#How to Build Business Credit Without Using Personal Credit

[bumpen-underbeds]

It's university, everyone's doing something or someone, but what if there was a bet on who could do you? Natural science is just an extra credit course after all, who says they can't make better use of class time?

I just wanted to write about a bunch of different monster/hybrids being horny little freaks. This will have multiple 'chapters', so to speak, with different monsters, and reader variation on gender. The one highlighted in red is the one staring in this 'Chapter', but this is just the set-up post for the bet.

Part Links: Werewolf | Vampire | Demon | Bunny Hybrid | Satyr | Dog Hybrid

The class isn't even part of your main degree; you just needed the extra credits to be able to apply for the actual course you wanted to take the following semester. An introduction to Natural Sciences seemed to be a mix of students like you, science majors and people using the class to pass time without caring if they get more than a passing grade, and sure, the people who sat on either side of you were okay, but none of your friends had taken this class and so the lectures tended to drag on a little.

The teacher was okay; she is an older bird hybrid that apparently has been teaching this course since she was hired at the university. Despite how long she must have been dealing with students who didn't care about the class, she still gave the course the attention that it needed without letting some of the bludgers fall too far behind.

Yet you are ever thankful for the approaching end of the semester, yet still dreading the exams that would come before the bliss of the break, sitting in your usual spot, waiting as the teacher took to the front of the room holding a clipboard as the screen behind her announced the final project for this semester.

Under the bold title card were the words you dreaded to see: group project.

You just have to hope that whatever gaggle of students you get thrown into are passable and present enough to actually want more than just a passing grade. Many of the other students in the class have the same kind of dread about seeing a group project as the final for the semester, in particular, the group at the back of the class, the whole semester was nothing but barely passing and messing with each other that is if they actually showed up for the lectures and not just the labs or dissection.

Ten minutes in, and groups are being called out, watching as the students you would have loved to have in your group are sectioned off to other areas of the room, your name still not having been called at all. Panic and stress build as you finally hear your name called, with your head in your hands, you hear that you are in the bigger group due to the odd numbers in the class, slumping over at your desk as the others for your group come and drop themselves around you, two of them slinging their arms across your back as they jokingly announce they are 'your problem now'.

Your teacher at least looks a little sympathetic as she announces that you will be in your groups for the rest of the class time.

The loud conversation around you of your absolute mess of a group manages to hide the groan you let out, looking to the side at the smiling dog hybrid that is playing with the zip of your pencil case. He smiles at you and tilts his head, nothing going on behind the hazel eyes as he tells you that he didn't know someone so cute would be into natural sciences, his tail wagging a mile a minute, before his head is pushed down by the werewolf who calls him 'shit for brains' with a growl.

This is going to be one hard slog of a final project.

Excusing yourself to go and talk to the teacher about how hard your group will make what should have been an easy project, you miss as others share a look and lean close together as they speak.

While you are busy, a bet begins to form, each one placing different stakes between each other to rope the next person in. By the time you're back, your group is back to smiling and joking with each other, trying to pull you into the strange dynamic they share, the gesture is somewhat soothing even as the rest of the class time passes with nothing being done beyond sharing numbers and getting the nickname 'Lambkin' in the group chat.

Two days and one group session planned later, another student texts you, not wanting to start drama, but looping you in on the bets you had been unintentionally made part of.

The werewolf and dog hybrid had the same bet going to see which one could get you to take their knot first, the vampire and demon each betting they could get you to let them feed off you before anyone else so much as got to cop a feel, and the bunny had bet against the satyr to see which one could get you alone at a party with them.

After reading through the details, you can't do much more than smirk to yourself. If your groupmates were going to try and make a fool of you, then who's to say you couldn't string them along right back? It may not be an easy task, but with a little bit of planning and some now grateful foresight, you could have these dumbasses eating from the plan of your hand and maybe even pass your final while your at it too.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: Not My Business

Danny Fenton develops a unique set of skills throughout his life. He knew how to disarm a bomb when he was seven, thanks to his Dad making minebombs in the front yard as a ghost defense. (They only covered humans in ecto-goo, but it was the same concept of not wanting to have it explode on him)

He knew how to fight with a bo-staff only because he had to fight off the meals his parents brought back to life with a broom. He knew how to balance a checkbook, file tax forms, and properly build credit by the time he was ten, thanks to the years his parents ran a business at the kitchen table.

His sister taught him how to charm rude customers with a smile, how to lie without flinching, and how to complete all his assignments on time, despite having only a few hours to do so. She spent a lot of time volunteering, often dragging him along, which allowed Danny to build up his resume with both soft and hard skills he likely would never have thought there was a name for.

Problem-solving, teamwork, communication, time management, adaptability, data analysis, cybersecurity, data entry, and copywriting were the skills that Jazz focused on the most. She all but beat them into his head.

Along with cooking, sewing, basic plumbing, basic mechanics, and budgeting. Jazz was the one who looked for practical abilities.

That left time for his mom and dad to teach him things like forging, combat training, reprogramming everyday objects into weaponry, defending his position before a board for grant money, turning everyday household liquids into knock-out gas, and how to talk his way out of traffic tickets.

Not to mention everything he learn as Phantom.

Danny knew how to verify jewels and gold due to the years spent in the ghost zone fighting off pirates and treasure hunters. Phantom's reputation made him a target for many ghosts who wanted to add his rarity to their collections.

How to command a room, then a town, and finally an army. Diplomatic missions increased in number as he began meeting with the leaders of various sectors within the Ghost Zones.

Really, Danny didn't make a whole lot of sense, if anyone bothered to ask him how he came to this set of skills. The thing was, unlike the rest of his family, Danny was far too reserved to show them off. He edged the line of shyness from a young age, which sometimes bled into reclusive tendencies.

He didn't get anxious from social interactions; he just didn't feel like seeking them out. Sam and Tucker felt a similar way, as they were always willing to talk to a stranger, but they tried to branch out of their safe little bubble to make friends rather than acquaintances. Then the summer between sophomore and junior year happened.

Sam, Danny, and Tucker left tenth grade as plain losers only to arrive in junior with a splash.

The trio noticed that people were staring at them more intensely than they had been before. That they were used to, what they weren't used to was that the stares were not mocking or dismissive.

It was odd, but it didn't click on why that was until winter break, and more specifically, Star's Holiday party.

Ever since the fourth grade, Star hosted the biggest party of their generation. Her parents owned the local fun center, which featured indoor kart racing, laser tag, arcade games, paintball, and virtual reality pods. Everyone tripped over themselves to be given an invitation as she offered a full day and night of free entertainment at the center.

It always ended with wild stories of teenage fun that Danny always wanted to see in person, rather than hearing about in the hallways the next day. Not that everyone in their grade went. The invitation list was super selective (Star's parents did lose a lot of profit for letting their daughter do that)

You either received an invitation from the party girl herself, or you were asked to be a plus one, which was just as much of an honor as it was a symbol of social status among the teenage population of Amity Park.

The trio was never invited, which is why they were already making their way to the student parking lot when Star stood in the courtyard, holding up the scarred envelopes. Inside them was the bracelet that one had to scan at the door of her center to let people in. It was how her father ensured only the agreed-upon guests stayed at that number.

In the middle of making plans for hot chocolate at Sam's favorite poetry slam cafe, Star had run at Tucker's car, practically falling over to knock on his window. Danny had never been so confused in his life as his friend rolled down his window to arch a brow at the girl.

She stuttered her way through a pathetic request for fashion advice that Tucker easily answered in two sentences. Sam snickered as Star seemed unsure what to do with Tucker's lack of interest in her or her popularity.

Ever since Tucker started focusing more on his self-confidence and joined the fashion community, he hadn't been so girl-crazy nor as desperate to get one's attention.

Just as Danny reminded Tucker that other cars were waiting for them to clear the road, Star had pushed three envelopes into the driver's hand and run off with a red face.

Tucker stared at the envelopes in his hands with a wild look that both Sam and Danny shared. They slowly kicked their brains back into gear when an angry honk from the car behind them sounded, and they ended up silently driving the cafe, still in a daze.

Jazz laughed herself silly when they rang her up to ask if she thought it was a trick (Sam was sure they were going to be Carrie-ed), a mistake (Danny insisted Star had gone to the wrong car, but due to the tinting, didn't realize until it was too late). Or a genuine invitation (Tcuker had always been the most optimistic of the three).

"Haven't you three ever wondered why Spectra used emotion-based ectoplasm for her appearance?" She giggled, "It makes people hot. And you guys literally spend all summer in the Ghost Zone during your internships, feeling human emotions while being exposed to natural ectoplasm. You three came back looking good."

That was a shock.

The summer apprenticeships had been a compromise between Sam and her parents. They were growing tired of her not growing out of her "phase" and were threatening to send her to a military camp to straighten her out.

Thankfully, Jazz had stepped in, brilliantly changing their minds into allowing the college student to match Sam up with a well-known friend as a mentor. She even threw Danny and Tucker into her "program" to further show that it was just what Sam needed to stop her from being a troubled teen.

Since only Maddie and Jack knew about Phantom, it took some effort among all of them to create fake websites and legitimate-looking summer programs before Sam, Tucker, and Danny arrived in the Ghost Zone in different vehicles to spend their summers. It helped that Ghostwriter owed them a favor, and he brought the programs to life.

Danny was learning medical practices of various species with Frostbite. Sam was with Princess Dorathea, learning how to govern and manage a large estate. Tucker had taken Wulf up on his offer to join him through the Ghost Zone's wildness, allowing Tucker to experience life off-screen and learn more about animals.

Jazz had said she placed them out of their comfort zones, but with trusted ghosts that could help them build well-rounded characters. At first, it wasn't for them, but the trio found themselves falling in love with their activities.

By the time they came back, they had many stories and exceptional skills to share with their parents. Sam's parents weren't happy she was still a goth, but they did appreciate her newfound determination to connect with them and her interest in running companies like the family business.

Tucker's parents were amazed by the muscles he gained and how he started to limit his screen time. He still loves his tech, but now he was branching out into fashion, helping out around the house, and appreciating animals and nature like never before.

Maddie and Jack watched as Danny grew more empathic while becoming more sure of what to do in stressful situations. Confidence that their son desperately needed had been gifted to him over the summer. He no longer lowered his eyes or slouched, even if his awkwardness lingered a bit.

That apparently made them hot? Yes, it did.

At Star's party, even though the three kept to themselves, laughing and hanging out as normal, people were constantly attempting to talk to them or simply flushing whenever they made eye contact. Danny, Sam, and Tucker all agreed that they no longer wanted to be popular.

They stay firmly behind unbreakable walls even as the party skyrocketed them to the same level of popularity as the A-listers (they refused to join the club). The three were more excited to return to their summer internships the following summer.

By the time graduation rolled around, Danny, Sam, and Tucker had been voted the most attractive and the most likely to succeed. They were a new type of untouchable royalty walking the halls of Casper High.

It came as no surprise that their resumes and internships got them offers from various colleges, not to mention their looks. Jazz, by that point, was still working on her degree at Gotham U, so the three chose to go there.

Danny was studying to become a doctor, Sam was in business, and Tucker chose computer sciences. They had moved into a house that Sam's parents bought for them, allowing Jazz to move out of the dorms into the spare room. Things were going great for a while, living in the big city and being adults on their own for the first time.

