwood’s call with the Caldecotts must have gone well if you were able to sleep for 14 hours. You normally would have had the sense to be a little bit ashamed of sleeping an entire day away, but after the job you’d had and the arrangement you made with Lockwood, you felt like you deserved it. 

You pulled yourself out of bed and went through the paces of making yourself presentable at the very least, then threw on a sweatshirt and made your way downstairs. Lockwood was alone in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a half-eaten piece of toast in front of him and the agency’s case binder in his lap. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Lockwood said, glancing up from the files on his lap with a smile. You rolled your eyes at him as you walked into the kitchen. 

“Would you believe me if I said I was still tired?” You took a cup from the cabinet and filled it at the tap, taking a sip as you glanced out the window. Night had already fallen, and you could see the flickering of ghost lamps in the distance. 

“You know, I think I would,” he said. “You didn’t make it the full 24 hours you promised—I think you’ve still got some in you.” 

You chuckled and shook your head. “Where’s Lucy and George?” 

“Grocery shopping,” he said, and he looked at the clock. “It’s taking them an awful long while, though.” 

“Why are they shopping at night?” you asked. 

Lockwood shrugged. “George really wanted to make pad thai, but we have none of the ingredients. Apparently, it’s important enough to warrant a night trip to the store. Lucy offered to go with him, and I made them take their rapiers, so it should be fine.” 

“Of course you did,” you mused. “Did you tell them about our little arrangement?” 

His eyes filled with amusement. “No. I figured you would want the honor.” 

You sighed and let your head fall back. “Kind as always, Lockwood.” 

“You should probably start calling me Anthony,” he said. “Just to get used to it.” 

“What,” you said dryly, looking back down at him, “girlfriends don’t usually call their boyfriends by their last name?” 

“I think your family may frown upon it.” Lockwood checked his watch, then set the binder on the table and stood up. “If you get a kettle going, I’ll make us tea.” 

“Bored of write-ups already?” you asked, crouching down to pull the kettle out of a cabinet. Lockwood chuckled as he took the tin of tea bags out of the closet, and he turned the burner on just as you finished filling the pot up. 

“I try to do my part, but they’re really not my forte,” he said. “You and George are much better at them.” 

“And it comes from filing reports since the tender age of eight,” you said solemnly as you set the kettle on the stovetop.

Just then, the sound of a lock clicking open drew your attention, and you smiled as Lucy and George came inside. George had a reusable bag in one hand and her rapier in another, and Lucy also had hers drawn. 

Your brows knit together. “Run into any ghosts?” 

“Good morning to you too,” George said. You gave him a mocking look in return. 

“No,” Lucy answered, pushing the door shut with her foot, “just being careful. Because somebody swore he saw a Spectre and refused to let a Visitor run away with his goods.”

“I am starving,” George enunciated. “I wasn’t going to let a ghost ruin all my hard work.” 

Lockwood smiled. “Well, I’m glad you’re both intact.”

“I’m glad you’re finally up,” George said with a look at you. “I thought you’d never come out.”

“She slept like a brick,” Lucy said. “I knocked over all the bottles in the shower and she never even stirred.”

You shrugged. “Last night was exhausting. For many reasons.”

The kettle went off and you turned the burner back down. Lockwood took two more mugs out of the cabinet and set tea bags in them, then poured the boiling water into all four. You handed him the sugar container with a pointed look. 

“Remember, half—” 

“Half a teaspoon,” he nodded, taking it from you with a wry smile. “I remember.” 

“Good,” you said. “You’re always a little heavy handed.” 

“Are you saying I add extra sweetness into your life?” Lockwood asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“How did you know?” 

“You know, we’re also here,” Lucy spoke up, though when you turned to her she was barely hiding a smile. 

“As if I could ever forget you, Lucy Carlyle,” you said. “How’s your day been?” 

“Quiet without you,” she said. “Lockwood’s been on the phone all day, and even though George didn’t sleep quite as long as you, he still woke up at two in the afternoon.” 

“Oh, please,” George said over his shoulder, in the midst of rifling through his groceries, “I earned it. We all did, after the night we had.” 

“True,” she said, tilting her head. “I actually didn’t have any nightmares for once— I’ve never slept so soundly.” 

“See?” You gestured at her. “The charms I put on the walls are working.” 

Lucy gave you a look. “You can’t seriously believe that.” 

“No ghosts have gotten into our room!” you exclaimed. “And both of our nightmares have been getting better. That dragon is protecting us.” 

Lockwood bit back a smile. “I still cannot believe you bought that.” 

“Seriously,” George said, still organizing ingredients. “A week’s wages, just gone.” 

You frowned. “My iron dragon is incredible, thank you very much. Besides, I’m supporting local businesses.” You glanced at Lockwood. “So the supply calls were made?”

“Every last one of them,” he confirmed as he stirred sugar into your tea. “Satchell’s was very happy to get our business again. Salt bombs will be in on Friday, flares come next week, and we’re getting brand new chains tomorrow. Plus a couple new silver glass containers from Sunrise.”

“That’s smart,” you said. “I think I threw our last square container in the furnaces last week.” 

George frowned. “We went into the disaster that was last night without any silver glass?”

Lockwood cleared his throat as he handed you your mug, then set the other two on the table for Lucy and George. “Everything worked out in the end.”

Lucy just sighed. “We cut things too close for comfort.”

“The Lockwood & Co motto,” you said before taking a sip of tea. Perfectly sweetened. “How about the Caldecotts?”

“Rescheduled for tomorrow at half past noon,” Lockwood said. “Do you think you’ll be awake by then?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. “I didn’t forget our deal that quickly.”

George raised his eyebrows. “What deal?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said. “Just sold my soul for a favor from Lockwood.”

Lucy frowned, eyeing the two of you. “Elaborate.”

Lockwood hid his smile with a sip of tea as he also looked at you. So this was still your treat. 

You shrugged. “We’re going to a wedding together.”

“Not exactly selling your soul,” George said. “Congrats.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re going together.” 

