#art-and-word-dumpsite

[echoeternally]

Hi Echo, how was your summer? I hope that it was fun and relaxing for you, and that you got new ideas for your fanfics. I'm eager to see what comes next.☺️

Hi Art, it was a very busy summer, but some of it was nice. I wasn't expecting a lot of what happened to happen lol.

Ideas are good for the stories; it's finding time to actually write them down that's become very difficult! But I hope to update again soon.

Thank you for messaging me! I hope you're doing well too

[deniigi]

Cody-Centric Fic Recs

Name of the Game - esama

There's a new Dark Sider on the battlefield, one who has it out for Cody's General.

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Codywan; pre-slash, sith!Obi-Wan

Of Warnings (Ignored) - Trixree

“Listen to me, Kote. Are you listening? Because it is very fucking important that you listen to me right now,” 17 says. He would seize Kote by the chin and make him pay attention, if 17 was looking to get bit on top of all the other pain his body is gifting him with.

----

Codywan; Cody is a little shit; Alpha is longsuffering

Bonding Rituals - blackkat

Cody smirks, tilting his head. “Sounds like Fox has a date,” he says, and Rex is suddenly, vividly reminded of the fact that Cody and Fox are batchmates. Something must have gone wrong with the cloning process there, because that much asshole in one batch should be physically improbable. For a moment, he almost feels sorry for Fox.

Then he remembers that Fox yelled at Fives last time they ran into each other during an escort mission on the front, and decides that he actually doesn’t.

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Fox/Obi-Wan, Rex & Cody, Pranks and Practical jokes

sunshine and the shade of poetry - Petrichordiam

 "Sorry sir, but I don't think we've met," Cody said, turning up the friendly customer service representative levels by two points.

 To his delight, there wasn't really any visible change in his general's expression. "Have I neglected to leave an impression on you over the last several years?"

 "I'm not sure you want an honest answer to that question, sir."

===== The war comes to an abrupt end, and everyone around him begins the long road to recovery and discovery. Cody, on the other hand, just needs to find a new job.

Unfortunately, he has no idea what to do next.

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Codywan; Rex & Cody, Coruscant Art Scene, Romance-writer Cody

*And because I am shameless, some of my own fics:

girlboss, gatekeep - deniigiq

Captain Gregor immediately leans his chin on his palm and smiles at Fives. Fives smiles back. He does not perceive this action to be the threat that it truly is.

“That man’s going to kill him,” Jesse says with his neck craned as far as it will go.

“Yep,” Kix agrees solemnly.

“You never know,” Echo says. “He’s squeezed better outcomes out of worse odds.”

(Fives decides that he's going to join the illustrious, mysterious, and oh-so exclusive Commanders Batch, and he's going to start by becoming besties with Commander Cody. Rex cannot stop this trainwreck but he can certainly watch it happen in slow motion - and occasionally he can offer a word or two of advice.)

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background Codywan; Fives & Cody; Rex & Cody, Cody & Command Batch; hijinks and shenanigans

they're neutral - deniigiq

Retired Commander Cody moves into a new neighborhood and becomes furious at the way a nearby roundabout is treated as a dumpsite. He installs a giant Jedi Crest fountain dead in the center of it and accidentally creates a safe place for the diasporic Jedi community to worship.

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light codywan; Cody & Wolffe, Cody & Rex, Home Improvement; Community Development

the time when stars align - qigiined

Lord Vader stands before Cody with a ruined body and asks him between puffing, hissing breaths, how he has found the latest therapy.

Cody explodes.

Never before did he realize how hopeful he was that he would soon die. Never before has he felt so helpless. The only natural process he could depend on has been snatched from his fingers. He is again a young man. His accelerated aging factor has been ‘cured.’

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Codywan; Force-Ghost Obi-Wan; De-aging; Treason

[lefortunes]

NO, DEAR. USE YOUR CUP OF STARS. INSIST ON YOUR CUP OF STARS. ONCE THEY'VE STRAPPED YOU INTO BEING LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, YOU'LL NEVER SEE YOUR CUP OF STARS AGAIN. - dir. mike flannagan, the haunting of hillhouse

finally doing a gen. greeting / tag thing? tag dump? not that it matters anw since the tags aren't fancy and they're just for me to find later. its a whole lot easier for me to look for when i actually need them.

consider this an extension of 'talyer'. it's still the same old virtual studio - just way more of a mess ─ way more unhinged. more akin to the likes of you, having just discovered your grandma's diary in the deep depths of your studio/garage/ or attic. or to better paint the picture, how a dump / finsta ig works but with words, thoughts and feelings instead ─ in its literal essence; consider this the studio's dumpsite.

my art teacher once told me that your work as an artist, writer (or whoever) never stops until you feel like it's finished. in a shared thought, some of these works may never even end in progression. whatever's posted here? will never be done. i may keep on working, adding, changing and editing until it doesn't sound weird, until it doesn't sound cringy, until i'm satisfied. (but are we ever really?)

this space isn't intended for commercial use. this blog wasn't made for the to be seen (or for the 'clout'). if it were, it would be clean and polished to the brim. no errors, no logical fallacies or jumbled up thoughts. but this blog is about is it? everything about this space, is mess in it's purest form.

that is why this bygone of an app? is the perfect platform to create this mess. there's no fear of being held back by overexposure or clout. those two words don't exist here. heck, the entirety of this site's existence might as well be a literal ghost town. i'm not sure if anyone else uses tumblr anymore as a form of a blog. for all we know, the the remaining urls, posts, jpegs or heck even pngs could all just be carcasses of those that once existed as they've moved on to a better and shinier new space and i'm probably one of the remaining few lost souls still holding on to this joint like an addicition.

but, therein lies the rub. the desertedness of this space gives an introvert like myself comfort. there is no pressure to fit in a certain mold, to influence or to advertise. no pressure to impress, to please, or to behave. all i have to do is just exist.

to put it frankly, this space isn't for you but the writer themselves. and if someone were to stumble across it and to actually read the trials and tribulations of my 'fascinating' life?

i guess that's just a bonus.

[crackedoutgiraffe]

To the Moon and Back

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/N: Chapter 6

You had left your phone on the conference room table while you looked through the files. It started ringing unexpectedly. It was Garcia. 

“Hey Garcia,” you eagerly greeted her, you hadn’t spoken to any of the team for about 6 hours. They were all out doing FBI things.

“How much do you love me?” she asked

Confused, you answered the peculiar question, “I love you very much, Garcia.” “What would you say if I told you I had the name of the unsub?”

“Wait, you figured it out?” you jumped out of your chair with excitement.

“Sure did,” she giggled, “I believe your unsub is one Robert Adams.”