Then Danny applied for an internship at Martha Wayne Memorial Hospital in the administrative area- Sam convinced him it would be a good way to get a foot in the door when he applied to medical school. He needed someone to write him rec letters.- And one night, when he was working late on data entry, he happened to see Batman's maskless fall out of a portal produced by a trenchcoat man.

The trenchcoat man carried Batman to the abandoned operating room that had been left behind when they remodeled the place and converted it into offices, followed by the rest of the Bats. Their faces were covered entirely, but it did not hide their worry as they rushed to catch up with the pair.

A woman wearing scrubs pushed through the portal and the group of masked heroes, barking out orders to prepare the room.

There was a magic spell wrapped around the group that typically would have made them invisible, and erase their importance in the mind of whoever looked at them, as if they were from a forgotten dream. Still, Danny's ecto contamination made him immune to the spell, so he witnessed the whole thing.

Huh. Bruce Wayne was Batman. Neat.

Danny figured it wasn't his business and turned back to his two monitors to finish the Excel spreadsheet he was working on. He later left after saving his work, ignoring the fact that he now knew why the operating room had been left untouched, despite having all that technology on standby.

He would get home, mention it over a plate of reheated pizza, while Tucker would be working on an essay due at midnight. His best friend would shrug, claiming his own ectoplasim had made him immune to Poison Ivy's plants- they were shockingly similar to some of the plants Wulf and he encountered in the Ghost Zone- and had seen Red Robin's face after the man had been sprayed in the face and some of the powder lingered on his mask.

Apparently, Tucker's midnight essay writing had given him a familiar, dazed college look of exhaustion. Still, since he wasn't freaking out at the man eating plants, Red Robin had thought him too gone on whatever Posion Ivy how dosed the crowd of hostages with, to worry about his bare face. He had merely moved Tucker somewhere safe, stabbed him in the thigh with a needle, which had been rude according to Tucker, and run off to fight Ivy.

Red Robin was Tim Drake. Neat.

The two changed the subject to a TV show, but eventually Tucker had to focus on his essay, and they fell silent.

The following morning, Sam reported that she, too, had figured out a Gotham Hero's identity by accident. Her ectoplasim contamination had made her an attractive goth, who was approached by a blushing Damian Wayne to ask her to model her alternative style for his art club.

At the offer of a bit of pocket change, Sam had agreed to follow the art club president to a park where a group of teenagers were setting up canvases and easels. They asked her to sit on the park fountain for a few hours while they tried to capture her likeness in charcoal.

During the session, she noticed a change in Damian's movement as he grew more relaxed and his old habits began to shine through. Princess Dorathea had taught her the dangers of the court and how to notice little changes in body language that could keep her safe.

She thought it was odd that Damian moved like an assassin, reaching for a small knife in the same way he wielded his charcoal. It made sense later when she was rescued by Robin on her walk home from a would-be mugging and noticed the same little habits.

Robin was Damian Wayne. Neat.

If three of the many Bats were Waynes or connected to the famous family, it only logically makes sense that the rest were all Waynes too. Double neat.

The only one who was sincerely shocked by this reveal was Jazz, who had not even a hint of suspicion that Bruce Wayne was Batman.

"This is huge!" Jazz gasps, "Don't you guys realize how crazy this is!?"

"I mean, sure," Tucker slowly responded, sharing a confused glance with Sam and Danny. "But it's not really our business, is it? It's not like Danny is in the hero scene anymore."

"Well, yes but come on it's Batman!"

"I don't think Batman even cares about us, much less his Bruce persona. As someone from the bottom of the first class, trust me, the top of the first class doesn't even notice us taking up space. " Sam laughs, shaking her head. Danny hesitates to mention that Bruce Wayne has stopped by his office multiple times to bring coffee for all his coworkers, but figures the man must do that for all his employees.

Miles and miles away in Wayne Manor, Bruce narrows his eyes at the three screens displaying three newly graduated teens covered in paranormal residue. It's possible that they were all haunted and just didn't know it, which was a common thing, according to the Justice League Dark.

After some digging into their background, he found that companies, summer camps, and internships had all been fabricated by an incredible hacker who provided an oddly convincing cover-up for the various skills the trio possessed. Again, the Justice League Dark also stated that it was common, as that was a tactic the Otherworlders frequently used on humans to leech onto them.

Like a gas station in the middle of nowhere that was there and then it wasn't a few days later.

The three weren't experiencing any negative emotions, which meant whatever was haunting them would soon pass, and it wasn't necessary to intervene. Zatanna promised Bruce that everything was fine.

He had some doubts.

So far, the three have been doing everyday things that first-year college students typically do, and yet, Bruce's children have reported seeing the three often in their civilian lives.

Foley worked out at the same gym Dick did and was often at the ramen shop Jason just helped one of his friends open. Manson began spending time at Cass's favorite café and attended Duke's poetry nights as an observer. Fenton, the male one, was literally working a few floors below Tim.

A coincidence?

Or was it something nefarious at play?

Bruce decided to wait and see what happens.

[pcharming7]

So there’s this new tabletop game called Trench Crusade that I’ve been reading up on, and here’s some of my favorite lore tidbits so far:

-The whole setting is an alternate timeline where the Knights Templar found a portal to Hell in Jerusalem during the Crusades and opened it, plunging the world into a forever war with demons that’s lasted into 1914.

-The church has made multiple clones of Jesus called Meta-Christs. There’s at least seven of them, and they’re harvested for their flesh which turns you into a horrifying mutant with superpowers if you eat it.

-The initiation ritual for the human fighters of Hell, the Heretic Legion, involves traveling to the gates of Hell and coming back without being burned alive. The only way for a human to survive Hell is to be a bad person, so even the basic infantry is made up of grade-H (for Hell) certified pieces of shit.

-The Heretic Legion has a unit called an Artillery Witch. They use magic to teleport bombs from factories and then throw them at people.

-The Hashashin still exist in 1914, and they use special drugs that briefly send their bodies into the future so they can attack from multiple places at once. They also build up toxins in their blood and then use said blood to make poison knives.

-In the official timeline there’s an event in 1477 that just states “The city of Argos is taken by God and it is no more,” and there’s no elaboration on what that means.

-There’s a lot of little alternate history moments that boil down to “it didn’t happen because Europe was too busy fighting Hell.” Protestant Reformation? European Colonialism? Who has time for that when you’re being attacked by a wolf with a chainsaw for a face?

-Not a lore tidbit, but it’s a genuine miracle that the creators aren’t those weird alt-right Crusades or Roman Empire LARPers, given the game’s general aesthetic and subject matter.

So yeah, Trench Crusade is absolutely insane so far. I’m still on the fence about it as a game, but the lore is all kinds of insane and I can’t wait to see how it gets fleshed out.

Official website because proper credit is important:

[phoebejaysims]

Boutique Mod - DOWNLOAD

Inspired by the sims 2 shopping for clothes system, I present a sims 3 take on buying clothes, accessories and running a thriving boutique! Set up shifts, keep the racks stocked, and you might find yourself in profit!

Required:

Ambitions

NRAAS Master Controller + Integration Module

Optional:

ITF if you want to use the clothes mannequin and some visual effects.

Late Night if you want the animations for the security guard.

Seasons for extra interactions on the mannequin.

Savvy Seller Set for some visual and audio effects.

Full Documentation is included in the download. I spent a while writing it out, so please read thoroughly!

How Stores Work:

Set up a shift

Hire Employees (bosses count as employees so stores are fully functional with only one sim!)

Link at least one rack to the register

Open for business!

Employees:

Store employees can be given three types of roles: register attendant, sales attendant and security guard.

Employees will do their jobs automatically but you can always manually tell them to do things too like: restocking, dressing up mannequins, helping customers, among other things.

Customers:

Inactive and active sims can browse through the racks and have the ability to purchase items. They'll interact differently depending on if they are shopping at a clothes rack, accessory rack, or at a mannequin.

Inactives won't purchase outfits from mannequins unless you direct them to (or you enable auto-purchasing in the XML). However, they may "fake" buy clothes.

Once finished shopping, customers hold their bags and wait to be rung up! Take too long and they may abandon their purchase.

Shopping:

Adjust prices and restrict customers by age and gender to customise your store!

Clothes Racks:

Buy Clothes for your own sim, sims in your household, or (if you're an employee) suggest clothes for customers.

Employees that suggest clothes for customers can fulfil Ambition Stylist jobs this way.

Accessories Racks:

Choose accessories to be sold by adding them to the XML in the package file. The XML comes loaded with a few base game items already plus a couple modded items (Arsil's Sunglasses and lipstick - that won't be loaded unless you have them installed).

Sell buy-mode items as well as CAS items!

Make your CAS items wearable from your sim's inventory using your own meshes or my dummy accessory (see Documentation and XML for details).

Blacklist certain categories from being shown. If you want a dedicated shoe shop or an opticians, you can have it!

Try on products before buying them to see if they suit your sim. If there's a mirror in the room, they'll check themselves out in it.

Clothing Mannequin:

Try on the mannequin outfits to see if they suit your sim.

Plan different outfits to display and even set them to be rotated through seasonally.

Let your employees be creative and choose a random outfit for the mannequin to wear.

Buy clothes for your own sim, household members, or customers.

Allow or disallow inactives from automatically purchasing display outfits.

Security Gates:

Give your security guards something to stand and look threatening by.

You can try your luck at stealing from the shop. If you're caught, you'll have to pay up. If you get past the gates (or if there are no gates), enjoy your bounty!

Boutique Door:

Cloned from the Savvy Seller doors without the annoying 'kick-every-last-person-out-the-building-come-closing-time' feature.

Link this to a register and let the open and close sign automatically flip itself. Also, close the store or rename it, straight from the door.

Phone Interactions:

Ask for time off work (paid or unpaid).

Call in sick.

Cancel vacation days.

Credits and Thanks:

@dhalsims for adding geostates to the ITF rack for me. Modders, I really recommend her if you need any 3D models made also!

DouglasVeiga for the BG rack with the geostates.

@aroundthesims for allowing me to use her objects in my mod as always!

Sims 4 for all the animations that I converted.

Simstate & merchant mods for the idea to go into a mode to link racks to the register.

The OG shop for clothes mod and pedestal by @anitmb.

Arsil and @zoeoe-sims for wearable CAS items idea that I adapted.

Ani's Candle mod & Amb. Makeover XML which I looked at for inspo on how to do accessory rack xml.

Compatibility:

All new objects so shouldn't conflict with anything really.

Removes the 'plan outfit' interaction from dressers.

Made on version 1.67.

If you would like to donate as thanks, please feel free to do so at: my kofi! I don't take your generosity for granted!

Download: - Simblr.cc - 2t3 Boutique Mod Suggested Extra CC: - Lyralei's TS2 Conversions (incl. clothes changing booth) - More ATS3 Security Gates - ATS3 Friperie Set

Known issues, prop information and the full feature breakdown are all in the documentation.

Please be patient with me if there are bugs to fix. Also, anyone who DMs me "I don't know how to create a new shift" will be immediately fined £150.