“Congrats,” he said again. “Are we just emphasizing words now?” 

“We’re going as a couple,” Lockwood said. 

Lucy’s eyes widened and George nearly choked on his tea as they blurted out the same thing. “What?” 

“A fake couple,” you added hastily, “to fool my family.”

“…Oh,” Lucy said, glancing at George. “That’s…”

“Less exciting,” he finished. 

Lockwood made a face. “Less exciting? George, we’re going to be lying to her whole family for a whole weekend. I’d say that’s quite exciting.” 

He glanced at Lucy for a moment before he sighed and looked back at Lockwood with a shake of his head. “Sure.” 

“Anyways,” you segued, “I just thought you two should know. It’s not for another month and half, but between the usual ghost-hunting we’re going to be doing a fair bit of planning together.”

“Spend all the time together that you want,” Lucy said. “George and I are good enough at holding down the fort, right?”

“It was just Lockwood and I for months at the beginning of all this, and half the time I was on my own because of investigatory whims,” George said. “At least you’re usually sort of predictable, Luce.”

She frowned. “I take offense to that.”

Lockwood chuckled and shook his head as he set the other two cups of tea down on the table for them. “We won’t impede work at all, I promise. I’ll make sure everything still goes as smoothly as possible.”

“What Lucy said,” George said, finally satisfied with the order of all the ingredients as he got to work. “Spend as much time together as you want.” 

“Maybe you will,” you said haughtily. “Maybe Lockwood’s lying and we’ll completely abandon our duties.” 

“We won’t,” Lockwood assured, and you merely smiled as you took another sip of tea. 

“Speaking of work,” Lucy said, “we ran into Kipps and Godwin on the way to the store.” 

Lockwood’s expression hardened and he set his mug down a bit too forcefully. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?” 

“Because it was nothing,” George said, looking up from cutting vegetables. You were glad he was the one with a knife and not Lockwood. “Just typical Kipps posturing.” 

“He told us about some job they got,” Lucy said. “Some ridiculously rich widow hired Fittes to find and clear out the ghost of her husband, and they were put on the case.” 

“What was her name?” Lockwood asked. 

“I wasn’t really paying attention, if I’m being honest,” she said. 

“Agnes Colville,” George said. 

“That bastard!” Lockwood’s jaw clenched and he moved across the room to a stack of newspapers on the floor, toppling over from the height. He crouched down and began rifling through them, and after a second he pulled out one and held it up for you all to see. The look in his eye was only slightly crazed, which was admittedly progress. “He stole it from us!”

“I do remember seeing her in the paper,” you said after taking a moment to scan the cover. Her husband died of old age, and it was only because of their impressive fortune that anyone knew of it. “A tragedy.” 

“I talked to her first,” he insisted, still crouched on the ground. “I called her right after I got this paper, and she told me she wasn’t looking for any agents.” 

“She changed her mind, I guess,” Lucy said with a shrug. 

“Or Kipps bothered her until she changed it,” Lockwood grumbled. 

“Great,” George said wryly as he pushed garlic off his knife. “We’re going to be working double time to make up for this, aren’t we?” 

“Sharp as always,” Lockwood said, and he finally stood up as he set the newspaper back down. He pointed a finger at you. “After we go dress shopping tomorrow, it’s straight to the archives to pick up a better case than Kipps.”

You raised an eyebrow. “We’re going dress shopping tomorrow?”

“Did I not tell you?” He frowned. “Caldecotts then dress shopping. And now archives.”

“No,” you said, “you absolutely didn’t.”

Lockwood shrugged. “Well, now you know. We’re going dress shopping.”

“Awfully eager to get into this boyfriend role,” George said.

“I take my job seriously.”

“I already have a dress, Lockwood,” you said. “Dorothy Perkins, remember?”

“This is a special occasion,” he said. “You deserve something nice.”

You felt your cheeks warm and you looked right at him. “You’ll pay?”

“Of course,” he said. “Business expenses, remember?”

You laughed and shook your head. “Yeah. Alright, we can go dress shopping. But if I’m getting a new dress, you’re getting a new suit.”

“Fair’s fair,” he said.

“Do we get any new clothes on your bill?” George asked. “Or is that just reserved for your fake girlfriend?” 

“Oh, come off it, George,” Lucy said. “Let them have some fun together.” 

“Thank you, Lucy,” you said as you sat down across from her. 

“Of course,” she said. “You’re saving me from the Caldecotts and a day in the archives. I should really be thanking you.” 

You turned to look at Lockwood. “You’re not going to use this as an excuse to get me to come along on all your errands with you, are you?” 

“Do try and be supportive, love,” Lockwood said. “It’s only right as my girlfriend.” 

You groaned as you leaned back in your chair, trying your best to ignore Lucy’s smile. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.” 

“Another Lockwood & Co motto,” George mused. “How fitting.” 

-

“Is that Anthony Lockwood walking through my door?” 

You looked up when you walked through the door after Lockwood, a grin already on his face as the boutique saleswoman, a kindly older woman, greeted him. A worker at an upscale clothing store knew him by name—already a good sign. 

“Ms. Bridgeston,” Lockwood said, “it’s been too long.” 

“It certainly has, young man!” She pulled him into a hug and he returned it, and the woman looked at you when she pulled away. “And who is this darling girl with you?” 

Lockwood said your name with a gesture, and you smiled and held out your hand. “I’m his associate.” 

“And my girlfriend,” he added as she shook your hand. You shot him a look over her shoulder with wide, questioning eyes. 

“Practicing,” he mouthed at you with a shrug. He was so ridiculous that you had to stifle a laugh. 

“Yes,” you said, looking back at her with a smile, “his girlfriend, too.” 

“Well, it is wonderful to meet you, dear.” Ms. Bridgeston smiled at Lockwood. “Anthony here has wonderful taste in apparel—he was right to bring you here.” 

“I believe it,” you said with a glance around. “We’re actually in the market for wedding clothes—my cousin is getting married soon.” 