“Do you have a location, Garcia?”

“His credit card just made a purchase at the Seven Stars Restaurant,”

“Thank you, Garcia,” you said as you ran out the door. “Wait, why did you call me?”

“No one else was picking up,” she replied. “Good luck, be safe,” she hung up after that. The team left one SUV for you just in case you needed to go anywhere. You hopped in and started for the restaurant. You tried to call Hotch, but he wouldn’t respond. 

Then you tried Rossi, and thankfully he responded, “Rossi, where are you right now?” you asked frantically

“We’re at the school. Why? What’s wrong?” he could hear how scared you were on the other end of the line.

“Garcia called me and told me that she has the unsub’s identity,” you breathed out, trying to drive at the same time.

“Y/N, I’m going to put you on speaker,” he added. “Alright, you have me, Hotch, Morgan, and Reid.”

“Garcia, she called me and said that the name of the unsub was Robert Adams and that he was at the Seven Stars restaurant, I’m pulling into the restaurant now,” you got out of the car and headed toward the entrance.

“Alright, Y/N, do not engage wait outside we’ll be there in five minutes,” Hotch sounded scared

“Alright. Is there anyt-,” you started but you were knocked out by an explosion from the restaurant.

“Y/N, hold we’ll be there soon,” Hotch calmly said, but you couldn’t respond.

You were knocked unconscious by the blast, you finally awoke to sirens and people surrounding you. You could see all the team members around you.

Everyone stayed by your side for a few moments until Morgan received some news, “Hotch he’s still in there.”

“Ok. Prentiss, come with Morgan and me to catch the unsub,” Hotch started. “Rossi, take Y/N to the ambulance.” 

Rossi helped you to stand up while you were holding your head. He led you over to an ambulance, “Rossi, I’m fine, really.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, “but you may have a concussion.” The paramedic checked your vitals and performed a concussion test. You passed, so a hospital visit wasn’t necessary. 

While the paramedic was checking your health he was also checking you out, “Alright Ms. Y/L/N, your vitals are good and you don’t seem to have a concussion,” the paramedic briefed. “Make sure that you visit your primary care physician. Also, do you think I would be able to get your number?”

He wasn’t bad looking, he seemed nice, “Sure,” you smiled. You looked past some of the cops at the restaurant and saw Reid looking your way. It seemed like he was giving the paramedic a death stare. You got up off the ambulance and hobbled over to the rest of your team. Prentiss and Hotch had apprehended the unsub, and they loaded him into a police car.

“What did the paramedic say?” Hotch asked. 

“He said I’m good to go,” you responded happily. 

Reid looked upset from where you were standing, “seemed like he said more than that,” Reid mumbled. 

“Alright, go pack up your guys’ stuff and meet me at the airfield in 30,” Hotch continued. You all went to the SUVs. You decided to ride in the back with Rossi driving and Prentiss in the passenger seat. The three of you promptly arrived at the hotel just behind JJ, Morgan, and Reid. Rossi came to help you out of the car, which was quite sweet, but you didn’t need it.

You got to your room and started to pack. Starting with the bathroom then going to the main room, double-checking that you had everything. As you were cleaning up, you made the bed and straightened out the pillows.

Just then your phone rang, “Hello?” you answered.

“Hi, this is Jeremy. I was the paramedic that treated you tonight,” he said gingerly.

“Oh hey, how’s it going?” you giggled while grabbing your bags and heading toward the door.

“We had to take a few people to the hospital, but other than that pretty good,” he commented.

You left your room and started to close the door, “So, a pretty slow night?” you joked. In the hallway, you saw Morgan and Reid waiting and staring at you. “Hey, Jeremy. I’m going to have to call you later, ok?”

“That’s cool,” he sighed. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you finished and hung up the phone.

“Who’s Jeremy?” Morgan asked, poking you in the side.

“That’s classified, Agent Morgan,” you replied with a smile. “Who’s driving?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“I’ll drive,” Morgan replied as the three of you got in the elevator.

The drive to the airfield was quiet. You were sitting in the back seat staring out the window, when you did look through the windshield, you could see Reid look at you occasionally. Finally, you got to the plane. You chose a seat at the back, put your headphones in, and pulled out a book. The volume of your music was low just in case anyone needed you. You looked up to see Morgan with a confused look on his face, then he took off his headphones and you could hear screaming coming through them. “Very funny, kid,” he quipped at who you could only suspect was Reid. His phone started to ring and he picked it up, “Hey baby gir-,” he quickly pulled the phone away from his face, more screaming.

You gave up trying to figure out what that was about and went to sleep. When you woke up, you were starting to land. Hotch stood up once the plane landed and told all of you to be in the office at 9 tomorrow. You grabbed your bag and got off the plane, rushing to get to your car and get home and see your cat. The second you got to your car, an immense wave of relief came over you, your first case with the team was done. You had done pretty well. One thing you were less than pleased about was the way you felt toward Spencer. Could you really not fraternize with your co-workers? It’s not that hard, Y/N. Get it together. You got to your house and plopped down on your bed. Checking the time, you groaned. It was 3am. You dragged yourself out of bed to take a shower, you ended up falling asleep wearing only your towel.

You woke up to your alarm at 8 and sighed. Realizing you slept, in a towel, you went to your closet to grab some semi-professional clothes. You put on as much makeup as you could stand, which wasn’t much, and headed to the kitchen for coffee. Checking the clock on your oven, it was 8:30, so you didn’t get to eat breakfast and settled for stopping at Starbucks for another coffee. You were able to arrive at Quantico at exactly 8:50 leaving you just enough time to get up to your desk at 9.

Walking into the office was a nightmare, everyone at their desks seemed so tired. Walking past Reid’s desk, you noticed that he was working away, he didn’t seem tired at all, “How are you so chipper right now?” you asked, sitting down at your desk.

“This is my fifth cup of coffee,” he smiled at you with that lovely smile of his.

Garcia was walking past his desk right as he answered you, “Alright, Dr. Reid, I’m cutting you off for now,” Garcia insisted grabbing the coffee cup from his hand. He looked up at her and frowned.

“Thank you, Garcia,” Morgan added from his desk. “If he would have finished that, I don’t think he would shut up for hours.”

You giggled from your desk, trying not to pass out. 

“We have a new case,” Hotch walked out of his office toward the round table room. Everyone groaned as they pulled themselves up from their seats. You all hobbled over to the roundtable room, Reid was practically skipping in front of all of you. “Go ahead Garcia,” Hotch instructed while sitting down.