With that said, please enjoy the mod and tag me in your beautiful boutiques,

Phoebe :)

[slowdrawl]

| Material Interest | Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader | 7.5K words | {1/?} ✨INITIATION✨

Summary: You take an internship at Legacy Capital, where everyone thinks you’re a nepo baby. Harry Castillo. Your mother’s boss. The CEO, shouldn’t be paying you any attention. He wasn’t supposed to touch you. You weren’t supposed to like it. “When he sets his mind on something…on someone. He won’t quit until it’s his.”

this fic is going to go absolutely crazy. I'm so damn excited about it! |WARNINGS| slowburn/angst/eventual smut/obsession/power dynamics/age gap/alcohol/grief/corporate rot/pov swaps/inner voice spirals (duh)/sd/sb themes/

The worst part about being an intern isn’t all the men who look at you like you don’t exist. It’s the ones who look at you like you’re the only person who does. You worked your ass off in business school to get here. Graduated with a 3.96 in your finance program at Berkeley, for God’s sake.

You earned this. But that doesn’t matter. Does it?

Because your mother is the CEO’s assistant. And your father was one of the firm’s original founders. A name they quietly erased from the history books.

Your entire résumé might as well be blank.

Doesn’t matter how many nights you didn’t sleep. How many times you studied until your eyes burned. Doesn’t matter that you applied under your mother’s maiden name. Anyone who’s been here long enough remembers exactly who you are. You thought about just saying no. Thought about applying to a different firm. Hell. Maybe even leaving Manhattan altogether.

But walking away from an opportunity at one of the most prestigious private equity firms in the state? That would’ve been suicidal. Career-wise, anyway.

They call it a fortress for a reason.

And Harry Castillo? He inherited the throne.

// The birds weren’t even singing by the time you woke up. Thirty minutes before your alarm was supposed to go off. 

First day nerves, you guess.

There’s been a pit in your stomach ever since the offer letter came in. Since your mom looked at you with that face and asked if you were really sure. As if anyone could turn down Legacy. You didn’t even have a choice. You rub the sleep from your eyes as the shower heats up, grabbing your toothbrush on the way into the stall. You let the water bead down your back and breathe deeply for a while; the warmth soothes your muscles, but it doesn’t do much to erase the tension in your brain. When you get out, your fingers are pruned, and you shiver at the sharp contrast of cool air hitting your wet skin. At least it offers a little relief. Fresh and clean, you drag yourself to the closet and sift through your limited options. Half of the tags are still attached. Three-quarters of them were paid for with money you don’t have. A credit card that you couldn’t even dream of paying off right now. 

You look at your reflection in the mirror and tell yourself you need to make sure you look the part.

Not that anyone in that glass palace would even care. They’ll take one glance and clock the difference immediately. You’re not like them. Not one bit. Even if your father's name used to be on the side of the building. 

He died before Legacy was even that. Before the name, before the fortune. Before the reputation. Your father, with the help of Henry and Harry Castillo, founded Castle and Co. a year before you were born. It didn’t start off with glass walls and coffee makers more expensive than your first car. No. It started as an idea between friends at a kitchen table. Eventually, that table would turn into a boardroom in an office smaller than this apartment. But they were eager, and they were smart; and between the three of them, they had just the right connections. The firm grew faster than any of them could have imagined.  

Your mother was hired at the beginning of year two. She was twenty-seven, without the slightest clue how to work admin, no knowledge of the finance world. She had been a hairdresser up until that point. Working at a Cost Cutters, just so they could make ends meet. But it wasn’t long before profits began to roll in, allowing your father to take enough of a draw every month to keep the bills paid without her needing to continue busting her ass for minimum wage plus tips. She worked reception, doing all the admin, acted as a personal assistant to the whole team, and then some. She worked endlessly through her pregnancy to prove to the men there that she deserved a place. 

And now here you are. Twenty-four years later. About to do the same thing.

Like mother, like daughter, you suppose. You take the first dress off its hanger, laying it out on the bed. Then the second. Then the third. And by the time the sun is bleeding through the blinds, your bed looks like a Macy’s clearance rack. Maybe something dark…Edgy, you don’t want to be too soft.Eventually, you settle on a grey sheath dress, throwing a matching blazer over top before strapping on your only appropriate pair of heels. They might be cheap by their standards, but hopefully nobody notices. They will. You do your makeup by muscle memory, a small black wing, still sharp enough to cut. The rest of your face practically bare, nothing too much, nothing too little.

Clean. Corporate. Pretty.The hallway is still dark when you head for the kitchen, your mom won’t even be awake for another half hour. ‘Interns are always expected to be early.’ Her words play over in your head as you press down the toaster lever. You’re out of margarine. Fuck my life. You grab your keys and bag, shrug on a coat that you pray looks expensive enough to pass, and head for the door, scarfing the toast down dry. The elevator groans when it starts moving. You stare at the number ticking by, your heart knocking against your ribs. The streets are surprisingly empty for a Monday in New York. It’s too early for traffic, apparently. It’s not too early for nerves, however. The whole drive is spent replaying your mom’s words. ‘Are you sure?’You weren’t. You still aren’t. Your fingernails are nearly folding over themselves from digging into the steering wheel as you pull into the parking garage beneath the building. Legacy Capital looms above. Glass and cold steel, harsh angles and hard attitudes. The fortress. Before you get out of the car, you flip your visor down and check your makeup in the mirror.

‘You have to look the part.’

A quick touch-up on the edges of your lip-liner, a bit of gloss. You re-curl your lashes and—fuck. The mascara wand slips out of your grip, smudging black across your thumb and onto the cuff of your blazer. Don’t panic!

You dab at it with a fast food napkin, with saliva, with anything you can find. It fades, mostly. You tell yourself it’s fine. The air in the lobby smells like freshly brewed coffee and money. People here move fast. They look fast, dress fast, all sleek lines and glinting watches. The heels you picked out click against the concrete in a rhythm that feels too loud for 7 AM. You hate how that makes you feel so small. A receptionist gives you a well-practiced smile while she hands you a security badge. 

You politely introduce yourself to the woman, Sherry, whom you learned has been here for 7 years. She gives wine aunt vibes. “I think you’re set to meet up with Fawn upstairs on the thirteenth floor. Have you met her? “No, I haven’t met anyone here,” you say nervously, “could you tell me what she looks like?”

She looks back at you and smiles again, and it reaches her eyes this time. “Short, blonde, you’ll know when you see her.” She gives you a wink. “Elevators are just to your left, good luck, darlin’” You thank her, with a voice tighter than you’d like. The badge feels like it weighs ten pounds on your chest. This elevator does not smell like sweat. It smells like citrus and cologne. It’s perfectly polished steel, you can see yourself in the door. Upstairs, the office is colder. Quieter. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast sterile, white sunlight through the clouds. Glass-walled conference rooms stand like cages, or maybe fishbowls. There is a tension on the floor that you can feel in your bones, dull in your molars. You’re looking for Fawn when you feel it. Before you even see him. Harry Castillo. He moves like a man used to being watched. Not loud. Not showy. Just…impossible to ignore. God. He even walks rich. His eyes meet yours. Your heart jumps to your throat. One look and he’s already made you nervous, scared. Intrigued. You’ve met Mr. Castillo a handful of times, maybe four or five. But it’s been many, many years. You were still a freshman in college the last time you saw him. When you were young, he’d come by when he was in California for work, he would come to your home and have dinner, drink wine, and talk with your mom about your father. He would ask you about classes, simple, easy. Conversation that you never thought twice about. He sent Christmas cards and gifts until you were a teenager. He and your dad had been close before his death, best friends even. Or so that’s what you were told. You’ve always figured that part of him felt guilty about your mom leaving the firm, about selling her shares, and taking you west. She had no idea that she was giving up millions of dollars by selling so soon. Nobody could have ever predicted just how much of a legacy Castle & Co. would become. Maybe that’s why he kept in touch. You don’t remember him being this handsome. Everyone else in the office looks like they’re drowning in starch and being strangled by their ties. 

Not him.

Dark brown suit, relaxed fit but tailored perfectly to his body. He has a lighter knit shirt under the jacket that’s cut barely low enough to show the edges of his collar. No tie in sight. The color palette complements his complexion so well that it should be illegal. His hair is brushed back slightly, curls falling perfectly messy… like he’s been brushing his fingers through it just right. He’s the kind of put-together that makes the rest of the floor look like they’re trying too hard. “Distracted?” You twitch, startled when a low voice drags you out of the daydream. And when you look to your left, he’s close, so close.  You feel your face heat up. “No, of course not, Mr. Castillo.” You immediately straighten your posture, “Good morning.” “Good morning. First day?” he asks, holding eye contact. “It shows.” “Yes, sorry. I’m just looking for Fawn.” You take the opportunity to break eye contact, scanning the office. You can still feel his eyes on you. It’s making your palms sweat, your pulse is kicking in your throat.

You try to slow your breathing. It doesn’t help. Now all you can smell is him. Cedar, grapefruit. Heat. “Ah. I think she’s just finishing up with a phone call,” he says, “Her office is down the hall on your right.” His gaze flicks down, slowly. Appraising. Your skin prickles under it. He doesn’t have to do anything more than look. Then his eyes stop on your blazer. Before you have a chance to react, his hand lifts. He wraps his fingers lightly around your forearm and draws it closer to him. Your breath gets caught in your chest. You go completely still. His voice is quieter now, less amused. “What's this?” he asks, dragging his thumb over the barely there stain. The mascara, the stain you thought nobody would notice. Your stomach drops. Of course he noticed, of course. Of course, you already look like a mess. Your first day and you’re already wearing your fuck-up on your sleeve. Literally. “Oh. It’s just…mascara.” Your voice just barely makes it out. “I—I must have missed it.” You so desperately want to pull your arm back. You cannot. Not until he lets you. He looks back at your face, his brow ever so slightly furrowing. “Be careful,” he says, thumb making one last slow pass before he drops your arm back down to your side. “Nobody will miss a detail in this place.”

Your skin burns where he touched it. He holds your gaze for just a second longer. Then straightens. “Good luck today, it’s nice to see you here.” You nod, “Nice to see you as well, Mr. Castillo.” And with that, he’s gone. 

Glides his way across the room toward the elevator. You exhale. It’s too fast, too shaky. Your heart refuses to slow down. Why does he smell good? Why does he feel like that? Why are you shaking like an idiot? Girl. Get it together. You square your shoulders and smooth your sleeve like that could undo what just happened. You do another sweep of the room, spinning now, just looking for anyone blonde at this point. You don’t see her, but you do catch one more glimpse of him. Just as the elevator door starts to close. Adjusting his lapel, still staring at you, an unreadable expression etched into his face. You need to find Fawn. Now.

// He couldn’t be in the same room anymore. He’d seen enough. Too much. She wasn’t supposed to look like that. Wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. She was frozen, still in his mind as eighteen. Spitting image of her parents. Michael’s daughter. The quiet kid from dinners with Janey in California. Not this. Not a woman who would stop him cold in the middle of the damn floor. First day. Of course it was. Of course, she was nervous. He should have walked past her. Should have let Fawn handle the introductions. Shake her hand at some formal moment, say something forgettable, keep the distance where it belonged. Instead, he waited for her to come in. Instead, his feet carried him closer before his mind caught up. Instead, he’d touched her, looked too long. Felt the kick of her pulse. A metronome under his hand. His fingers flexed against his side. Careful. That one had been for him. Not her. Harry reached the door to his office. Rested a hand against the handle for a moment, collecting himself. Then stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. And exhaled the breath he’d been holding since he smelled her shampoo. // The glass walls are half-frosted, half clear. The light filters through in bands. The Legacy insignia is etched clear, towers and all; clean through the center in a perfect strip of glass you can’t help but glance through. It’s hard to make out, but through those letters, you see her. Fawn is standing with her arms braced on her desk, palms flat. She’s leaning over her phone with her head tilted slightly, mouth moving fast as she speaks. She looks sharp. Focused. Someone used to running at this pace. You shift your weight around, waiting for her to finish. Being sure not to fidget too much. Trying to ignore the way that your pulse is somehow still climbing. Focus. You need to stop thinking about how he looked at you. Fawn sees you peering into the office, and you watch as she hangs up the phone and waves you inside.