“Oh, congratulations!” She clasped her hands together, eyes shining as she looked between both of you. “Is there anything you need help with, or would you just like to look around?” 

“We’re good to just look,” Lockwood said, “but we’ll certainly let you know if we need anything.” 

Ms. Bridgeston nodded with another smile. “Certainly. I’ll be in the back stocking if you need me.” 

“Thank you,” you said, and you looked at Lockwood as she walked off. “Any ideas?” 

He shook his head. “Get whatever you’d like. This is a very special occasion.” 

You chuckled and nodded, going off to look at a rack of dresses. The agency had been doing well for itself lately. You supposed you could splurge on a nicer dress after nearly dying a couple dozen times. “What are you going for?” 

“Oh, I’m not getting anything here,” he said. “I’ve already got a suit at home, and I’ll get a pocket square that matches whatever color you’re wearing. We’re shopping for you—I’m just having fun here.”

“How exquisite,” you mused as you ran your finger over velvet. “We’ve only been fake dating for a day and you’re already all in.” 

“Consider it getting in character,” Lockwood said. “We’ll already have gotten all our mistakes out of the way by wedding time.” 

“Wise as always.” You took the maroon dress off the rack and continued moving down the line, and you glanced over at Lockwood. “You’ve already got what you want?” 

“Most of my wardrobe is black and white.” He held up a navy suit. “This is different.” 

“Hardly,” you said with a chuckle. “Dark blue is almost black.” 

“This is my version of fun,” Lockwood said wryly, and you smiled as he went into the dressing room. 

You spent the next while picking out dresses that struck your fancy, and by the time Lockwood was done, you had five in your arms. When he walked out, you nearly dropped them all. 

You didn’t know what was wrong with you. 

Perhaps it was lingering sleep deprivation from the near 24 hours you spent awake the other day. Perhaps it was lingering anger from your dealings with the Caldecotts—no amount of money could make dealing with Lorena worth it, but all those zeroes did help—or perhaps you were just already losing your mind. 

Despite your complaints, you weren’t averse to the day Lockwood had planned out. Seeing as you’d spent entire days rooting through the archives with him on wild goose chases, an afternoon after an interview and some shopping wasn’t the worst it could get.

But now, standing in the back of the store as Lockwood emerged, you were beginning to question the wisdom of this decision. 

Because you honest to God didn’t know what was wrong with you. You saw Lockwood in suits every day, or at least something suit-adjacent. Slacks, a jacket and tie, a million white dress shirts that you always end up folding. Pristine shoes, so shiny you can see your reflection in them, getting ruined by cobwebs and plasma over and over—you’ve spent many a night sitting with Lockwood talking as he polished his most recent pair of shoes, determined to get them back to their former glory. 

The point was that you were used to it. You were used to seeing Lockwood dressed up—when you first joined the agency, you honestly thought he slept in suits as well until you ran into him one night on a mission for midnight tea.

So why were you unable to look away from him when he emerged from the dressing room? Why were you rendered absolutely and completely speechless? 

It was nothing special, at least for Lockwood. Just a tuxedo. Navy blue rather than black like he always wore, but far nicer than the usuals. He was fussing with his bowtie as he walked out, muttering things under his breath, and thankfully not looking at you at all. You felt your eyes widen, your breath stolen from you for a moment, and all you could do was stare. Very classy of you, but you could hardly be blamed. He was stunning.  

You didn’t even realize he was saying something until you heard your name for what had to have been the third time, and you blinked and snapped out of your stupor. 

“What?” 

He gave that damn smile and inclined his head slightly, holding up one end of the tie hanging around his neck. “Could you help me with this? I don’t know what’s wrong with me this morning.” 

At least you had that in common. You cleared your throat and nodded, taking a deep breath as you walked up to him in the hopes that you looked far more composed than you felt. “Yeah. Of course.” 

You felt his eyes on you the entire time and you tried your hardest not to focus on it. You’d done Lockwood’s ties millions of times, usually before a particularly important interview or a particularly difficult night. He always said it was good luck, and you always rolled your eyes with a smile. 

“So?” Lockwood spoke after a moment, still watching you.  

“It’s good,” you said with a nod as you finished tying the bow, making sure it was straight before you stepped away. “You look good.” 

“Thank you,” Lockwood said, looking at himself in the mirror with a slight smile. “For the compliment and the help. 

“It’s what I’m here for,” you said. 

“And as much as I appreciate that,” he said, turning that smile on you, “we’re here so you can get a dress too. Did you pick any out while I was getting ready?” 

You nodded and picked up the hangers you’d set down to help Lockwood. “Which one do you want to see first?” 

“Definitely the maroon one,” he said with a nod. “Goes well with your eyes.” 

“You’re too kind,” you said, and he chuckled as he pressed his hand to his heart. 

You went behind the curtain, purposefully taking your time as you undressed so you could try and compose yourself further. It was just a suit, and he was just Lockwood, and this was just a fun little ruse to get your mum off your back for once. 

Just a suit. Just a ruse. Just Lockwood. 

You let out a deep breath and nodded, finally feeling like yourself again. You stepped into the dress and pulled it up, adjusting it around your figure before you zipped it up in the back, but you couldn’t get it all the way up. 

“Lockwood,” you called, “can you help me?” 

“Of course,” you heard him respond. 

You pushed the curtain aside and stepped back out, making some more minute adjustments along the way. When you looked up, Lockwood’s eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. 

“Lockwood,” you said, staring at him. 

He blinked and seemed to focus back in, his head perking up. “What?” 

“My zipper.” 

“Right.” Lockwood moved just a bit too quick around you, and you shivered as his fingers brushed your bare back for a moment while he pulled the zipper the rest of the way up. “Sorry.”

“Your hands are always cold,” you said. “It’s fine.” 

“That’s—” he cleared his throat, and you turned just to see him shake his head. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.” 

You raised your eyebrows, the slightest smile tugging at you. “For what?” 

His own rose. “Hm?” 