“Alright, friends, this week you are traveling to the lovely Los Angeles. Four women have all been found in the woods. They were all sexually assaulted, stabbed 13 times, and their hair was burned off. Next to their dumpsite, CSI found the bodies of four men, they were all shot in the heart,” Garcia explained while flipping through the slides on the TV.

“They were all y/h/c-haired and y/e/c eyed in their early to mid-twenties,” Reid added. “Was there any relationship found between the women and the men, Garcia?

“Good eye, Dr. Reid, and yes. The women were all dating one of the men,” Garcia smiled. “Your first victims are 21-year-old Alisha Davis, liberal arts major at UCLA; she was dating 23-year-old Joseph Marin. Next was, 22-year-old Brittany French, chef at a local restaurant and her boyfriend Michael White, 24. Then was 23-year-old Paulette Queen, a nanny for an established family, she was involved with 23-year-old Daniel Roberts. Finally, Jemma Boone, 24, was working at a jewelry store, dating 25-year-old Nicholas Phillips.”

“How far apart were the killed?” you asked.

“The coroner estimates two weeks apart,” Garcia sighed. “Jemma was killed approximately 10 days ago. There also is evidence that he was keeping his victims for about 2 days before killing them.”

JJ spoke up from her side of the table, “The killings seem very ritualistic. They were each stabbed 13 times, they were all y/h/c.”

“The number 13 is considered an unlucky number in some countries. The end of the Mayan calendar's 13th Baktun was superstitiously feared as a harbinger of the apocalyptic 2012 phenomenon. Fear of the number 13 has a specifically recognized phobia, triskaidekaphobia, a word coined in 1911. The superstitious sufferers of triskaidekaphobia try to avoid bad luck by keeping away from anything numbered or labeled thirteen. As a result, companies and manufacturers use another way of numbering or labeling to avoid the number, with hotels and tall buildings being conspicuous examples (thirteenth floor).It is also considered unlucky to have thirteen guests at a table. Friday the 13th has been considered an unlucky day.  There are a number of theories as to why the number thirteen became associated with bad luck, but none of them have been accepted as likely,” Reid started to ramble.

“Colgate University also considers 13 a lucky number. They were founded in 1819 by 13 men with 13 dollars, 13 prayers, and 13 articles. To this day, members of the Colgate community consider the number 13 a good omen. In fact, the campus address is 13 Oak Drive in Hamilton, New York, and the male a cappella group is called the Colgate 13. In the Mayan Tzolk'in calendar, trecenas mark cycles of 13-day periods. The pyramids are also set up in 9 steps divided into 7 days and 6 nights, 13 days total. In the standard 52-card deck of playing cards, there are four suits, each of 13 ranks. In a tarot card deck, XIII is the card of Death, usually picturing the Pale horse with its rider. A baker's dozen, devil's dozen, long dozen, or long measure is 13, one more than a standard dozen,” you started rambling too, everyone just stared at you. 

“He is focusing more on the women,” Prentiss noticed.

“What makes you say that?” Morgan questioned.

“There is no evidence that the men were held in captivity,” Prentiss continued. “Also, more things were done to the women than the men, their hair was burned and they were sexually assaulted.”

“So it’s more about the women than the men,” Rossi chimed in, “What does that tell us about the unsub?”

You had an answer to the question, “He may have had his heart broken by a y/e/c-eyed, y/h/c-haired girl.”

“I know we just got back but there is going to be another murder in 4 days. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch sighed.

Everyone got up to leave, including you. You headed for the elevator to head home and grab your go-bag. On your drive home, there was one thing on your mind, a serial killer who only killed y/e/c-eyed, y/h/c-haired, and was going to kill someone who was 25, how could this go wrong?

[pendingtitle-blog]

overnight

A collection of stories from the CBD 24/7 McDonalds as told by the workers on the battlefields of its busiest nights. The unsung heroes bringing you food at your lowest moments. All their stories and experiences told are true.

“Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War

11:00 PM. A Friday night. The horde begins to fill up the Melbourne CBD. A knot forms in your gut. Questions race through the mind: How will tonight transpire? Who will make this harder than it needs to be? What will the toilets end up like? What you do know for sure is the party is about to start. The horde will need to be fed. Sustenance in the form of trans fats and fried goodness. Take a deep breath and enter the barracks. The store is clean for now. Bins are freshly replaced, tables wiped down and the stations stocked up. McDonald’s is ready for it’s beating.

You walk through the kitchen, past the managers' office and into the change room. It’s almost time to clock on. Seven hours of punishment from the general party-going public. Seven hours of providing service with a smile, drained of all energy and enthusiasm. The Japanese warriors of old were recorded to have prepared for battle through specially prepared meals that they would consume leading to a rallying of the troops by yelling “GLORY, GLORY”; which would be met by calls from the generals replying “YES, YES”. The same principle applies in this time. Your special meal is a 50% discounted crew meal or a cigarette behind the store to activate the synapses allowing orders to get out faster. The rallying calls is a change room banter. You shoot the shit with the rest of the crew, hearing horror stories from the past to the soundtrack of your coworkers selected playlists echoing the small room. The guy to your left tells you a story all too common with the disorderly drunks fighting among each other. He’s been here a little longer than you so he’s seen the worst that a Friday overnight can offer.

“I think the worst I’ve seen was this obese woman who started a fight with this guy in the store,” he chuckles “she must have been at least 200kg and she thought this other customer had bumped into her on purpose so she just flew a punch at him,

“It sounded like she thought he was making fun of him for her weight which I’m guessing she was insecure about so it turned into a full brawl with at least five different people trying to hold her back,” he goes on “it ended up with the police being called to break the whole thing up”.

Another question forms in your mind. What in god’s name is driving us to do this? It’s not a complicated motivating factor. Why else would an 18 to 20 year old put themselves through this?

Money. This is what you signed up for.

“Because doing this gets you more money. Also, tons of babes come in and will give you their number if you’re lucky,” he grins.

Time ticks closer. The shift starts soon. One sleeve at a time, button up the front, one leg at a time, tighten the belt, slip your work boots on and tie the apron on. Out into the trenches. Finally, ask to start the shift.

“Yes, yes” the manager replies.

“He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces.”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The greatest armies in history have always relied on coordination and careful execution to subdue powerful forces for victory. Nothing has changed in the present day. Armed with grills, beef, chicken, deep fryers and various other products. Rapid fire production is needed to keep the hunger back. A symbiotic relationship between the front counter and kitchen is needed to keep the peace. One without the other on a night like this would surely end in defeat. An army of eight against the never-ending patrons of Melbourne's ever-booming party scene. It should be noted: this isn’t the case all the time. One hour the store could be packed with order numbers being yelled at the top of your lungs and the customers responding with the ever original catchphrase:

“BINGO!”