Closer up, she’s a bit softer, but in an almost… artificial way. She must be in her late thirties; it’s hard to tell. Her face is half expressionless from the filler and Botox in it. Her cheeks and lips are full and youthful, teeth sitting in her mouth like they were manicured just for her. “Hello! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says, rounding the desk to walk toward you. “I’m Fawn, Janey said you’d be starting. You look so much like her!” She reaches a hand out toward you, and you take it, giving it a firm shake, trying to fight back the cringe from the mention of your mother. “Thank you.” You fight the cringe that hits your spine. “I’m excited to learn.” “That’s what we like to hear.” She picks up a stack of paperwork from the desk and shuffles it into a black Legacy-branded folder, and holds it out to you. “Your onboarding packet. Intro materials, HR paperwork. Your Slack info. Most of it’s digital now, but they still like burning ink, just for us to have something to hand over.” You take it, gripping the edges. Something solid to hold onto. You’ll take it. “Have you been shown around yet? Met anyone?” “Just reception,” you say, lifting up the badge Sherry gave you earlier. “Oh, and Mr. Castillo.” Fawn grins, but it's brief. When you mention him, her eyes narrow a bit. Furrowing. Confused. “Harry—Mr. Castillo’s rarely down here this early, someone here must have…” She trails off, mouth tightening for just a moment. You can see her weighing her words. Then she shakes her head, clears her throat. “Well. Doesn’t matter.” But it does. You can feel it in the way she straightens out her shoulders, the way her voice goes a shade cooler. “Come on then. I’ll show you around,” she says, ushering you out the door. You trail behind her as she walks through the hallway, briefing you.

“You’ll spend most of your time here in Portfolio Ops,” she says, swiping a key card to get through to a separate corridor, “You’ll shadow me, pick up some project work, sit in on some internal sessions whenever possible.” It’s going to take some time to get used to this place, to really learn the lay of the land. It feels like being in a snow globe. You’re trying to focus on what she’s saying, trying to make a mental map of the place, but you’re already fighting overwhelm. She hits the down arrow on a different set of elevators than you came in on. She presses the lobby button once you’re inside. “A few other interns were hired alongside you. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them, so play nice. I know it’s competitive out here—” The door opens. A man in a suit that probably costs more than your rent steps inside, coffee in hand, looking annoyed. Fawn slides you down to the corner of the elevator and leans closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Just don’t feed into it, we keep notes. It’s always going to be in your best interest to rise above.” The door opens up to the main floor, you’re on the opposite side from when you got here this morning. Sherry lifts her head and gives you a slight smile as you pass her. You return it and keep moving. You struggle to keep up. Her heels click like an angry keyboard through the lobby. She’s so tiny, how do her legs move so fast in those shoes? “We run fast here. I don’t expect perfection.” Fawn stops suddenly, you almost walk into her while she turns to look at you, “I expect effort.” You nod. Tight. She continues on. “People will watch you…you especially.” She raises a brow, knowingly. You can feel your expression tighten. Yes, Fawn. I know that people think I’m a fuckin’ nepo baby. Story of my life. “Ignore it. Just work clean. Keep your head down.”

“And this is the cafe,” Fawn says, nodding her head toward the far side of the floor past reception. “Don’t expect privacy. Everyone passes through here eventually.” She’s calling it a cafe, but it feels a lot more like a stage. More glass walls, black marble, and steel. Nowhere to hide, the kind of place people go to caffeinate, heat up something fast, and get the hell out. Unless you’re into being watched by everyone who walks through… It’s tucked near the east windows, the espresso machine looks like it belongs in a Bond villain’s kitchen. There are a few low black tables and too few seats. It was designed to be functional, not comfortable. There's a long polished bar along the wall with high stools and a very intimidating-looking microwave. “This is where our interns usually eat,” she says, pointing to the higher corner table. You nod again, still trying to absorb it all. Before you can say anything, a woman approaches from the far side of the floor—dark hair pinned back slick, a crisp white blazer that contrasts beautifully against her skin. She has a tablet balanced in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. Fawn looks toward her, waves her down. “Perfect timing. This is Patel—she’s been with us a few weeks. She can help get you settled in, yeah?” She looks at her and nods her head as if she’s already accepting the offer for her. Navleen looks at you for a moment, then a smile tugs at her lips, maybe a bit forced. “Nice to meet you,” she says, reaching out. “I’m Navleen, you can call me Nav, or Patel, whichever.” You shake her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s a lot at first. You’ll catch up.” “Thanks.” Fawn checks her watch.

“I’m going to leave you two to it. I’ll see you back upstairs, first meeting is at ten.” She goes to turn toward the elevators but stops and looks back at Navleen, “Patel, there's a free desk next to yours. Go get her settled in.” And just like that, she hands you off. “So, how’s your first morning going? Need coffee?” Navleen asks. “Actually, yes. I haven’t met my caffeine quota yet.” She grins. “Good. You’ll need it if you’re planning on surviving the rest of the day.” You glance around while you wait for your coffee. No one here looks relaxed. Even the way people sip their coffees feels performative.

She leans in. “There’s a Nespresso on Port Ops, the coffee from it tastes like burnt plastic. Most of us just get it down here, it’s no fun pulling a ten-hour day running on bad coffee.” “Good to know,” you say, smiling back at her.

You order, and Navleen leans back against the marble bar while they make your drinks. “So. You already met Harry?”

Your stomach twists. “Mr. Castillo?”

She raises a brow. “Saw you two talking earlier.”

You steady your voice. “He just said good morning, introduced himself. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” Navleen sips her drink, eyes flicking to you. “Takes a few days before you stop feeling like you might faint in front of him.”

You look down at your cup, “I didn’t expect to run into him.”

She shrugs. “No one ever is.”

Another sip. “But hey—it looked like you handled it. Not everyone does.” You grip your cup and give her a smile you don’t quite feel. She hums, tilting her head. 

“Just sayin’. People watch. You’ll figure that out.” A second passes, and her smile turns into a smirk. “Not always for the reasons you think.” The nerves you’d managed to calm set back in as you sit and drink your coffee.

She glances at her watch. “We should head back up. You’re in the bullpen for now—across from me and Isaac. You’ll meet him. He’s nice. A little too nice sometimes. Never shuts up about his partner. You’ll see.”

You laugh softly. “ he sounds harmless.”

“Harmless is usually where the real stories start.”

She pushes off the bar, coffee in hand, and heads down the hallway, looking back at you to encourage you to walk with her.

“Biggest tip? Keep your head down this week. Make friends,” she pauses for a moment as you step into the elevator, “Don’t outshine anyone.”

The door opens, and she nods for you to follow her. “Walk faster. We don’t linger in the halls. It’s a thing.” You speed up. “This section’s mostly juniors and interns,” she says, quieter now. “You’ll sit across from me, which is tragic for you, but good for me.” You pass through the offices, and a lot more people are here now. Most of the doors are closed, a few open just enough to offer a glimpse of someone hunched over a desk, whispering into a headset. The layout of this area is too open to feel safe, too quiet to feel casual. It feels like the kind of place that everyone could hear it if you fucked up.

Navleen gestures at a clean workstation, the desk is minimalist, and dual monitors are already set up.

“Here you go. Welcome to the fishbowl,” she says. “We pretend we’re not watching each other, but we are. It’s part of the fun.” Okay so it’s not just me who feels like a fucking beta fish. You give her a polite smile, pulling out the plush, leather office chair and putting your purse below your feet. Okay, this is fine. I’ve got this, I didn’t dissociate the entire morning at all. You drop into the chair at your new desk, coffee within reach, fingers twitching against the edge of the folder that Fawn handed you earlier. You take a few deep breaths and open it.

The first page is a welcome letter printed on heavy cardstock. The Legacy Capital logo is embossed into it with gold foil; the cardstock probably costs more than your printer back at home. The wording is formal and robotic: “We expect excellence, discretion, and professionalism from all of our team members, regardless of tenure.” It’s just a letter, but it feels like a warning. You turn the page. Org Chart. You freeze for a second. His name is printed right there at the top of the pyramid, also in gold foil. Harry Castillo. Your mother’s name is there too, tucked near the bottom under Executive Assistant to the CEO. You scan through the names, nobody notable, not you or Navleen, just a block labeled Intern Pool.

Figures. Next is a sheet of systems and logins—Slack, internal drives, and different formatting guidelines. Specific brand fonts for decks, company colors, black, gold, and white. There’s a section of file naming protocols that’s two damn paragraphs long. Communication Guidelines: ‘Transparency is key. Digital communication is monitored.’ You hum to yourself. Most of this certainly reads like a threat.

The HR packet is next, there’s benefit info that doesn’t apply to you yet, a copy of the NDA you already signed before starting, and an Ethics Compliance Form. You close your eyes tight for a second, then push past it. A small black and gold enamel pin slides free from one of the inner pouches. Legacy’s tower insignia stamped into it like a seal. A talisman. Did I just join a cult? You set it aside.

Lastly, on the bottom of the stack, there’s a Legacy-branded notebook—satin black cover, thick paper. On the inside of the cover page, written in gold: ‘Build your Legacy. Leave your mark.’ A bit ominous…but very on brand for this place. When you flip to the back of the notebook, you see your mother’s handwriting. ‘Proud of you. Keep your head down. — Mom x’ You stare down at the notebook for another few seconds. Build your Legacy. Leave your mark. The floor still feels like it's buzzing beneath your feet. Your head is still swimming. When you glance up, Navleen is already in deep conversation across the room, headset half on, fingers flying over her keyboard. You should be doing something. You pull your laptop toward you, tap it awake, and start clicking through Slack. Channels. Messages. Too many messages already. You try to focus. Try to look busy. A message pops up on the screen. Fawn: Ready? Meet me at Conference 2. Ten sharp. Instantly, your heart kicks up. You straighten your blazer, shove the onboarding folder into your purse, and pick up the notebook. And stand. First meeting. Deep breath. Don’t fuck this up. Conference rooms are on the floor above Port Ops. The floor layout is basically the same, a little more spread out, fewer people crammed in there, bigger rooms. You walk down the hall, all half-frosted glass walls like everywhere else. Your mother is already inside the office. Through the tower emblem, you can see her, seated perfectly upright, laptop already out on the table in front of her. Next to her—Harry. He’s standing, his jacket off now, the shirt he’s in is short-sleeved, he looks almost scandalous compared to the folks in crisp suits and dress shirts around him. He’s talking to someone on the opposite side of the table. Your stomach knots. Of course. First real meeting, and my mother and him are both here. Please kill me. Just as you start to force your feet forward, Fawn appears beside you. “Hey!” she says from behind, “you ready?” “As I’ll ever be.” You push down the nausea and clear your expression. Both heads turn toward you the moment Fawn pushes the door open. Your mother gives you a soft look, her lips ever so slightly curving up. Harry’s gaze slides over to you, slow. Then he steps back, casual, hands in his pockets. “Here she is,” Fawn says. “Our new addition.” You force a polite nod to the room. “Good morning.” “Morning,” your mom says quickly, like she’s trying to fill the space before anyone else can. She gestures lightly. “Have a seat, sweetheart.” The word hits your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Fawn motions for you to sit, conveniently across from Harry. Why am I sweating? He doesn’t say a word. He just watches for half a second too long before sliding into the chair beside your mother. The meeting begins. It’s part orientation rundown for the other interns and yourself, half schedule discussion.