“You thanked me. For what?” 

Lockwood shook his head again. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You chuckled and nodded, holding out the skirt of your dress with your hands. “So? What do you think?” 

“You look incredible,” he said, “obviously. It’s an honor to be your fake boyfriend.” 

“You’re gonna make me blush,” you said, but your cheeks already felt too warm for comfort. 

Lockwood grinned. “Good.” 

You had to turn away at that point. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, teasing you like this. “You’re taking your role way too seriously,” you said, busying yourself with rifling through the rest of the dresses you picked out. 

“I told you,” he said, “I take my job seriously. And as someone who takes their job seriously, I think that dress is definitely the one.” 

“Really?” You held up a sparkling blue dress against you and looked at him. “What about this one?” 

He shook his head. “Maroon is definitely the one.” 

“I agree, dear.” You looked up to see Ms. Bridgeston walking out carrying two boxes, that same adoring twinkle in her eye. “You look beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” You looked back in the mirror for another good, long moment, and you nodded decisively. “I agree. This is the one.” 

“Wonderful choice,” she said. 

“Perfect choice,” Lockwood said with a grin. “If you get changed, I can go ahead and pay for everything. We’ve already used up half our day—we’ve got to get to the archives.” 

You eyed him. “You didn’t just say this was the one so we could spend eight hours in the archives, did you?” 

“No,” he assured. “That is the one—trust me, love. You just happened to pick out the best one first.” 

You chuckled and shook your head as you started going back to the dressing room. “Whatever you say.” 

Soon enough, you and Lockwood were both back in your regular clothes, dress bag in tow, walking down the streets of London. 

“You seriously don’t mind spending all that money for this?” you asked, glancing over at him. 

“Of course not,” he said. “I can always take it out of your paycheck, if it’ll make you feel better.” 

You laughed and hit him on the arm, earning a chuckle in response. “As long as you seriously weren’t lying to me about liking this dress to get me to the archives.” 

“I would never lie to you about something like that,” Lockwood said, and he held up his pointer and middle finger. “Agent’s honor.” 

You smiled inwardly. “Thank you, then. I suppose I can handle spending the rest of the day in the archives with you with compliments like that.” 

“Thank you, then,” he repeated. “We do have to make a stop for tea, first.” 

“Naturally,” you agreed. 

As you continued on your way, not exactly arm in arm but close enough for your hands to brush every so often, you found your mind drifting back to Lockwood in that damned suit. You cleared your throat and shook your head, trying to physically push the thought away. 

“Everything alright?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Just got something in my throat.” 

Lockwood nodded, thankfully oblivious to your inner struggle. You let out a deep breath. 

This was definitely still a good idea.

[cognitivejustice]

A new report from the Ocean Conservancy connects recently enacted statewide plastic bag bans to a significant drop in the number of plastic grocery bags cleaned up from beaches. The noticeable impact of law-making is a sharp contrast to the many years of effort spent urging individuals to voluntarily bring reusable bags when shopping.

In the report, Conservancy scientists note that statewide plastic grocery bag bans covered only 12 percent of the U.S. population in 2020. Since then, new legislation has more than doubled that figure. Eleven states now have statewide bans, covering 25 percent of the U.S. population. Hundreds of municipal governments have also banned plastic bags, according to the report.

The research measures the impact of bag bans by tracking the number of bags collected by the Conservancy’s International Coastal Cleanup volunteers. Leaving aside a temporary surge in 2020 attributed to the COVID-19 pandemic, the results were spectacular.

Compared to the baseline years of 2013 through 2019, the volunteers collected 29 percent fewer bags in the 2022 and 2023 cleanup season, an achievement that the Ocean Conservancy directly attributes to new statewide legislation.

Volunteers with the Conservancy's International Coastal Cleanup track their collected debris on the organization’s Clean Swell app or by hand. The totals go into a database kept by the Conservancy.

“This database is the world’s largest repository of marine debris data and is used to inform scientists, conservation groups, governments, and industry leaders about ocean trash in support of plastic pollution prevention and advocacy efforts,” the Conservancy explained in its recent report.

The database contributed to new legislation in California and Florida in 2022, 2023, and 2024, covering balloon releases and foam products as well as plastic bags, the Conservancy reported. The data also informs the organization’s advocacy for an international plastic treaty.

[fandom-lover2]

Deep In The Woods, Something Lingers In The Trees

Before the virus, before the shelter, before the beginning of the end, a very ordinary girl met an extraordinary chimp. Friendship bloomed, and a love grew. This is their story

Chapter One - Epilogue

Word Count - 2254

Chapter Two - Stranger Not Like Me

It took 3 weeks for every continent to report cases.

It took 4 weeks for the origin of the virus to be traced to Genesys.

It took 6 weeks for people to realize how serious this virus was, when quarantine zones were established.

It took 10 weeks before the first billion deaths were confirmed.

It took 11 weeks for the first cities to confirm a loss of power, the beginning of the fall of civilization.

 It took 12 weeks before the first riots to break out.

It took 13 weeks before the cities crumbled, the people destroying all in their paths in a desperation to survive.

It took 3 months for the world to come apart.

My parents died around the time the city centre was attacked, the military desperately trying to keep control of the population.

It took 3 days for San Franciso to fall. It took my parents 2 days to die.

I didn’t.

I was with them, breathing their air. Surrounded by their blood when it started pouring from their noses.

I held their hands as I tried to cool their fevers, stop the bleeding from their everywhere.

 Once they passed, I tried phoning who I was supposed to to come fetch the bodies. The phones didn’t work, the streets silent.

I hadn’t seen Will or Caroline since the CDC had placed a quarantine sign on their door 2 weeks after the first case.

The first case, a scientist that had been exposed to the ALZ 113 gas while experimenting on a chimp.

The gas Caesar had used to make the other apes smart, like him.

Internationally, after the virus was traced back to apes, the world government called for the immediate extermination of apes world-wide. Zoos, sanctuaries, testing labs. They were all sentenced to die. Some had starting showing signs of intelligence, thought the people only saw it as “violent and erratic” behaviour, and had escaped already. Many didn’t, and they were shot like fish in a barrel.