The next it could be completely dead with the air being filled from the bleeps and blorps of kitchen. This will not be one of those nights.

Wave one begins. The families and oldies finishing off an old-fashioned night on the town with grease and salt. Children demand soft serves and chippies. The oldies wanting coffee at this hour because how else would one want to finish their night off. Police officers also load up on fuel for their all-nighter of a shift patrolling the patrons of the clubs that will eventually end up in the store.

This will be a litmus test for how the night travels. It’ll show you how busy you’ll end up being, which crew are not up to the task and how awful the bathrooms will end up being. It’s almost a given you get a crew member bewildered by the number of people storming the fort. Putting themselves in no good position to be useful and making a stressful situation even more stressful. Can you blame them though? No one can truly understand what an overnight is until you actually do it. It takes a lot of endurance to make it through a night like this. Even with the consistent sales being made, you ask,  

“Well this is busy, how worse could it get?”

Your fellow coworker replies with the smug grin of a veteran who’s seen it all,

“This is nothing.” A favourite phrase among many of the employees who have worked these shifts.

He continues, “You didn’t work the overnight of the Queens birthday public holiday. That was nasty. It was just me and the boss on the front with two others in the back. We were so backlogged with orders that we had someone from kitchen jumping up to front counter to help get rid of the backed up product while more orders were still coming in.”

The thought of this makes you uneasy and stressed. Nothing is worse than a packed house, nothing but noise resulting in orders being unheard and customers angered because they couldn’t hear. Order 116 being screamed into the void.

His account of events develop further with more horror, “This did not stop from 1 AM to 5 AM. Just constant flow of orders. It would get so bad that I would have to stop taking orders because it would only make it worse. But what resulted was disgruntled drunks now mad about not only not getting their orders quickly but now they weren’t getting served. It was a lose-lose situation for a while.”

A common occurrence on these shifts is that you gain a lot of new perspectives. You don’t have it as bad as you think you have it right now. A lot of this could be a lot worse.

“Thus the expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The halfway point occurs and it’s time for your break. Relieved of duty for half an hour to refuel and revitalise yourself. So far the crowds are exactly what you would expect. Drunk, disorderly and disappointing. But the team has held them back well with little to no disruptions. Successful execution as always. However, the constant flow and attention drawn onto appeasing the crowds made you forget one thing: The body needs to sleep. The constant attention to everything but yourself has distracted your body from the recovery and rest it needs. Sitting down for this half hour to eat and scroll through Facebook, the effects become immediately noticeable. Speech: impossible to understand. Motor functions: harder to use. Sanity: warped. Time begins to slow down and speed up meaning this war will never be finished. The 30-minute break turned into five. Time to end this.

You would never guess it during the day, but the dining area during 12 AM to 6 AM in a 24/7 McDonalds is something else. You begin to understand how wasteful of a species we are. A trash dump is one of the first words that come to mind. Paper bags, boxes, half eaten food, sauce spills, drink stains, melted ice cream, lost wallets and phones all strewn across the tables, floors and seats. Overflowing bins create a greasy stench. The homeless of the city sleep amongst this because it's better than sleeping on the streets. A quick glimpse at the toilets reveals a myriad of monstrosities ranging from faeces on the floor and walls, a flood of urine creating ‘stank’ air as a replacement for oxygen, dried up vomit containing half digested cheeseburgers and used tampons littered about. Six million years of human evolution has lead to this moment. Only you and the coworkers around you can turn this dumpsite into a restaurant that families come into during the day. The bags fill up one by one, ready to be compacted. Where is this waste going to end up? Another landfill? You’re not paid to think about this. You’re being paid to hide it from today’s customers.

Except they won’t let you give you the courtesy to that. The final rush of club goers come in at 4 AM to add more waste and more stress. This rush will be particularly nasty. Complete disregard for everything around them. Settling into the areas already clean. Encamping into spots until 6 AM. Leaving more waste than before to be collected. A strain on everyone’s resources stopping the entire crew from finishing what they need to finish. But that's what sets McDonalds’ overnight workers from the rest of the crop. Endurance of all this bullshit. The kitchen crew will still clean and prepare for the next people coming in. The front counter crew will still stock and clean the restaurant while getting orders out the best they can. The manager on shift will still do the bureaucratic work required to make sure the store continues to run on top of doing what they can to help kitchen and front with what’s needed. A formidable force in the hospitality industry. Unbeatable.

And just like that, the pain ends. The store is clean like nothing happened over the last 7 hours. Everyone is gone and the day is starting for everyone else. Except you. It’s time to rest soldier. The journey home begins.

“Who wishes to fight must first count the cost”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

The body knows it must rest now. Your eyelids are drawing heavier and you're drifting off into the realm of sleep. However, it doesn’t end there. Your dreams are invaded by the events of the past shift. Surreal nightmares that take away all control. Every worst-case scenario that the brain could create is presented in high definition terror. A customer has been waiting four hours for their order. The monitor is overwhelmed with products you don’t understand. You keep packing the orders wrong. The whole team despises you. Failure. Hate. Fear. All for your viewing.

You only had to do one. Now, what happens if you were to do it four to five days in a row? You’ve heard the stories told to you by the real troopers who put themselves through it again and again, living on a reverse sleep cycle.

One of the kitchen crew had told you their “sleep deprivation would build up so much that by the time I got to a day off I would sleep around 16 hours literally wasting it, making it become, instead, a cycle of sleep and work”. A beast that keeps on consuming time and energy the more you dive deeper into.

The sleep after one of these shifts is enough to make anyone feel like they’ve wasted a day. Sleeping until 4 pm just to eat dinner then go back to sleep. Time stolen because recovery was necessary. To someone who had to do multiples of these it then felt like “a void,” where they “would be back and forth between the same two places, doing the same things” entering into what felt “like I was in a dream and granted how little sleep I got maybe parts of it was”.

This is what you agree to and there’s no shame in it. You need money and this is the lengths you and the people around you will go to get it. The hospitality industry is known for its horror stories and granted the customers are significantly worse at this time; although, a small minority remain kind-hearted in these hours. The knot unties and now you have permission to rest easy until the next time.

[favficarchives]

Cheeky Bastards (One-shot)

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x American Kingsman!Reader

Request: Do you think you could write a Eggsy x american Kingsman! Reader with "That's not where I would hide the body." , "I wasn't listening to you. I was undressing you with my eyes.", "That's starting to get annoying." & "Here take my blanket.", please ? That'd be amazing ! Put on some sock was so great ! ❤

Summary: You’re an auxiliary Kingsman agent stationed in the US, and you’re an all-around professional. Eggsy, on the other, isn’t... Genre: Fluff, I guess? IDK. There’s some fluff, some angst. Just generally a light fic to help us all fill our Eggsy withdrawal until September Warnings: Some cursing, but you should really expect that of me by now :p Word count: 1,266

[Masterlist]

A/N: I rewrote this three times because I couldn’t get it just right. And now that I’m reading it again I’m thinking of 5 other directions I could have taken the request, but here we are! I hope you like it, anon!