You do your best to pay attention, writing down meaningless notes in your notebook, but your pulse keeps doing something weird every time Harry shifts in his seat. Every time your mother mentions “Legacy culture” or “building relationships within the firm,” your skin crawls. You can feel Harry’s eyes flick toward you again and again. You don’t dare meet it. When he finally speaks, i’ts low, calm, and smooth. You nearly drop your fucking pen. “Intern schedules can stay in Ops. Let's keep it clean.” Fawn just nods along. Your mother types something on her computer, brow furrowed in concentration. You stare at the words, leave your mark inside your notebook cover, and fight the urge to laugh. Or cry. The meeting starts to wind down, and people begin to gather their things. Harry stands up first, shrugging his jacket back on, movements smooth as ever. When he passes your chair, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t say a word.

But as he rounds the glass door, you glance over. He’s already looking back. The door clicks shut behind him, and your shoulders sag before you can catch it. Around the table, chairs scrape, and voices pick back up. The meeting is officially over. Fawn gives you a quick smile as you reach for your notebook. “Good first round,” she says under her breath. “You’ll get used to these quick.” “Thanks.” Across the room, your mom is still gathering her things up, just taking her time. Of course. She crosses to you just as the others file out. “You okay?” she asks quietly, her voice is bright, too practiced, too corporate. Then it drops lower, “You looked a little nervous.” “I’m fine. First day jitters.” You say, forcing a smile. Her gaze lingers a moment, searching your face. “Just keep your head down,” she says softly. A repeat of the note she left. “Don’t let them see you sweat.” You nod at her. She exhales. Then, says, “Come on then. I’ll walk you back up.”

You fall into step beside her, both of you moving through the halls like it’s normal. Like you’re not being watched already. Like people aren’t already thinking it. The rest of the day passes by in a blur. Emails, Slack messages, and system tutorials you could barely absorb. Patel tried to pull you into a few casual chats after introducing you to Isaac, who seemed nice. But she was right, he might actually be too nice. Fawn threw projects at you faster than you could even begin to process them. You smiled. You nodded. You didn’t breathe. Your stomach starts to growl loudly. You look over to the clock at the corner of your screen and— Shit, how is it 5 PM already? No wonder you’re hungry, you survived the day on dry toast, two cups of coffee, and a handful of hopes and dreams.

//

By the time you finish up your onboarding checklist and reread through the code of conduct four more times, it’s 7 PM. The office has thinned out considerably. Only a handful of people remain on the floor as you throw your blazer over your arm and walk out the door. The parking garage is spookier in the evening light. Emptier too. Before you’ve even buckled in, your cellphone starts to ring. You put the key in the ignition and turn. Pulling your phone out of your purse and smiling when you see the photo lighting up the screen. Emeryl. You slide to answer and slap the phone into the dash mount just as their face fills up the screen—grainy, 480P calculator quality, garage reception already choking the call. “Hey! I’m so glad you’re done at wor—oh my god, you look exhausted.” “Thanks, jerk. I am.” You throw the car into reverse, one hand braced on the wheel. “I survived the day. Just barely, but I survived!” They grin at you through the lens. “You better spill. Full report. I need this.”

When you start to speak, you get distracted before the first sentence is out. Out of the corner of your eye, headlights flash, and you hear the doors beep unlocked. Adrenaline shoots through you. A very shiny, very expensive-looking, very black Bentley. In a reserved spot. You mutter under your breath without thinking, “You have to be kidding.” The door swings open. And Mr. Castillo is right there, sliding into the driver’s seat. Still terrifying. Still too good-looking for your blood pressure. “...Hello?” Emeryl’s voice cuts in. “Why aren’t you talking? What’s happening?” “He’s here,” you whisper. “WHO?” You don’t answer right away. “Who is there? Jason fucking Vorhees?” they yell through the receiver, “You look like you’re about to be murdered.”

“My boss. The CEO. He’s…here. In the garage. Getting into his car.” Silence, then— “WHAT IS HAPPENING?” Their voice pitches up. “TURN ME AROUND. I WANT TO SEE.” . “I’m not turning you around, Jesus Christ,” you say, stifling a nervous laugh with your hand. “You’re so rude! I demand visuals. This is crucial information.” Your eyes dart back toward the Bentley just as it pulls into motion. “He’s leaving. It’s fine.” Emeryl groans. “Fine? You sound like you’re going to pass out. What the hell happened in there?” You grip the wheel tighter. “He just walked out when I was leaving. That’s all.” “You’re so full of shit. Start from the top. Did he look at you? Did he say something? Why are you being cryptic?” An exaggerated sigh heaves its way from your chest as you rub at your temple. “It’s nothing…I think. I don’t know.” “Girl.” “Okay fine. This morning, when I got in, he was like…staring at me.” “Okay, I’m intrigued, go on.” “I dropped my mascara wand on my blazer this morning and it stained it.” As you pull onto the street, the call audio crackles, clearing. You glance down, and Emeryl is now in at least 1080P. “This seems super irrelevant right now.” “Sorry. When we met, he got weirdly close to me and grabbed my wrist to look at the stain.” “In like…a hot way, or a murder way?” “Both?” You make a face, “anyway, he also told me to ‘be careful’ and it kinda made me feel some sorta way.” “Is he hot?” “He’s…old.” “That doesn’t mean anything. How old is old?” “Well, considering he was friends with my dad before I was born. I’m gonna have to say, he’s at least fifty-ish.” Emeryl repeats themself, “Okay, but is he hot? You sound like you’re still shaking?” “He’s definitely better looking than I remembered. He’s kinda giving—” you pause. “Wait, did you ever watch NARCOS?” “I don’t think so?” “Oh, okay. Never mind,” The line is silent for a solid thirty seconds. “So he’s hot?” “Oh my god, yes. Yes, Emeryl, he’s hot.” “Sorry, I’m just trying to live vicariously through you. I need office romance drama in my life somehow.” “You’re dumb.” “NO. You’re dumb. What did he smell like?” You’re blushing now. “Rich. Next topic.” “Of course he does,” Emeryl mutters.

“Everyone there looks perfect, too. It’s nauseating. My desk is literally in a glass box, people can see everything, including my $150 Nordstrom Rack blazers.” Emeryl snorts, “Sexy corporate surveillance kink, love that for you.” You say nothing, just shake your head. “Baby, you dress perfectly fine. Don’t worry about that part,” they say. “No, you don’t get it. I already want to burn half my wardrobe. Everyone there looks like they’re on the cover of Forbes.” // Harry all but peeled out of the parking garage. Took the corner too fast, fingers curled tight around the wheel, knuckles white. He hadn’t meant to watch her leave. Tried to look away, failed. She’s in his head. The whole damn drive home he’d barely seen the road. All he could think about was her face, tilted toward him in the office. Her profile in the meeting. The curve of her jaw. Her lips. That little sound she made when he took her wrist in his hand. Idiot. Fucking idiot. Don’t do this. Don’t do this again. He shouldn’t have let Janey convince him to give her the internship. Should have said it was a conflict of interest. Because this is a fucking conflict of interest. He gripped the wheel tighter. Had half a mind to pour a drink when he got home. Maybe two. But even he knew that wouldn’t wash her out. Because that feeling had already crept in, and he knew. It’s going to take more than the top shelf to stop it. When he sets his mind on something…on someone. He won’t quit until it’s his. Regardless of how terrible an idea he knows it is.

//

At this point, you’ve been in the car for 45 minutes in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Getting back has been a total nightmare compared to this morning's ten-minute commute. Emeryl’s been grilling you the entire time about your day. Asking for every single detail. “So. I have a proposition.” “Oh god. Do I even want to hear it?” you groan. There's a small pause, then they say it so casually, like it's the most normal thing in the world. “Have you ever considered just…making one of these rich assholes pay your bills?” You blink. “Pardon.” “I’m serious.” Their voice perks up. “Join one of those sugar baby websites. I had a friend from Twitter in Oakland who did it. They made enough bank to pay off their student loans in like…three months.” You laugh, half-horified. “Em. No.” “Why not? Look at where you’re working. They’re all walking mother wounds with expense accounts. I think you’d be perfect.” “Absolutely not.” “Just look. At least I’m not like…telling you to sell toe pics again. Just make a profile. Window shop. Empower yourself!” “You’re out of your damn mind.” “You love me.” You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Maybe.” “That’s not a no. I’m texting you the site.” “You are not.” “Too late.” The phone buzzes with a new text notification from them. Of course, they sent that. You shift the mount a little, watching the traffic crawl. “Why are you like this?” “Please. You knew what you were getting into when you left me here for the wolves.” “God, I didn’t leave you for the wolves.” You protest. “You left me for New York. Same thing.” They lean in closer to the screen, grinning.

“You’re the only bitch I know who could ace a finance degree and still get tangled up with half the wolves on Wall Street. I’m just trying to make sure you survive it.” Your throat tightens, just a little. You missed them more than you let yourself think. In your first year at Berkeley, you met Emeryl. You were both at the same awful Halloween party. Neither of you knew the host. They found you smoking a cigarette on the balcony and said, “You look like you hate everyone here. Me too.” And that was that. Been each other’s lifeline ever since. This isn’t even the first time Emeryl has suggested you sign up for a website like this. They told you to make an account on Feetstagram a month ago and said, “You have nice arches,” like it meant anything. You considered it. Briefly… But unfortunately for them—and for the internet, you don’t do feet, don’t do feet stuff. Not that you’re gonna yuck anyone's yum. But for you? Nope. Not your thing. You finally make it home and park. Still both caught in conversation, yapping away as you walk into the apartment. One hand is still on the phone as you kick the door shut behind you. “I swear to God, LA traffic is miles better than this place, there are too many fucking bridges.” you groan. “Maybe you should carpool with your mom,” Emeryl suggests, holding back a snicker. “Maybe you should shut the fuck up.” They cackle. “Okay, okay. I’ll let you go. But—” their voice drops, teasing, “don’t forget what we talked about.” You roll your eyes, kicking off your heels. “I’m literally not doing that.” “You promised you’d look.” “I didn’t promise anything, I just said maybe.” They wink at you, grinning. “Let me know what username you choose!” You sigh—half laugh, half exhaustion. “I’ll call you tomorrow, love you.” They blow you a kiss and end the call. When you make it up to your room, you strip off your clothes and drop them straight into your hamper. You pull on an oversized tee and some PJs. You grab a glass of water from the kitchen and flop down on the couch with your laptop. Then you open a blank incognito tab, already shaking your head at yourself. You grab your phone and look at your text thread with Emeryl. Gilded. That’s the website name. It sounds…expensive.