3 months since the beginning of the end, and I was alone in my house with 2 dead bodies.

Will and Caroline were in there for 2 and a half months. They were dead.

Soon, people would find there was nothing else to salvage from the city and would move to the residential areas. I needed to leave.

It was sunset when they passed. I would wait for morning.

Go where, I had no idea. Maybe follow the rest of the people evacuating the city. Los Angelas was still under government control, maybe go there. Hide there.

It was near 3 am when I heard it, gunshots. Close, in our street. A few houses down. They were here, the raiders.

Moving swiftly, I fought tears as I packed my back pack. A change of clothes and a spare pair of socks. That was all I could take.

Rushing downstairs, I grabbed the last few cans of tinned food we had, what we’d managed to buy before the stores were looted and turned into ghost houses. Then, the first aid kit, reusable hydro flask, a fridge magnet picture of mom and I.

Then, I charged back upstairs and into their room. They were holding hands, eyes closed and dry blood pooled around their heads. I pressed a brief kiss to my mother’s forehead, uttering my apology that I had to leave them here and that I would always love her.

I went to my room one last time, looking around at my space. Books I wish I’d read lined shelves, and books I wished to take stood silently and worn. My stuffed animals lay around my room.

Would they be stolen, given to other children? Would they remain here, collecting dust until they fell apart?

Would someone new move in, love this house as I had. Find my photo album, see my mom and I grow up together alone? Hear our laughter down the halls once we were long gone? Or would everything remain like this, till the earth was destroyed by its own sun. A picture on my board caught my attention, and despite the hurry, I walked towards it.

Caesar and I, under the sheet we’d thrown over one of his ropes. It was just our silhouettes, the outline of a lamp on the floor between us.

Our hands were raised, making shadow puppets against the sheet.

It’d been years since Will had handed me a copy of the picture he managed to snap.

Caesar had grown so much since then, grown up and taken the apes with him across the Bridge.

Oh god I missed him.

Maybe one more memory can find space. I crossed my room and pulled the picture from its spot, folding it and slipping it into my jeans. With one last look around my room, I let a few tears slip free as I closed my door and rushed down the stairs for a final time.

 Grabbing the car keys, I took a deep breath, then yanked the door open. The shouting was closer, and another shot rang out in the silence. Two cars were rushing down the street, families fleeing the inevitable. I leapt from the porch to the street, unlocking the car and slipping into the driver’s seat.

My back pack felt strange on my back as I tried to start the car, turn on the lights and get into gear. I was just about to pull off when something slammed onto the passenger window.

I looked over and froze. A man, gun aimed at me.

“Get out.” he growled.

I held my arms up in surrender.

Another man appeared at my side, tapping the glass with his gun.

I reached over slowly, unlocking the door. Once the click sounded, the man retched open the door and yanked me out, throwing me to the sidewalk. The first man moved around to our side, gun aimed at me.

“What do we do with her?”

“Take her with. She’ll be useful eventually.”

I jumped up and bolted across the street. Thank you 4 years of track. I was a lot faster than them.

Racing across the street, I repeated an action I had done daily for years, bounding up the familiar porch of Will’s place.

Not slowing, I used my speed to slam into the door, breaking through the quarantine planks they hammered on the doors. Once inside, I shut the door, locking it from inside, and braced my weight against it.

The men had reached me, and one tried opening the door.

“Leave her. Look, quarantine house.”

The second man scoffed. “She’s gonna be infected for sure now. Dead in days.”

I waited braced against the door long after I heard them walk off the porch and my stepfather’s car pull away from our house. Slowly, I slid down the door, finally breathing.

A gun fired somewhere done the street, followed by a scream. I ignored it, blocking my ears and clenching my jaw.

I stayed at the door, curled into myself until the house began to lighten, sunrise.

Standing on shaky legs, I dared venture into the house I considered my own more than the one I’d left. Everything was the same as the day I left it, the day Caesar was taken away.

I couldn’t find the strength to go back after Charles died. It felt like everything was broken the day Caesar left, and Charle’s absence made the place empty.

Now, I wanted one last chance to see this place before I left forever.

Downstairs was empty, so I crawled up the stairs. Charles’ room door was slightly ajar, his bedroom exactly as it was when he left. Will and Caroline’s was open too, empty. I wasn’t surprised.

After the connection between him and the virus was made, I met Will on the porch, asking what the hell had happened.

He looked worn, eyes bloodshot and sunken. He promised he was working on a cure. Caroline told me he wasn’t sleeping, spending days in his home office, desperately trying to find an end to what he’d caused. Now, I knew where I’d find him.

Creeping carefully, I ignored my pounding heart as I looked around the corner, into his office.

There, covering his desk and staining the floor, was dried blood. Blood dried for a while. The CDC must’ve fetched the bodies when I wasn’t looking out the window. I found some comfort in the knowledge that they weren’t just left here to be forgotten, which was weird considering that their fates were that they were burned in a mass grave. At least something happened to their bodies. My parents would just remain there, slowly left to rot away to skeletons.

Above me, something creaked. Foolishly, my heart leapt at the familiarity that it was an ape up there.

I rushed to the spiral staircase, charging up to the attic. Everything was as it was the day I left, besides a layer of dust that had settled over everything.

The swing, the ropes, his bed unmade. The piano was still open, a song waiting to be played on the stand. A halfway through chess game sat forever, never finished. God, I knew I was shit at chess before, but Caesar seemed to find joy in letting me think I was maybe about to win before swooping in and wiping out my entire fleet in 5 moves or less.

Oh god, how much I wish we could go back to that day. My knees went numb as I dropped to the floor, hands raising to cover my mouth as my throat closed and tears fell.

If I had done something different that day, would things have been different? If I had ignored him, stayed when he wanted me gone. then I would have been here that day, stopped him from… saved him from the centre.