“I just want you to know, I’m not a fan of you right now.”

Galahad scoffed at your comment.

“How do you feel about me otherwise?” He asked, a cheeky glint in his eyes.

You glared at him from beneath the bundle of scarves and hats you wrapped yourself up in. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone on missions in the northern border states before, but after a 6-week stint in New Mexico your tolerance for the bone-chilling cold was at an all-time low.

“I don’t think that’s a question you want me answer right now.”

The young agent beside you laughed at your bitter response. You wanted to offer another snappy retort, but the burning in your throat and lungs forced you to keep your mouth shut.

As the two of you approached the front door of the Kingsman safehouse, Galahad reached out and opened the door for you. You trekked inside, stomping the snow off your boots and depositing all of the equipment you lugged through the forest. You moved out of the way to let Galahad in and went over to the living room fireplace.

“I’ll get some fires started,” you told him, “you start setting up the equipment and get in contact with Merlin. Tell him I hate him.”

“Gladly,” he laughed.

You and Galahad sat across from each other in front of the fire place, each working on your own laptop and passive-aggressively bickering back and forth about the results.

“That’s not where I would hide the body,” you stated plainly, trying to disguise the frustration you felt. “It’s too heavily traveled. Maybe an amateur would think to use a state park, but we’re not dealing with amateurs.”

Galahad shot you an annoyed look.

“And where would you hide a body, in all your wisdom?”

“Up in the mountains,” you said, shifting a little closer to the fire. “This isn’t really a popular climbing destination, and the only workers who ever really go up there are SARs officers, meaning if anyone does stumble upon a body, it’ll most likely be classified as an accidental death, notanintentionalone.”

You rushed the last few words out as a power shiver overtook you, rocking you whole body and causing your teeth to chatter. The fire was roaring and you were wearing two pairs of socks, but you couldn’t shake the chill from your earlier hike through the woods.

“Here,” Galahad said, removing the thick sheet of wool from his lap and wrapping it around your shivering frame, “take my blanket.”

You blushed in embarrassment and sent a grateful smile his way. While you’d heard many rumors about the new Galahad that painted him as a wanna-be James Bond – a flirtatious playboy who easily found friends on his missions – you’d also heard quite a few rumors depicting him as a kind, sweet guy with a heart of gold. In the few hours since the two of you met, he’d embodied both of those characters seamlessly. The drastic dichotomy was giving you whiplash.

“Name’s Eggsy, by the way,” he said suddenly as he reclaimed his spot by the fire. “Thought you’d like to know.”

You shot him a confused look.

“You’re not supposed to tell me your name,” you said simply. “There’s a reason you guys have codenames.”

Gala- Eggsy shrugged. “It didn’t seem right for me to know your name and you not know mine.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“You know my name?” you asked, not believing him for one minute, seeing as he had yet to use it.

“Well,” he said, a smirk on his face, “I’d know if you told me.”

You sighed and rolled eyes. Here we were, immediately back to the wanna-be Bond. You didn’t want to give in to his ridiculous request and potentially invite more flirting, but you had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t stop pestering you until he got an answer.

“It’s Y/N.”

Eggsy smiled at you.

“That’s a beautiful name, Y/N,” he said, and you almost convinced yourself that he was sincere. But men like him were never sincere. You’d known that since before you joined Kingsman, and years working alongside the buttmunchs confirmed those hard-learned lessons.

“Get back to work,” you snapped, diverting your eyes back to your laptop and ignoring how much more comfortable you were with his blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Well that was a waste of time,” Eggsy grumbled as the two of you began stripping out of your climbing gear.

You’d gone in the morning to check out the most probable dumpsites within the nearby mountain range, but found nothing. You were both desperate to get a hold of the body, hopeful that it could give you some information that you didn’t already have. You, in particular, were apt in the art of profiling, which is why Merlin put you on this mission. With as little information that the Kingsman had available, they needed as much of an edge as possible.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, shaking out your hair as you took off your knit cap, “We figured before that they didn’t want the body to be found as much as anyone with a corpse doesn’t want it found. Now, however, we know they’re going to great – even excessive – lengths to keep that from happening. Before we just thought they were cautious, but now we can firmly say they’re paranoid.”

You turned to face Eggsy, awaiting his input, only to find his distant gaze affixed to your body and not your face. As much as you were able to stand your own, your thermals felt a little too tight under his steady gaze.

“Eggsy,” you shouted sternly, bringing his attention back to you instead of your body.

“Sorry, love,” he said, his signature cheeky grin in place. “I wasn’t listening to you. I was undressing you with my eyes.”

“I figured,” you spat. “You know, that’s starting to get annoying. I mean, I knew you were a flirtatious fuck, but if you can’t get it under control to complete this mission-“

“Woah woah woah,” Eggsy said, eyes wide and hands raised in defense, “I didn’t mean to piss you off. I thought… Never mind, it doesn’t matter what I thought. If you want me to stop, I will.”

“I want you to stop,” you said firmly. “I’m here to do my job, not flirt with one of the knights.”

“Alright,” Eggsy said with ease, walking up to you and placing a soothing hand on your arm. “No more flirting. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to overstep your boundaries.”

You nodded, silently accepting his apology. He gave you a restrained smile before turning away and walking to the work station you guys had set up the night before. Your heart – which had begun racing in preparation for the fight you expected – slowed down almost immediately. You couldn’t remember the last time you confronted a man – even a knight – about his behavior and was met with a sincere apology instead of a defensive argument.

“You know, you don’t have to stop altogether,” you told him, nervously wringing your hands as a smile tugged at your lips. “I mean, it might get a little too quiet if you had to stop talking entirely.”

Eggsy’s gaze shot up at you, confusion and offense written across his face as he prepared to defend himself against the accusation. His angry expression, however, quickly melted into a smirk and a roll of his eyes when he saw your impish smile and the teasing twinkle in your eyes.

“Cheeky bastard,” he muttered.