You sigh, murmuring to yourself as you begin to type. I can’t believe I’m doing this. The URL auto-fills, and you exit the page before hitting enter. I am not doing this. Instead, you open Slack. Check your messages. Stare at your onboarding checklist again. Close it. You tap your fingers on the side of your laptop. Emeryl’s voice itches in your brain. ‘You promised you’d look’ You stare at the screen for a hot minute, debating, holding your face with one hand. “Fine.” You type it back in and actually hit enter this time. When the site loads, it's black and sleek and a little too inviting. You hesitate. I’m just looking. Just for fun. Not serious. When you finally click Sign Up, your heart flutters. Do I doxx myself completely? Or do I not… Instead of choosing a photo that shows your entire face, you pick a very sexy, very ominous photo that one of your film major friends took of you in school. It’s you posed leaning back on a sofa. All silhouettes in red light. Only your side profile is showing. Dark enough to stay relatively anonymous, visible enough to pass the website's standards. Now a username. You look around the living room for inspiration, There's a stack of your textbooks on the shelf. FinanceNerd? Nope. Absolutely not. Your eyes land on the old film camera sitting on the table. ShutterBaby? God, that sounds like a cartoon character. No. You chew on your lip, fingers tapping away again. Alumni hoodie. BerkeleyGrad? Kill me, I should give up while I’m ahead. Your gaze drifts toward the bookshelf again. Tucked between your other reads is a battered copy of Inferno. You’ve been slowly working your way through it again, mostly because Hozier sent you through a literary rabbit hole with his last album. You tilt your head. Francesca. Rimini. You hum. Both pretty. But… Your eyes shift to the fridge. There's a crooked little I <3 LA magnet—half a gag gift from Emeryl before you left, half a reminder of home. You laugh under your breath. La Rimini. It’s got a ring to it. A little mysterious. A little old-world, smart. You type it in. LaRimini. Click. You enter your ID information, then check the box that assures you that your full name is only ever made public if there’s a court order. You hit enter one more time and exhale. The profile accepts, and the screen instantly floods with profiles. Men in suits. Men on yachts. Men with smiles that they definitely bought. You scroll. Why did I put myself into this circle of hell right now? You scroll again. And then—

You pause. A profile catches your eye. Your pulse ticks a little faster. You lean in closer to the screen. No way. No FUCKING WAY. If you liked this please leave a comment! it really encourages me to keep writing these fics for yall. if you want to be added to the tag list also comment or send me an ask!!! love you all sm. -Liv

[bitchesgetriches]

idk how much engagement you get but if you're interested in an extra income, I have a free credit repair software and I can make you a referral link so you get a referral fee for everyone that signs up with your link.

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[maybe-boys-do-love]

Because I've really enjoyed Peaceful Property and contributed to the discourse on here around it, I want to spend some time exploring the thoughtful critiques of the show by @bengiyo, @lurkingshan, @twig-tea, @respectthepetty, @my-rose-tinted-glasses, and @one-of-tankhuns-neurons. I started writing this out but then it got all annoying and academic so imma just list rant with the utmost respect for everyone's thoughts for making me think so much about this show.

1.I wondered about what shows might be examples of class division themes done with an orientation toward the lived experiences of the working class in BL, cuz honestly it's just not super prominent and well-done in much of media anywhere. The Aof series where he takes screenwriting credit seem to be the best representatives: ATOTS and Moonlight Chicken, especially, but he touches on macro and micro economic issues in all his works. Aof's really willing to depict the hardships and compromises required when living with less financial security, and I can def agree that Peaceful Property is not offering that. I just personally feel okay with that, because I see the latter show as doing a more theoretical and symbolic narrative about economics, and overt symbolism seems pretty in-line with the ghost story horror genre its using.

2. To me, I see Peaceful Property's main critique of class issues as being about Marxist alienation. So we've got our first two ghosts being really literal with this, where they have a labor they do and a final product that they don't get to partake in. Builder wants to have a meal in the house he built. Wig maker wants to wear the luxury wig she sewed. Then, with rider, we get a lil more abstract with him wanting him and his delivery to be recognized and build a meaningful relationship with someone. And since then we've been getting more and more abstract about people finding personal meaning and supporting others through their labor. But all of it still connects back to this idea of alienation from their labor, the magician, Chef Hong, and Peach are all prevented from performing the labor that brings them fulfillment by different circumstances.

3. For my reading, the queerness is very much part and parcel of its capitalism critique. Agree with it or not, but man x man loving stories have been used historically to run counter to the competition between men fighting for the top spot encouraged by capitalism. Maurice is a pretty prime example of this, where Maurice, instead of pining upward for Clive, ends up choosing the lower-class Alex and running away to be happy together. Pat and Pran's love in the face of their family's business related feud in Bud Buddy is an even closer example to how I think Peaceful Property is contrasting queer love and capitalistic competition. There's a few signals for me that Peaceful Property plans to explore this a bit more. The Cok Long sign reminds me way too much of the slang of "dick measuring competitions" and I don't think they gave us a character named 'Best,' who has reappeared a couple of times for no reason. With the magician, Pang, and Chef Hong, we also have a repeating motif of lost assistants who made the work meaningful and possible, a socialist emphasis on the value of all workers and the need to connect with others to produce their labors of love, which we see thwarted for the queer story line. The fact that the Thai dancing was two men working together to create the art offers an alternative to a competition between men. And I want to say that I'm just talking about narrative devices here, not the reality of how capitalism works. We're very much in symbolist land, with this take. I'm just a sucker for symbolist land, and it's hard for me to watch horror especially without taking my brain there.

4. And then there's the way queerness alienates one from the accepted 'normal,' which has emerged as a dominant theme in the last few episodes. But if we take this theme and apply it back on previous episodes, we can see traces of it throughout the characters. Home's statements have been the most explicit in illustrating an internalized homophobia with his desire to be part of a 'normal family.' And the tensions with his family about whether he deserved to inherit the properties has queer connotations about queer people's inclusion in their families and the legal and financial repercussions of that (What Did You Eat Yesterday is the top tier of detailed impacts of queer rights in that vein). Peach's social anxieties and depressive behaviors, ostensibly related to his close call with death and ability to see ghosts, parallels queer experiences, too, and we see how it shapes his and his sister's financial predicaments. (Aside: I wonder, regarding some of the complaints about their behavior in the context of poverty, if we might better read the two of them as broke middle class characters. We don't have much context about their childhoods, but their behavior has never really presented as people familiar with getting by on a dime.) Queerness and the threats of financial insecurity have been articulated as interrelated by the series.

5. Home's redemption? We'll know more as things get revealed, but it seems that we're meant to see Home's biggest failing as the negligence that allowed him to hit Peace and his cowardice in not standing up to his family and taking responsibility for the harm he caused. If that is his chief issue, in my view of a restorative process (and thank you so much @respectthepetty for naming this aspect of the show!), the necessary amends are...

facing up to his family (partial check)

admitting his mistakes and seeking forgiveness from Peach (he was in the process of doing so in the latest ep)

addressing the distraction that led to his negligence so that he can attend to Peach and people like Peach so it does not occur again (hmmm...)

That last point is key because we still don't know why it was significant that he was on his busy ignoring the call of girlfriend number 32 or whatever. But I'm suspecting it will connect to Home's internalized homophobia (and @heretherebedork has done some great writing about that subtext). That would give the accident a significance regarding horizontal violence between gay men that the privileged can then run away from while others who can't escape have to suffer the consequences. There's lots of ways queer men can and have done this to one another in everyday life and hook-ups but at the most extreme historically we have the the AIDS crisis, where someone's negligence regarding sexual health inspired by the psychological fear induced by being in the closet could truly be a life-or-death matter with major financial ramifications. For Home to truly own his mistake he is going to have to risk his own financial security in standing up to his family, and he's going to have to stop hiding from himself so he can develop compassion for others in the world. And the last scene in which we see him in the same predicament as Home I saw less as a cop out so Peach and the audience would feel bad for him and forgive him and more as a representation of his ability now to truly understand what Peach has gone through.

6. Do I think this series is going to solve capitalism? This show is about the spiritual dimensions capitalism robs from people, and I think it has real answers about disrupting capitalism through reconnection with our relationships to our work and to other human beings. I'm not religious, but I respect religion's ability to help people find and emphasize a deeper meaning in life, and I think that that doesn't necessarily but can challenge capitalist practices. Peaceful Property is working to show how caring about spiritual well-being breaks up the automaticity of capitalism and has never let go of that thread. To discuss Peaceful Property's takes on class division without speaking about its religious elements seems disingenuous to its greater purpose and a bit disrespectful to the Thai culture the series is so infused with. I'm intrigued about how Kan's plot will play out with the Vimarnsukmun family and it's impact on their finances. What would actually disappoint me and run counter to the show's themes is if the gang somehow inherited the family's wealth or properties other than the ramshackle Cok Long Cocktail Lounge. In Aof's work and in Maurice, the endings involve a disinheritance to represent that life is about connection not financial gain, which contrasts philosophically with the upward fantasies of capitalism. So in ATOTS, Tian moves to the village, in Moonlight Chicken, Jim trades out his diner for a smaller food truck, etc. To find the true meaning of home, Home will need to release himself from his attachment to his inheritance of financial privilege. Of course, being dead might be an option for that lol, but we'll see how the rest of the series plays out.

[coffee-seedy]

Valentine's day

Genshin

Day 2: Dan Heng, Gepard, Jingyuan

a/n: istg seedy school is crazy for expelling her just because she's always sick, so im off tumblr for over one week to take care her problem. (Genshin valentine part 2 will be come soon-)

Dan heng

this man is too busy with his book to notice you, even though he is actually currently thinking about a valentine's gift for you. when he was in xianzhou luofu later he would go to scalegorge waterscape to look for something there, the last time he was there after fighting phantylia, he found a beautiful stone that could be used to make rings or necklaces.

so in the end he will go to xianzhou luofu again to pick up the stone, even though he doesn't want to set his foot down there he is forced to do it for you, and only you of course. while on the other hand, you trying to get his attention and are confused because this man has been daydreaming for a long time, what is he even thinking?

valentine's day was approaching and dan heng still hadn't found the stone he was looking for, despair overwhelmed him before finally finding the stone near one of vidyahara's eggs, it's not near but its a bit under the eggs. he had to be careful not to crack the egg or worse, break it and become a sunny side up egg.

slowly but surely he was able to remove the stone safely without the eggs breaking. finally, he took the stone back to the astral express so he could finally shape it into a ring, was he going to propose to you? still not sure, what is clear is that he wants this gift to be the most valuable of all, in other word yes he wants to propose to you.

because he can't make a ring, he commissions someone to do it for him and will pay a lot of credit, the person who made the ring for dan heng agreed and started giving a lot of examples of what the ring will look like. dan heng chose the shape for a long time and finally found the right shape that suits you, the person understood and started working on the project.

day after day passed until valentine finally came, dan heng had gotten the ring and didn't forget to put it in a safe place. while you were wrapping a book you found in belobog and also xianzhou luofu for dan heng. the two of you promised to meet at aurum alley in the afternoon, when you got together you immediately spent time walking around and eating. until finally at the end of the date, dan heng suddenly stopped in his tracks and started looking at you, you who saw him suddenly stop out of nowhere confused about what was happening.

slowly he began to kneel and took out the ring box… “[Name] you are the most precious person in my life, I am kneeling here wanting to ask you something… will you marry me?” you immediately fell silent, not knowing what to answer, tears slowly started to flow from your eyes, making dan heng panic and start to stand up to wipe your tears.

he might not get your answer yet, but he knows what your answer is…

Gepard Landau

captain of silvermane guards and noble from landau family, how lucky of you can get his heart. you and gepard have been dating for a long time, or more precisely three years, but your relationship is very special, even though he is always busy with work, of course he makes time to celebrate valentine's day with you.

this year is like the previous year, but what's different is that gepard is confused about what to buy you, even though you always say it doesn't need to be extravagant, he still insists on giving you the best.

he went to Serval to ask for suggestions for your valentine gift, “oh you gepard, buy them a plushie and a novel. try it, it will work!” he was a bit hesitant and suspicious... but this was his sister, of course her advice was always good, so he did it even though he didn't know what plushies and novels you liked.

when valentine's day arrived, the two of you made an appointment to meet in front of the belobog museum building in the afternoon. so you take the time to get ready and also decorate the valentine's chocolate that you made, when you arrive in front of the Belobog Museum, you don't find Gepard anywhere, maybe he's on his way here.

and of course you were right, you saw him running towards you in his formal clothes and not his silvermane guard armor. it's very strange to see him dressed formally at a simple date like this, but this is what you like about him. he looks out of breath from running out of nowhere so you give him time to normalize his breathing.

when his breathing was stabilise, you first sat near the museum fountain, there you took out chocolate from your bag and gave it to him. "Happy Valentine's Day Gepard," you said to the man and handed him the chocolate, gepard was only silent for a moment before accepting the chocolate from you. when it was gepard's turn to give the gift, he realized... he had left his gift at home.

wow gepard, you are embarrassing yourself in front of your future wife.