No, that wouldn’t of changed anything. The new gas was being ready to be tested before that, the scientist was still going to be infected. The pilot would still get sick, and he would go on an international flight. The only thing that would’ve changed is I wouldn’t be remembering how this room had been filled with so much anger the last time I was in here.

God, why? Why was I alone? Why couldn’t he have just stayed inside and we could be facing the end of the world together.

Instead, all I had left was the memory of Caesar being carried away as the forest burned around us.

I still remembered that day so clearly, hearing the whispers in class that they were going to burn the Red Woods to eradicate the apes.

I’d left school, hailed a taxi with no money and gone straight to the Red Woods, desperate to stop the humans, warn Ceasar. I had gotten there too late, only able to wrestle a gun from one of the soldiers and shooting at the men shooting the troop.

Rocket appeared beside me, and we recognized one another. The scarred one was there to, helping lead apes away.

The fire around is roared, and the helicopters above prepared to shoot from the sky.

Then, the wind turned and they were forced to back off, blinded by the smoke.

The last time I saw any of the apes, they were going into the wind, away from the flames.

I had been in a lot of trouble when I’d called my parents telling them where I was. The whole ride home, I tried ignoring the fact I had shot 7 men, killing all of them.

I wondered if they even knew what had happened, if they were seeing people fleeing the city.

No one was stupid enough to go to the woods, fearing the apes.

No one would be there, and it’d be the perfect place to hide.

Leaving the last of my pain in the room, I left the house and began towards the Muir Woods. At first, I walked through our neighborhood alone, but soon cars filled the streets and families that were trying to make it on foot.

I walked for a day, and well into the night. Tryng to get across the Bridge was near impossible, the left over destruction from Caesar still causing it to be backed up. And the military were trying one last ditch at keeping the people contained.

Travelling alone, I could slip between the shouting groups, and continue onto the bridge. And then, where everyone turned left, giving the Woods a large birth, I forged ahead, into the trees.

First order of business would be shelter, somewhere close to water but deep enough into the woods that if people do get stupid enough, they won’t find me.

It was near sunrise though, I had gone over 24 hours without eating or sleeping. For now, a temporary resting spot would have to do.

I knew this forest, had spent hours with Caesar learning every trail, and often times going off the trail. I knew of the abandoned ranger’s cabin near the creek.

It would take only about an hour to reach on foot. Luckily, the fire had been deeper in the woods, and so when I finally stumbled into the clearing, the old wooden structure still stood.

Breaking a window, I shimmied my way inside. Too tired to do much else, I boarded up the broken window, found some old sacks to make into a bed, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the wooden floor.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Reusable moss-based adsorbent can help clean up oil spills

Hidden within sphagnum moss, commonly known as peat moss, is an adsorbent material that can help us combat oil spills. A study by researchers from China presents a new bio-based oil adsorbent derived from sphagnum moss that can selectively soak up oil. Chemically modifying the peat moss resulted in a potential oil sponge with the ability to maintain over 90% of initial adsorption capacity even after 10 cycles of usage, according to the findings published in Scientific Reports. Every year, hundreds of tons of oil get spilled into water bodies as a result of oil drilling gone wrong, pipeline leaks and big oil transportation ships sinking. Such oil and chemical spills can have devastating effects on aquatic wildlife, poisoning habitats and disrupting the food chain, among other serious consequences. Humans aren't immune to the impact of these oil spills either, as exposure can affect the lungs, heart and the immune system.

Read more.

[nardo-headcanons]

Writing Scientist Characters

this post is mainly an excuse to post a certain list of lab supplies I've made for a friend and infodump about lab work. but feel free to use this as a little resource when writing characters who are scientists and/or lab nerds. who knows, maybe it'll be of use.

General thoughts

Many people think it's a stereotype that scientist or nerd characters talk using complex technical jargon. While that is true to an extent, there actually is some kind of lab jargon. It varies across different labs and fields, but one thing they have in common is that it seeks to simplify, not the other way around.

gelelectrophoresis becomes elpho

microbiology becomes mibi

deioninized water becomes aqua dist

biochemistry becomes BC

sodium hydroxide becomes NaOH

They will probably not call a glass of water "silicon dioxide and h2o".

...and more. feel free to get creative. If you're writing in any other language than English, you can throw in one or two anglicisms as well. Also, most scientists will never gatekeep their work, and in an opposite fashion, will not shut up about it unless you make them. And no, most chemists do not know the entire periodic table by heart, only the most relevant elements. (main groups and a few commonly used metals of the subgroups) When it comes to characters doing the lab work, keep in mind that there are a lot more people involved than the scientist themself. Most scientists are more occupied with paperwork and data analysis, it is the laboratory technicians and assistants that do most of the practical work. They often have more lab experience than the scientists themselves.

Things you can have your lab nerd character do instead of making random chemicals explode

writing a lab report (and losing their mind over excel)

degreasing the glass bevel stoppers

removing the permanent marker from beakers (labeling is important)

complaining about the lack of funding of [their field] research

cleaning glassware

preparing specimen for examination

googling the most basic equations for their report

checking if the glassware and utensil collections are complete

steal single use plastic pipettes from their lab

pirating expensive textbooks

A list of laboratory supplies and utensils you can have them work with

Laboratory general (chem + bio)

Erlenmayer flasks, beakers, precision scales (3 digits), glass rods, metal spoons/spatulas, screw on glass flasks (autoclave compatible) test tubes, stopcock grease, dispensers with sanitizer and hand cream, gas burners, heating plates, eppendorf pipettes, pipette tips, Peleus pipetting aids, squirting bottles, liquid and powder funnels, incubator/drying chamber, round watch glasses, magnet stirring plates.