A/N: Ayyyy, there it is! I hope you enjoyed it! And for reference, requests are always open, though I can’t promise a time frame for turn over. I try to work quickly, but life gets in the way and I don’t want to publish anything I’m not at least 90% happy with  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[ao3feed-petyrsansa]

The Disconcerting Case Of Dwellers Hollow

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xli5OI

by Black_Lotus

He ran, quick and desperate he charged through the darkness of the deep forest, leaves crackling under foot while twigs snapped, a ridiculous chorus sung by nature that only existed to scare and torment; so inscrutable. He ran. The June evening air bit at his cold pale skin, as though Jack Frost had a personal grievance with him, some nips almost as sharp as a blade gliding over his cheekbones, slashing them. The dark-haired man continued to run, couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, the words played like a mantra in his head slowly tuning into a prayer or an oath, he didn't know and didn't particularly care, or maybe it was more that he didn't have the metal focus to care. Police behind him and escape before him, body panting and panicked, heart drumming in his chest. An owl hooted and green eyes darted up to it though they never actually saw the creature, too dark were the depths of the forest, just another part of nature's chorus.

Or, Three years had sailed by since Petyr Baelish took the CEO crown of Lion and Stag Enterprises and all is going exactly according to his plan... until fate intervened. Petyr finds himself suddenly bombarded with new problems but he won't let his wife and children suffer for it.

Words: 3110, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Wolves And Mockingbirds

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Petyr Baelish, Sansa Stark, Original Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark Child(ren), Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Varys (ASoIaF), Lady (ASoIaF), Original Characters, Olyvar (Game of Thrones), Ros (Game of Thrones), Tommen Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon, Brienne of Tarth, The High Sparrow (ASoIaF), Theon Greyjoy, Yohn Royce, Yara Greyjoy, Edmure Tully, Lysa Tully Arryn, Tristan Amyas Eddard Baelish/Thorin Marx (OC), Poppy Baelish (OC), Gwendolyn (OC), DS Sebastian Larroquette (OC), Dr. Jefferson Von Voltaire (OC), DI Oren Heyerdahl (OC), Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane, Robert "Sweetrobin" Arryn

Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Murder, Murder Family, Blood and Gore, Oral Sex, Sex, Rough Sex, Kissing, husband and wife, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Brothels, Petyr's Smirk, Prostitution, Guns, Song Lyrics, Cover Art, Dark Sansa, Sarcasm, Flashbacks, Explicit Sexual Content, Older Man/Younger Woman, Male Homosexuality, Brave Sansa, Scars, Lies, Don't Trust Anyone!, I mean it, Dumpsite, cleaner, Knives, Conspiracy, Lollipops, Steampunk, Gothic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xli5OI

[jodybouchard9]

3 Shocking Ways Playrooms Are Ruining Your Kids

iStock

As a former nanny and the mother of a 2-year-old, I’ve been on a mind-boggling number of play dates and, as a result, visited the homes of many families. While these houses vary in size and decor, one thing they almost all have in common is a playroom—that space solely dedicated to mountains of toys.

As much as parents might think they’re doing their kids a favor by carving out a whole room for all of their stuff, I’m going to come out and say it: I hate playrooms!

It’s not just because I detest clutter, a characteristic that playrooms have ad nauseam. It’s because I think playrooms are actually bad for kids—and, believe it or not, many experts would agree. Here’s what’s wrong with playrooms, and some ideas on how to make over this space for the better.

1. Playrooms are where forgotten toys go to die

Let’s just start with the obvious fact that playrooms are an utter mess—I’ve rarely seen one that’s neat and tidy, except for maybe in the Land of Nod catalog. Children run through them like sugar-fueled tornadoes, while parents quietly close the door and do their best to forget what lies on the other side.

But here’s why that’s bad: When you keep all those toys in one place, it’s just too much for any one kid to play with, or even process.

“Today’s children live in a highly stimulating world that can be overwhelming,” says Sharon Saline, a licensed clinical psychologist.

As a result, many toys in playrooms get forgotten. Little Bobby’s beloved Tonka truck from his last birthday? It’s under that pile of superhero costumes in the back corner (by the way, the costumes no longer come close to fitting him). You know, between the bottomless bin of Lego bricks and the basket of orphaned baby dolls.

Plus, when we let our children throw their toys in a basket or on the floor, we teach them that it’s OK to disrespect their belongings. It’s also confusing to let children treat one space like a dumpsite, and expect them to treat the rest of the home with care.

2. Playrooms are isolating

While the goal of a playroom is to contain the chaos and spare the rest of the house, keep in mind that this means your kids will spend the majority of their time there, too. This could mean you don’t spend as much time together.

In other words, there goes the whole family bonding thing. And that’s just sad, right?

3. Playrooms are a missed opportunity

Playrooms are often the default for extra rooms, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Here are some alternatives that will be much more meaningful for your kids and your family.

Art studio: Rather than filling the room with random toys, hang your child’s artwork on the walls. You can also set up an easel and stock the space with washable paints, crayons, and crafts supplies.

Child-friendly gym: Encouraging your children to be physically active and healthy is a gift that will last them a lifetime. Consider transforming your space into a miniature gym with soft tumble mats, exercise balls, and, depending on your children’s age, even appropriate weights and resistance bands and sliders. Music is always a great idea too, so keep an upbeat playlist ready to go and consider investing in a quality sound system.

Meditation room: Every home—especially one with children—can benefit from a Zen, quiet space. And believe it or not, children of all ages are in need of down time. Why not invest in some comfortable floor pillows, a tranquility fountain, and yoga mats? A space like this can be especially handy for children who have dropped their nap but still need a little alone time to decompress during the busy day.

Family library: It’s no secret that books can start to pile up over the years, from those classic novels you never had a chance to read to the books your children receive as gifts and hand-me-downs. Instead of hiding them in the basement or in boxes, fill your extra room with decorative bookshelves that really honor your books and put them on display. Important: Don’t forget to keep all books within your children’s reach—meaning on the lower shelves. Fill the space with comfortable floor pillows and chairs where your children can take some time to really enjoy reading.

  How to declutter a playroom for good

If you’re feeling overwhelmed at the idea of decluttering your playroom for good because your family has already acquired an excess of toys, don’t fret. Whitney Gallagher, a mother and sixth-grade humanities teacher in Los Angeles, suggests making your children a part of the decluttering process.

“Pick out a few toys with your kids, and keep them at eye level where they can access them when they’re ready to play. Store the rest of the toys in a bin away from your child’s view in a closet or basement,” she says. “Chances are, they will forget about the toys that have been packed away, and you can reintegrate them at a later date. If your child does end up missing a toy that has been packed away, it can easily be retrieved.”

The post 3 Shocking Ways Playrooms Are Ruining Your Kids appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

[echoeternally]

Happy Easter Echo, I hope you're doing well today. Also have you watched/read Delicious in Dungeon? It's really really good and you can catch up on it.

Happy Easter Art! Hope you have a nice holiday too. (And yay, I answered this one on time, finally!)