Jing Yuan (ft. Yanqing)

The dozing general always has a trick up his sleeve they say, as his wife the facts are true. you don't know what your husband has planned or surprises he makes for Valentine's every year, but that's what you like about your husband in general.

today is valentine's day, and your husband chose to take a day off just for yourself, and yanqing out of nowhere took a day off too... how strange. they both never take a day off on the same day, but you don't care and still spend your time with your little family. the only strange thing is that yanqing is a bit clingier than usual but you don't really mind.

at afternoon, yanqing invites you to go out for a walk, of course, as a good mother to him, you agree without thinking twice. you didn't forget to tell jing yuan that you and yanqing would be out until evening and he just agreed, usually he would grab your waist and tell you to stay.

You didn't really care and left. about walking until eight in the evening, because Yanqing pulled you to the food stalls in Aurum Alley and also to the sword shop. All these activities drain a lot of your energy, so when you two get home, yanqing immediately falls asleep leaving you in the kitchen to store the food you brought. when on the way to your bedroom you see lots of rose petals on the floor leading to your room, when you open the door to your room you find your husband sitting on the bed with only his bathrobe, and what's worse, the top part is wide open shows quite a tempting sight for anyone who sees it.

oh, so this is what the dozing general is planning.

a/n: this should be come out last week, but ye-

[nudibutch]

hey gang. long time no see. i have a few things to update yall on, under the cut -

things have been busy for me over the past several months, been wrapping up my phd, and ive found a wonderful partner im trying to build a life with. as you can imagine all of this has made me present here less. over the years ive posted pictures, ive written porn for the community... and im feeling myself outgrow these things because of where my life is headed. my partner is no less than incredible - but as open as i have been about myself and my past experiences and desires - i really cherish what we have, and i am not particularly keen on sharing what goes on between us with the world here. (sorry, guys!)

what i will share, though, is a bit of how my stoneness has changed over the past few years. at one point in my life, there was a time when penetration was not painful - when i enjoyed being touched - that quickly devolved into discomfort due to several partners being selfish and innattentive. this led me to the stone community - which i am immensely grateful for - and for these years i truly do believe i was stone. i think a part of me still is - it takes immense trust for someone to melt my stone - and ive found a partner that i trust, immensely. thats not to say it isnt challenging anymore - it definitely is - and my body has kept the score. im seeking pelvic floor therapy to not only help with my own sexual experiences, but also for medical reasons (i would like to get a pap without issue one day!). still - i give our community credit for allowing me to explore my sexual identity and expression beyond the normal societal expectations of sexuality - because now i feel like i am my truest self in this sense. i love being a little dyke freak.

that being said... my time here wasnt perfect, and i think i leaned into behaviors that were not helpful to my overall self-confidence. if youre reading this, i think my main message to you is to really reflect on what is serving you, what is making you more confident in yourself, and comfortable in your own identity. you deserve to feel happy and at ease in the body youre in.

regardless, im genuinely glad to have had this community in a very stressful and uncertain time in my life and personal sexual identity. im glad that i could help folks on and off anon by encouraging them to be themselves. all of the heartfelt messages ive received in my inbox over the years truly do mean so much to me.

at the end of the day - this is all just my own personal experience and reflection. ultimately, as i depart from this account, i wanted to say thank you for the folks who were extremely supportive and provided camraderie and laughter and joy in a time in my life when i was trying to find my footing. and for folks who are worried about the most important stuff - yes, my porn archive will remain on ao3. ;)

sluggily yours,

minnow

[sqquidzz]

How would kny characters hurt you in an argument?

Includes: Tanjiro Kamado, Kyojuro Rengoku, Giyuu Tomioka, Sanemi Shinazugawa

A/N: Hello readers! This is an idea I got from a hc post on here, I'm not sure who made it but I give credit to them for this hc idea. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

KAMADO TANJIRO:

I feel like most arguments would start because of Tanjiro's protectiveness of his friends

He would probably start scolding you for doing something he thought was reckless while fighting a demon

Especially if Nezuko we're to be the one to save you and get injured, he would probably be pissed off

Tanjiro is the type of person to bottle his emotions up, so he really just snapped at you

He seems like the person who yells and cries during an argument

He would bring up the fact that you had jumped into danger without thinking, calling you selfish for thinking only about the battle and not of your friends

If someone had gotten injured protecting you, like Nezuko, she wouldn't be able to say anything since she was healing and unable to stick up for you

You would just be too shocked to even say anything to defend yourself, along with everyone else, since no one has seen Tanjiro like this before

Once he finishes, he simply excuses himself quietly, saying that he's tired from dealing with this

Bonus!

Zenitsu would immediately rush to your side to comfort you as tears spilled down your cheeks

This would be especially hard if you had past problems with arguments and yelling

RENGOKU KYOJURO:

Now Rengoku seems like a type of person to be less of a yelling type at the beginning, but slowly builds up his anger to the point that he starts yelling

Usually the arguments are about how Shinjuro treats Rengoku and Senjuro, with Rengoku insisting that he can convince his father to be better

You try to tell him that Rengoku should ask for help to deal with his father, but Rengoku stubbornly disagrees

His demeanor during arguments is different, his eyes looking darker and it seems like he loses his friendly glow

When Rengoku argues back, he usually uses something your sensitive about, like if you had a bad relationship with your parents

He would claims that he's at least trying to fix his relationship with his dad, hitting you hard and causing you to go speechless

rengoku usually just stomps away from the fight when he's done saying his mind, leaving you teary eyes and with a broken heart

TOMIOKA GIYUU:

Giyuu always wants to avoid arguing as much as possible, always shutting you down when you want to talk about some problems

This causes you to get frustrated and start bombarding him with questions, like why is he avoiding their problems

Giyuu seems like the type of person to talk more than yell, but his voice is still strained as if he's holding back from yelling at you

Giyuu knows exactly where to hit you to make it hurt, taunting you about problems that you could never solve

His words would go to the point that he makes you burst out crying and run out of the room

He immediately regrets whatever he said in the argument, and ends up going to bed alone, covering himself in the sheets as tears of regret slide down his face

Bonus!

Giyuu wouldn't be able to face you for a few days after the a t in fear of hurting you again with his words

It takes a lot of reassurance from you to get him outside again

SHINAZUGAWA SANEMI:

Sanemi is the type of dude yo go all out during arguments, yelling and screaming at you, even sometimes going as far as you throw things into the ground in rage

You both seem like you're at each other's necks, not backing down from proving your side right

Sanemi seems like the type of person to call you degrading names, such as coward, selfish, etc.

You try to stay calm at first, but you have yo resort to yelling to get your point across

Sanemi is usually arguing to you about staying out of his and Genya's relationship, saying that it is non of your business

You end up running out of breath before he does, simply listening to him yell at you for a few more minutes before he storms out the room and slams the door

By the time he's gone, tears are already streaming down your face, breathless and tired from screaming your lungs out as you collapse to your knees, sobbing

[unnaturalequilibrium]

Capítulo 4

- Mafin rewatch (Sueños de Libertad)

Marta is hot in business mode. I get why people would be afraid of her, or maybe not afraid, that is a bit of a strong word for it, but she is intimidating. She’s just a fucking bulldozer of cutting to the chase and her standards are so insanely high. It’s hot though, maybe not healthy, for her or for me, but still hot. Unapproachable, that’s it. I get why Fina is reluctant to approach her, to ask her about the position at the store and not just because of the underlying repressed crush. No, there are so many walls around Marta I'd probably feel bad about looking in her direction for too long.

Them looking at Marta - yeah.

Claudia is a religious dachshund puppy. Not particularly bright, stupid tiny legs but undeniably cute. I get soft in the heart watching Fina cheer her on as she takes steps outside of her sheltered bubble. Unfortunate steps in a most misguided direction, but still, how was Fina to know all the straight women in her life are fools when it comes to men.

Honestly Petra is deeply unsympathetic. I am not just saying this because of hindsight, but she isn’t very nice. Fina, what the hell do you see in her? I mean, she is pretty enough and close enough of a Marta copy that you could mistake the two, if you forgot your glasses, have a concussion and were in a damn hurry. But honestly?

I’ll give Petra credit for picking up on Fina’s obvious gayness though, but damn she is one cruel bitch for playing her with such calculated determination. Because that is definitely what she’s doing, there’s no accidental in her behaviour, it is cold, calculated and cruel. Hedging her bets and using Fina’s sexuality as a weapon against her. Fuck I hate this little fucker. Also, Fina, just find a nice secluded place and have a...- snickers, you're not you when you're hungry. Then wash your hands and go about your business, without including Petra in it.

I really am surprised at how secondary Marta is in the beginning. But it fits with the story I know they want to be telling, she’s a cardboard cut out of the person she expects herself to be, flat and lifeless. She’s an ideal, not really a human being at this point. Both in the eyes of those around her, but I think probably in her own eyes too. She is only propriety, there is nothing left for a personality (for now). And it makes sense that they want to begin by telling Fina’s story to build the foundation for what’s to come. It still kind of hurts though, because I've had time to fall in love with all this character can be, so to see her so restrained and so...lightless - hurts, man. It hurts.

[mariamariquinha]

Bossa Nova (Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x f!reader) - Eleven

Ten

Summary: You've made a decision.

Word count: 7.544.

Warnings: Cursing, talks about police work corruption, irresponsible use of alcohol, people being idiots and work-related situations. If I forgot something, sorry :/

Author’s Note: I remember that I said that there would be some fake dating stuff and there will, but not right now. I'm working on chapter 12 already, so it was a small change of plans but not a change of path.

I'll try to update on AO3 as soon as I can! Sorry for any mispelling mistakes as well; always safe to remind that English isn't my first language.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has just completed an operation that arrested a ring of robberies in luxury properties last Saturday. Police-grade weapons, special clothing and technological equipment that facilitate the breach of property security systems were seized.

You closed the fridge and stared at the 7-Eleven television curiously, a bottle of sparkling water in hand. 

One of the gang's most notorious victims is technology entrepreneur Theo Park, who was in the house at the time of the incident and was attacked by the robbers.

“To bad things that come to good. If I hadn't been there, maybe they would have gotten away with it and not left enough evidence to get caught. I’m very grateful for LASD's dedication to solving this case.”