Microbiology Autoclave, petri dishes, agar plates, innoculation loops (reusable and metal), clean bench, microscope slides, microscope, drigalski-spatula, test tubes with clamping lids

Histology

Paraffin bath, water bath, scalpels, scissors, razor blades, microtomes (rotating microtome, slide microtome and freezing microtome), histocinette, tweezers (various kinds), ocular

Biochemistry

Sequencing robots, eppendorf tubes, gelelectrophoresis chambers, centrifuge

Analytical Chemistry

Photometer, kuvettes, burettes, mass spectro meters, UV bank (for chromatogrophies), pyknometers, melting point meter, porcelain mortars, pH paper, analytical scales (4 or more digits)

Prep Chemistry

Tripod/standing material, miniature lifting platforms, spiral condenser, colon condenser, round bottom flask (three necked and y- necked), filtration material, Separating funnel

Electrical engineering

Electric generators, Soldering iron, Clamp connectors, plugin connectors, ohm’s resistors, plug in lamps, condensers, transistors, PCBs, amperemeters, voltmeters, multimeters

Mechanics

Tripod/standing material, metal hooks, metal rods, mechanical stop watches, marbles, metal springs, Newton meters, laser motion detectors

Optics

Prisma (various kinds), various glass lenses (concave, convex, biconcave, biconvex), laser pointers, optical bench, mechanical iris diaphragm, looking glasses, monochrome lamps, lamp filters

Most used chemicals

Deionized water, ethanol, NaOH, HCl, H3PO4, NaCl (+ physiological NaCl solution 0.9)

Useful websites for writing science stuff

DNA sequence generator (simple): http://www.faculty.ucr.edu/~mmaduro/random.htm

DNA, RNA and protein sequence generator: https://molbiotools.com/randomsequencegenerator.php Annealing temperature calculator: https://tmcalculator.neb.com/#!/main

Medicine name generator: https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/medicine-names.php Anything chemistry related: https://www.wolframalpha.com/input?i=chemistry

Commonly used software:

MS Excel

Yenka

CASSY Lab

LabView

SpectraLab

LIMS

LaTex

Slack

Scientist friends, feel free to add onto this.

Have fun writing!

[tuttle-did-it]

UK folks.

You may or may not know how much I loathe fireworks.

A baby red panda died this week in terror from the stress and fear of fireworks. A woman died a week. This is, as far as I’m concerned, a horrible way to die— just pure terror.

They’re bad for the environment.

People are literally dying. A woman was murdered when kids put one through a her letterbox and her house caught fire. One of the kids got 3 years and another 7 years. For murdering this woman.

They’re bad for people like myself who have ptsd, elderly, mental health issues, misophonia, audio processing disorders and neuro-spicy people who struggle with sound and explosions. I get several anxiety attacks a year from these horrible things.

They’re dangerous— people often end up in a&e when something goes wrong.

In my area, it’s not just once or twice a year, but dozens if times a year— especially between mid Oct - early January. And random summer nights when they go off for no reason. Sometimes they’re done literally on the street behind me in a residential area.

In some areas, they can start fires. With climate change and higher temperatures, there’s a higher chance of wooded areas and dry spaces catching fire.

They are dangerous to wildlife. That poor little panda died in terror— and that’s just one we know about.

They torment households pets. My dog is not the only one crying in fear every time they go off. He throws himself under the bed, or just hides under the blankets, crying. I have a scar on my neck from when he accidentally scratched me, clinging to me in fear a couple years ago. Every dog I met in my area is panting and terrified from the fireworks when they are going off. It’s horrific and cruel.

They can make silent fireworks. Or better still, they can use light shows, which are reusable, have no risk of injury or death to anyone, and no impact on wildlife, environment or pets.

There’s no point contacting the police because there are no open civilian areas during the night, and sometimes they’ll just randomly set the fireworks off at 0200. I have tried to report them multiple times. Nothing.

There are multiple petitions to sign to control the sale and use of fireworks. Please consider signing or sharing. If you think that poor wee panda was the only creature cowering in fear, you’re wrong.

Please consider signing these petitions to the to limit the use of fireworks. Personally, I think they should be banned, but I’ll take what I can get.

Several petitions to stop this:

[mariacallous]

David W. Brown Brown has been writing about NASA and space since 2010.

Usually, when I write about NASA the research points me to primordial asteroids, or icy oceans inside radioactive moons. This is the first NASA story to point me to a Total Wine & More in Palm Beach County, Florida. The Trump Administration and Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency are indiscriminately firing federal workers and cancelling contracts, and I wanted to know what DOGE’s presence would precipitate at NASA headquarters.

As I pieced together the story, publishing today, I heard one name more than any other: Darren Bossie. The new White House liaison to NASA, Bossie seems to be an embodiment of Trump in the hallways of the agency’s headquarters. I’d never heard of him. But I knew that who he was would be telling of Trump’s agenda. I found Bossie’s profile on LinkedIn. To my astonishment, he’d spent the bulk of his professional life as an assistant manager of a Total Wine & More. (The NASA community was surprised, too. “Cannot make this stuff up,” someone wrote on the Jet Propulsion Laboratory subreddit.) I called every Total Wine & More location in the area, repeatedly, hoping to speak with someone who remembered him. I talked with many people, but found only one who did.

Details on Darren Bossie were hard to pin down. There was a David N. Bossie, the president of Citizens United—yes, that Citizens United, whose 2010 court case upended American democracy by allowing corporations unlimited political spending—and a fervent Trump supporter. I couldn’t find any wedding announcements or obituaries connecting the two men, but my editor, Daniel A. Gross, found the names of David’s parents in the dedication of a book he’d co-authored. Our search of public records finally placed all of them—David, Darren, mom, and dad—at the same address in the nineteen-eighties. The family connection shed some light on Darren Bossie’s sudden rise.

In my fifteen years covering NASA, I’ve never seen its workers so concerned—not just about individual projects, but about the agency’s core values. The Administration wants co-workers to snitch on one another. Employees are removing pride flags for fear of being targeted, and using Signal for everyday correspondence. It’s also remarkable that the White House seemed to preëmpt NASA when we reached out for comment, responding on the agency’s behalf—a first in all my reporting. Musk’s reusable rockets revolutionized the way NASA operates, but his MAGA politics now threaten the agency’s bipartisan support. Space exploration is a human endeavor, and acolytes like Bossie seem to be helping Trump remake NASA in his own image. What will this mean for the final frontier?