Also, yes! I am actively watching Delicious in Dungeon, alongside X-Men '97, something from Star Wars, aaaand some reality tv shows.

DiD is fun! It's an enjoyable show to follow. The latest arc got serious though, so now I'm curious where it's gonna go! (Didn't read the manga, so I'm ripe for emotional devastation!)

[rightafters]

Lingering Lines (in Varying Degrees of Tension): Tracing Waste Circuits in Yogyakarta

This text was written during a research period with soft/WALL/studs at Cemeti- Institute of Art and Society, Yogyakarta, Indonesia. The link to the original text could be found here.

A landfill imaginary: heaps upon heaps of desiderata emptied onto a milky chaos: a surround smell. The stink miasma wafts under torrents of rain and heat. The nose is not a device to switch off, neither is it an organ that closes nor retracts, it has no defense mechanism. Your feet sinks into a slurry of miscellany, it becomes an imperceptible fragment with the other scraps of plastic straws, plastic bags, leftover vegetables, chunks of rubber, a styrofoam cup, a bottle cap, packaging of a laundry detergent, a head of a toothbrush, hundred particles of soil, or dirt, clumped between hairs, the plant entangles its roots. The landfill is a frontier, a flat earth without frame, horizonless.

A Provisional List of Actors in the Waste Circuits of Yogyakarta

TPST Piyungan administrative office Waste workers in TPST Piyungan Managers or middlemen in TPST Piyungan Caretakers ‘Weeds’ Insects: flies, dragonflies, beetles, ants ‘Pests’ Toxins and leachate Villagers around TPST Piyungan (who may or may not work in the landfill) Cattle Recycling companies Gases: methane, carbon dioxide, oxygen and other simple hydrocarbons Bacteria and viruses Tourists; the tourism industry Ministry of Public Works, government of the Special Region of Yogyakarta Consumers Tropical weather Etcetera

The word ‘waste’ comes from vastus, with the same Latin root as the word ‘vast’ and its vacant neighbours, vanus, vaccus and the verb vasto, ‘to make empty or vacant, to leave unattended or uninhabited, to desert’. Early usage of the word ‘waste’ suggests a dual connotation of immensity and emptiness: unpopulated country, the enormous, desolate regions of desert or wilderness. Since waste is imbued with the terminal conditions of valuelessness, finitude and dissolution, the landfill is seen as a crypt where the final fate of things rest, a space outside of the temporal punctuations of human-time and teleology. Thus, the landfill feels unthinkable, not because it is insensible but rather, over-sensible, saturating our response-ability with its intense, reticulating sensorium that exceeds human proportion. But to read the landfill as a void, chaos, total disorganisation, is to deny any response. The reading of the landfill-as-chaos is ironically reductive, a lip service to complexity. 

On soft/WALL/studs’ research period in Yogyakarta with Cemeti, various constellations of the group visited TPST Piyungan (Tempat Pembuangan Sampah Terpadu, or integrated waste treatment plant) to study the region’s waste cultures, communities and infrastructure. Less than a timeless landscape, TPST Piyungan was bustling with activity. Clusters of waste workers, a sickle in their hand, gleaned the banks of the landfill for aluminium tins, glass bottles and plastics of all variety. Makeshift huts of canvas, umbrellas and spare wood served as sorting stations. Herds of goats and cows devotionally grazed the surface of the landfill, with plants flourished along its streams, salvaging the leftovers of nutrient modernity.

At the risk of romanticising the landfill as an agricultural idyll, these workers work in potentially toxic conditions under an informal wage labour system. At least half of the waste workers of the estimated 450 total are also domestic migrants, coming from towns outside of Yogyakarta, such as Monosari. They are tolerated by the landfill’s administration, rather than governed or provided for. For many, the work is an opportunity that spreads by word-of-mouth within social networks of friends and family. It was mentioned that despite state investments into medical waste disposal technologies in hospitals, some medical waste end up at TPST Piyungan due to infrastructural gaps. One waste worker we met works into the night with a headlamp. Even though the landfill is officially designated as a controlled landfill to maximise space and reduce environmental degradation, an administrator we interviewed jokingly remarked that he wasn’t certain if the landfill practiced open dumping now.

A Story of Landfill Gases, Rain and Bacteria

In the early morning of 21st February 2005, villagers living near the massive Leuwigajah dumpsite in Bandung, Indonesia awoke to the sound of three muffled blasts. In an avalanche of melting plastic, fire and refuse, 143 people and 71 houses were buried under trash heap that extended 1000 metres and rose up to 9 metres. The residents were mostly waste workers who picked daily at the dumpsite. The avalanche has been caused by an unexpected collaboration of aerobic bacteria, gas buildup within the waste mass and heavy rainfall. National Garbage Care Day held on 21st February was initiated in remembrance of this incident.

Speaking to the administrator, it became clearer that TPST Piyungan was far from its frontier imaginary. Yet, this imaginary returns to haunt in the construction of landfills. Started in 1995, TPST Piyungan receives waste from most of the Special Region of Yogyakarta, including Bantul, Sleman and Yogyakarta city, and was slated to reach maximum capacity in 2012. A landfill can only be built 2 km away from residents, away from water sources, power and telecommunication lines. To prevent the runoff of leachate into the region’s groundwater, the landfill must be built at lower elevations, like the southern Bantul city. Such design considerations made Piyungan a near-suitable site, save several inconvenient footnotes: there were villagers in the radius of the proposed site; three of five houses in the area were acquired by the state (with the details of the two other ‘acquisitions’ left unexplicated); as well as existing ecologies within the site itself. Locals joke that Bantul is the cleanest city in the entire region, even though the city collects its waste. The frontier imaginary is embedded in waste infrastructure that must render its mechanisms opaque: out of sight, out of mind. Pak Sorono, the caretaker of Cemeti, informed me that rubbish from Cemeti used to be disposed at a dump in the vicinity of Alun Alun Kidul, the city’s square, which is a popular tourist area. In recent years, the dump has been closed, which means that Pak must travel 10 minutes by motorcycle to Pasar Ngasem to take out the trash. The tourist city strains itself, with more and more tears on its urban fabric as it frantically hides the seams.

A Story of Villagers around TPST Piyungan

A stream of garbage trucks adds 500 tonnes of waste into TPST Piyungan daily. In 2015, villagers around the landfill barricaded its entrance for a few days, seeking higher compensation from the state. The act of protest caused an administrative shift of landfill from the municipal authority to the regional government. The administration not only manages technical issues within the landfill, but more so recently, they mediate social conflicts. On the car ride to the landfill, we saw a banner that wrote: “Bantul: where dreams come to die.”

At Pasar Ngasem, garbage collectors sorted assiduously on top of a truck, compressing unruly clumps of stuff into a packed heap. Pak pointed out a collector’s motorcycle installed with baskets and frames, which were filled with potentially valuable items, such as spare parts, recyclables and other paraphernalia, from the waste they filter through. Not everything in the bin goes to rest at the landfill. Some end up at Pasar Senthir, a secondhand market that sells an array of tchotchkes, wholes and their parts, priced on a whim and lowered on your bargaining tactics. No item is too broken or dirty to be loved here. Others end up at ‘waste banks’, municipal recycling stations where residents could deposit their recyclables for some money. Even at TPST Piyungan, plastics of every assortment are sold to recycling companies to make other plastic bags or asphalt for road works. But where exactly are these recycling companies, the waste worker we interviewed did not know.

Like the dumps, waste banks and secondhand markets scattered across the city, Piyungan is one node of filtration that allows waste to saunter in and out of the circuit of overlapping value regimes. Asking the same question (“where does this go afterwards?”) to garbage collectors, caretakers and sanitation workers encountered during my trip, I received staccato strokes of waste-lines that formed an ersatz map of the city’s refuse underbelly.

“I leave the trash bags on the front yard every morning, where they are cleared every Friday. And afterwards—“ To begin to think through waste is to take narrative risks, to take imaginative leaps beyond the capitalist plot of manufacture-use-disposal, and to sense them as things that shimmer across regimes of value, desire and utility. To render a moving thing: where does it go, where does it go. It is an ethics of sensing that thaws the imaginary of a frozen landfill, thinking in entangled lines, storylines, that tendril and spread, tighten and slacken with one another. Could we begin to diagram waste circuits as a bundle of lines, rather than a network of terminal points with assumed connections. Pulling at one thread reveals the knots and loops of many others. Rather than a black hole of modernity that the lifeline of all things lead to, take the landfill as a single line among other lines, in media res, middling around. And let its perfume linger awhile. 

[ao3feed-petyrxsansa]

The Disconcerting Case Of Dwellers Hollow

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xli5OI

by Black_Lotus

He ran, quick and desperate he charged through the darkness of the deep forest, leaves crackling under foot while twigs snapped, a ridiculous chorus sung by nature that only existed to scare and torment; so inscrutable. He ran. The June evening air bit at his cold pale skin, as though Jack Frost had a personal grievance with him, some nips almost as sharp as a blade gliding over his cheekbones, slashing them. The dark-haired man continued to run, couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, the words played like a mantra in his head slowly tuning into a prayer or an oath, he didn't know and didn't particularly care, or maybe it was more that he didn't have the metal focus to care. Police behind him and escape before him, body panting and panicked, heart drumming in his chest. An owl hooted and green eyes darted up to it though they never actually saw the creature, too dark were the depths of the forest, just another part of nature's chorus.

Or, Three years had sailed by since Petyr Baelish took the CEO crown of Lion and Stag Enterprises and all is going exactly according to his plan... until fate intervened. Petyr finds himself suddenly bombarded with new problems but he won't let his wife and children suffer for it.

Words: 3110, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Wolves And Mockingbirds

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Petyr Baelish, Sansa Stark, Original Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark Child(ren), Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Varys (ASoIaF), Lady (ASoIaF), Original Characters, Olyvar (Game of Thrones), Ros (Game of Thrones), Tommen Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon, Brienne of Tarth, The High Sparrow (ASoIaF), Theon Greyjoy, Yohn Royce, Yara Greyjoy, Edmure Tully, Lysa Tully Arryn, Tristan Amyas Eddard Baelish/Thorin Marx (OC), Poppy Baelish (OC), Gwendolyn (OC), DS Sebastian Larroquette (OC), Dr. Jefferson Von Voltaire (OC), DI Oren Heyerdahl (OC), Daenerys Targaryen, Sandor Clegane, Robert "Sweetrobin" Arryn

Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Murder, Murder Family, Blood and Gore, Oral Sex, Sex, Rough Sex, Kissing, husband and wife, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Brothels, Petyr's Smirk, Prostitution, Guns, Song Lyrics, Cover Art, Dark Sansa, Sarcasm, Flashbacks, Explicit Sexual Content, Older Man/Younger Woman, Male Homosexuality, Brave Sansa, Scars, Lies, Don't Trust Anyone!, I mean it, Dumpsite, cleaner, Knives, Conspiracy, Lollipops, Steampunk, Gothic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xli5OI

[echoeternally]

Happy Valentine's Echo, I hope you have a great day today.😊

Aaaahhh I'm always late for these!

Thank you Art! It was actually a very lovely day today for me. I hope you had a wonderful holiday too!

[echoeternally]

It's been a while since you've done this but. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Years to you Mario and Bowser! it's been so long since we've asked you guys so how have you been? Also Bowser are you and your fellow Koopas and the Yoshi's excited to release their inner dragons in this year of the Dragon?! so anyways I hope you guys have an awesome Year of the Dragon.

Hmm, I don't really do these any more, but, for old time's sake, let's see if I can shake some rust...

"We're a bit late, but we're doing well and looking forward to the new year! 2024 will hopefully be filled with opportunity."

"Bwahahaha...this 'Year of the Dragon' should be a great one for me! After all, how could it not? I've got enough dragon in me to make it even more prosperous than previous years!"

"Hey, I'm a dragon too! Will it be great for me?"

"Uh...sure? ...We don't talk or bond much, do we?"

"Nope!"

"First new goal for this year, and then many more after that, then!"

[echoeternally]

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Echo! I hope your having an amazing holiday with your family and loved ones.🎄❄️🎅🏼

Thank you again Art!

This has been a very busy holiday season, which came more or less on top of a very busy trip abroad just a bit before. Very hectic but very enchanting times!

I wish all of the best to you and yours as well! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, best wishes!

[echoeternally]

Happy Halloween Echo! I hope you'll have fun tonight.👻🎃🐺

Bah, I'm late for this. But, thank you very much again, Art!

I hope you had a fun night! It was quiet for me, but I had a party prior to that day, so I had plenty of enjoyment before

[echoeternally]

Merry Christmas Echo!🎄🎅🏼I hope you're having an amazing holiday with your loved ones, and that you'll be successful in the New Year.🎆🎇

Oh, thank you so much Art! You always remember me on the holidays, that's so sweet. 🎄

Christmas was nice, on the quieter side this year, but lovely regardless. The shopping leading up to it was the crazy and draining part, but it ends up being worthwhile by the end when everyone's happy with everything.

I hope you enjoyed your time as well! Thank you for the well wishes to the New Year, and I wish for the same to you too! All of the best. 🎆