[contemporaryelfinchild]

A short note on your ability to help fight climate change

I've noticed a trend in some liberal spaces to laugh at the idea of personal responsibility in trying to prevent catastrophic climate change. The story goes, "The government has been telling us for years to recycle and bike to work and use reusable water bottles and that we can make a difference! But really 100 companies are responsible for 71% of global emissions, so this is all bunk actually, and putting the responsibility on all our shoulders when it's those guys who need to change! Me putting up string lights doesn't make a difference actually in the big picture." I want to push back on this a little as a scientist and climate advocate, and I want to give you some things to be aware of. First, those 100 companies are all energy companies, not companies like Amazon. They are the big producers of coal, oil, and gas worldwide. And that coal and natural gas are what are burned to provide the electricity that powers all our lives. The demand for that is every single thing you do that uses electricity. It is a massive collective phenomenon. That natural gas is what you likely burn to heat your house in the winter, and possibly how you cook your food. You might be doing so right now. Unless you have an electric car or scooter etc, gasoline is what powers your car. Many of your purchases are shipped across oceans with diesel. The demand for energy is from all of us. Many cities, at least in the US have CO2 budgets you can look up. If you do, you will see plots like this:

These are from a report prepared by the US National Energy Technology Lab about the nearby city of Pittsburgh PA, one of the two largest cities in the state of Pennsylvania. These are really simple plots, so take a minute to look at them, and actually note the y-axis. MMBtu is a unit of energy. One average single family home in the US uses about 50 MMBtu. The y-axis here is in millions of MMBtu. First, I want you to note that the greenhouse gas emissions are about an even 3-way split in if they come from electricity, natural gas, or transportation. All the renewable energy in the world would only impact one of those three categories. If all 100 of those energy companies replaced all their coal and oil with solar panels this year, that would only cut a third of these emissions. Only things that use electricity can be made lower emissions by switching to renewables and nuclear. For example, 1/3rd of the CO2 in this city comes from transportation and most of that is cars. Some of it is trucks, some of it is buses, but most of it is people driving around. This is why community organizers and climate activists want you to bike, take the bus, or get an electric or hybrid car. The total effect of everyone driving is actually massive! "But" I hear you say. "American infrastructure is car-centric! There are no buses where I live or I can't use them! And I can't afford to buy a new electric car." Yeah. I know. It sucks. But cities don't actually have enough money to rebuild the city to fix this, or to buy everyone new cars. But you can look up if your city has any sort of bond measure or sales tax to support public transit, or community feedback about it and try to support those things. But think about this. If the next time everyone in the city went to buy a new car, if they just checked if there was a hybrid in their price range and got that, then that would shift the composition towards being more electricity and less burning gasoline. This is what everyone calls "Electrification" and only by electrifying things can you reduce emissions in those sectors. Otherwise they stay totally flat and we just can't afford that. Let's look at the second plot, the city's monthly consumption broken down by electricity and natural gas. We see that the electricity is very flat over the year. Looking at the third plot, this is dominated by commercial use. Think like, big hospitals. This is not dominated by industry. It might be, depending on your city! But this electricity can come from renewable energy with grid scale and distributed storage. And there are programs in place now to try to bring these down. What about natural gas? Looking at the final plot we see that that is mostly residential. This is from heating and gas stoves. This is why you have heard your local city leaders talking about replacing your gas stove with electric or your gas furnace with a heat pump. These residential uses, summed over the whole population, contribute very significantly to the greenhouse gas emissions. [Note, check here if your electricity is still primarily from Coal. If so, natural gas has significantly less emissions than coal and you should wait to electrify until your electricity is itself mostly natural gas, renewables, and nuclear.] This is why you keep seeing programs offering tax rebates and other tools to give you benefits for switching from natural gas. This means your city or county leaders have assessed that it would be beneficial now to do this to start reducing that huge residential natural gas emissions source. If anyone you know owns a home, they could check and see if they could pay the same to replace old appliances with electric versions vs new natural gas ones, possibly with the help of government incentives. See the DOE page on heat pumps. If they did, it would help because again, the government can't come in and change your appliances for you.

But what about those 100 companies and their fossil fuels? None of this stops that, or lowers the carbon emissions from the electricity that makes everything run. True! But there are genuinely people working on that and you can too. Note that many of the easy actions your government could take to address this would cost you a lot of money and be deeply inequitable. For example, tripling the price of gas. The reason for all these government incentives is to try to get people to make these changes without doing that. So see if community solar is legal in your area, or if you can choose your electricity provider, or take other action to demonstrate interest in renewables. Email your elected officials and demand a cap-and-trade (or invest) program. Vote yes for these programs. If you work for a large company or institution, talk to someone about if the company could negotiate a Power Purchase Agreement. Look into stand-alone-battery storage even if solar isn't in your budget or wouldn't be efficient where you live because there being distributed battery storage helps reduce the peaking needs of the Grid and reduces demand for fossil fuels (and helps you save money and get through power outages). Learn about nuclear power and understand that it has to stay for us to get off fossil fuels. Keep protesting pipelines. Finally, most city greenhouse gas emissions budgets like the above don't include the emissions from consumption and shipping. Aka, the full supply chain emissions to get things delivered to cities (and it is, primarily, TO cities). Thus they are mostly under-estimates of the aggregate day to day impacts of the general populace. Moral or the story: Buy local, ride your bike, recycle your glass and do it properly, genuinely look into electrifying your transport and appliances as you are able, and then get involved in your community to do more. Don't kid yourself that you aren't part of the collective action problem. If you live in a major city in a developed country you are. You can't fix it yourself, but also it can't be fixed without your engagement, and all those PSAs and tax rebates and community organizing are the hard work of doing just that.

Note: This post is US-centric and the situation is very different in different countries. If you have anything to add that is more relevant to your country feel free to!