Theodore had once said that he appeared on an experimental college TV show and, after that day, he decided he would lose some weight so he wouldn't look so bloated on screen. He seemed to have learned his lesson; despite reporters shoving microphones in his face, he looked flawless.

“It's amazing how the rich get justice so fast, right?” 

You blinked a few times and turned to the cashier, who was also watching the TV. You neither agreed nor disagreed; you approached the counter, placed the bottle on top and fished out a pack of licorice candies, which you also slid towards him.

“You work there, don't you? At LASD?”

Because he would know, right? Of all the other thousand times you went there and bought the same thing, without fail, and the other times you were looking for some alcohol after work. You would open your wallet and every time your badge would come into view. It wasn't really a badge, you wanted to argue as you held out the credit card to him and looked up, but you didn't know if it would make any difference to say that.

“Mm-hm,” You answered and he nodded. 

“Huh. I don't doubt that your boss didn't carry this Park guy on his lap.”

Again, you didn't respond. Outside, in the parking space very close to your car, there was a pickup truck with a nice Confederate Flag sticker and the owner had entered the store a little before you, so you didn't want to take any chances. The cashier swiped your card and handed you a bag with the things you bought. You thanked him, wished him a good day and he told you the same.

You sat on the curb for about twenty minutes on the block before your building. You took out a piece of licorice candy and chewed it leisurely, observing the movement of the early hours of the morning and mentally calculating that you should soon get in, take a shower and remind yourself that you would be late for work, that there was something else you should do before going there. Yes, the work, the same one that would be buzzing with excitement at the conclusion of a case with so much repercussion, and that would remind you enough of things that you were willing not to remember. 

Well, you should expect that; should learn to let it go. 

Still, you thought about what you could do strategically: you would get in late, people would be already minding their own business, so you could get in easily. 

It wasn't like Theodore was going to give up on the climb to become a popular person in the city alongside the most popular people in the world.

****

You had your eyes closed, face to the ceiling, hitting the back of your head on the elevator wall. Before you could hear the doors close, you heard voices getting closer to the point where they were inside the space with you; when you opened your eyes and lowered your head, you saw Nick, Benny, and Connors walking in.

They paid attention to you for half a second and looked away; Benny had a look that lasted longer, one that made you run your hand over the back of your head and stare at the ground.

“Hearing?” 

The question made you snap your eyes up again, spotting O’Brien eyeing you curiously. 

“... No,” You shook your head, forcing a small smile. “Got something to deal with this morning.”

“Mm,” He hummed. “Something important, eh?”

You didn’t know why you did it, but you swiped your eyes to Benny for a split second and spotted him pinching the bridge of his nose with a discreet sigh. When you turned back to Nick, nodded a little – a deep breath to not say the first thing that passed through your mind. 

“It was.”

But there was a weird, sticky atmosphere. Connor’s hair was wet, they all smelled like shower – probably had a long night out, arriving that late at the station. You could tell, from the way Murph would be looking at anything but you, that there was an attempt to access you, a curiosity to know how you would react to the recent news, or to be in the elevator with them when everything was pretty much fresh in everyone’s minds. 

The doors opened, like a breath of air along that tension. It was your floor. You shared a small nod with them, walked to the corridor… then stopped, turning to them and held the doors from closing. 

“I-” You cleared your throat. “Congratulations on the case. You guys-” You looked at Benny again, saw him frowning at you, which made you frown back. “You did a great job.”

“Thanks,” Connors said when the silence stretched and no one, not even Nick, said a thing. It was weird to verbalize, weird to touch. Whatever confused expressions were splayed on their faces, it certainly was splayed on your face as well. 

You nodded a little, feeling rubbish and robotic at the same time, and then you let your arm go, standing like an idiot in front of the closing elevator doors and giving all of them one last look. 

****

Of course Big Nick or Connors would notice, but no one felt like verbalizing it. Untouched territory, like a silent agreement, that it wasn’t their business to poke through your drama with your ex. Maybe that was why Benny felt so weird with time, so invasive towards you even if he knew he was right – you were still someone who happened to be in Park’s life, there was no denying it. 

They were on about three hours of sleep – hungover. They managed to hold off on the scoop until the morning, at least until the paperwork was signed; Benny remembered that they handed in the papers and Z had already found the girls to celebrate. Well, celebrate was a strong word. Benny went and enjoyed it, but little; he was home around 3, took a while to fall asleep and had a late morning. Nick needed a ride because he slept in the hotel room, so the two went back and found Connors in the parking lot. 

It was strange. Benny spent days talking and listening to his ex's testimony, checking information about him, going deeper and pretending he didn't know anything when Z mentioned that the guy had graduated from Caltech, as if Benny didn't research for that already. And Theodore, fuck, he was an ass, but an ass still trying to be nice. He was polite, but his phrases and his words were a touch harsh, bordering impatience. He would look at him, then at Connors or Henderson or Nick, do an once over, put a tight smile on his face – like trying to fit in way-too-small shoes because it was pretty. 

Benny saw that your face wasn't happy, and even if it was, there wasn't a sense of genuine relief in you. It wasn't like you didn't want the case to be solved, but it seemed like you were already fed up and wanted to take a band-aid off at once. Congratulate on the case, smile, leave. Don't give them a chance to ask anything, disguise it.

When the case was closed and they happily went to Theodore’s penthouse to give him the news, he said he would give them something, like a bonus for the Department or other things they might have wanted – you know, to compensate. Benny told him that they couldn’t accept because it would be categorized as a bribe, but then Theodore looked at him like he grew a pair of extra ears on his head like an alien, as if that even made sense.

After a while, he wondered if Theodore was confused because he thought with common sense about LASD or if it was because you, who was already married when you became official there, told him things about the Department's relations.

Still, when they arrived that morning, Theodore had delivered a breakfast basket to them – one that was already somewhat cold, but intact.

If it were up to Benny alone, it would continue like this until the end of the day, and the next day after that.

****

He called. 

It was a new number, one you didn’t recognize, but you were already expecting calls from unknown places. You picked up, excused yourself from the chat you were having with Lennon about some material he delivered, went to the corridor – you said it was important, family matter. 

For a few seconds after your ‘hello?’, no one said a thing. It was so quiet that you wondered if it was one of those marketing bots or something, so much so that you had already taken the phone out of your ear to put an end to the call. Before you could do it, though, a voice cracked up on the other end, and you stopped dead in your tracks, a big frown on your face as you recognized who it was. 

“... Hello?”

And you still had the phone away from your ear, staring at the screen in confusion, and when he insisted one more time you just blinked a few times, looked around and took a few steps deeper into a less crowded area. 

“Yes?” You asked, voice low and discreet, the phone slightly pressed against your ear as if someone could hear him, as if it was shameful to speak with him in the first place. 

“Oh, hi,” He said. “I… Erm… Am I interrupting something?”

“... I’m working…?” 

“No, yeah. Yeah, yeah, totally, I could’ve imagined, I… Sorry.”

You felt a tone of impatience, at the same time that you felt irritated with yourself for wanting to ask how he was, how he felt. You could see that calling you was impulsive, Theodore only got nervous like that in situations without any planning or with too much planning.

Fuck, yeah, you were mad with yourself – you shouldn’t get attached to whatever you used to know about him. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked instead, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut for a second. 

He got quiet on the other end, sighing and ruffling through what seemed to be like papers or whatever. You looked around again, just to be sure, and felt that pinch of irritation growing. 

“Theo-”

“I thought you had changed your number, so I didn't think you would answer,” He excused with a small voice, one that silenced you. “Now I don't know exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

“Maybe you better think about it quickly, I have to get back to work.”

Another sigh. 

“... You went to the hospital that day. Aile-I was told you went there,” The mention of the occasion made you throw your head back in frustration and suppress a groan. “And that you got hurt.”

It was your turn to stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Your hand was good, better; it wasn't that serious of a burn and, in general, you would have a few months of recovery for the mark to disappear. Still, you unconsciously flexed your fingers, remembered Aileen's face when the coffee spilled on you.

“... So what?” 

“So what? Hell, you could’ve sent me the bill or whatever.”

“I could?”

“Well, yes.”

“So you called to offer me money for my injured hand?”

He was growing frustrated – you expected him to. You could sense him gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw. 

“... You went there, maybe you wanted to know how I am.”

“And how are you?”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Your hand is okay?”

“You don’t need to pay me for my hand.”

“I don’t want to, I just want to know if your hand is okay. Technically, it’s on me that it got burned.”

“Oh, so that’s the secret for a good relationship? Taking responsibility for your partner’s faults?” 

“That’s not-” He paused, huffed. There was a noise you could hear, like a chair cracking, and then the sound of steps on a wooden floor. “I’m not with her anymore. Although I’m probably taking that responsibility, it wasn’t me who threw coffee at you.”

You blinked dumbly at that, staring at the floor without a single reaction to process what he just said to you. It should be simple: he’s not with her, you could’ve supposed it would happen, that has nothing to do with you. But Theodore told you that, let it hang in the air, waited to see what you would do. 

“... All in all, I just want to know if you need anything… That’s on me. The least I can do is pay for the hospital bill that I know was expensive as fuck. They call themselves Samaritans but they fucking rob people.” 

You needed to suppress a laugh or a giggle or any indication that what he said was slightly funny. For what felt like an eternity, you just kept looking at the floor, then at your own feet, squirming to prevent any insistent feeling to bubble inside of you with the prospect of him realizing that Aileen wasn’t the best for him, or just him being let down. 

Not that you expected him to be humbled by it, but still – you could dream. 

“... I don’t need anything. Thanks for asking, though,” You offered, voice more calm and genuine. 

“Okay,” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I know you’re out of this almost death experience transformation or some shit, but it was nice of you to come by. Despite everything, you still checked on me and… Well, I won’t forget that.”

You considered him for a while. 

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Forget that.”

“Why?” 

And that was that tone, that… subtle implication. You knew what he was doing – what he was fucking implying. He used to do that when he flirted with you, when you two were doing some dirty talk in bed, when he was trying to get inside your pants. It wasn’t that good in high school, but the experience he probably gathered in college made him bold, confident; that shit worked. 

So when he asked ‘why?’ with that low, teasing underlining, you wanted to punch him in the face. 

“Because you should. Because I’m your ex. Because it brought me problems. Because it will make you put words in my mouth and meanings to my actions that are absurd.”

“Absurd like you still caring about me?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” 

Theodore went quiet, probably nodding to himself. 

“I need to go now,” You pressed. “And don’t surprise me pulling up some shit like you still having my number and calling.” 

“It isn’t some shit. I’m just thankful,” That almost sounded too false, but it just made you feel like it was really forceful. “In debt, too. I know it sounds crazy but whatever you need anything, I-”

“I’ll hang up.”

You did. Right away, at the snap of a finger – out. If he still needed to say something or add or keep up with that bullshit, you really didn’t want to know. You hung up on him, left him mouth agape or whatever, then stared at your black phone screen with that same ugly frown you had when you noticed it was him. 

Your head was starting to hurt, you could feel the sting deep inside. After almost two years – two years – and the bastard called right when his little girlfriend dumped him. You deserved this, didn't you? Surely that time you stole parking cones or vomited on the college lawn wasn't going to go unpunished.

Because you were always so nice to everyone, always following the rules. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Bitch. Cunt. Jerk. Asshole. 

“You good?” Lennon had a puzzled expression on his face, watching you fuming and huffing while entering the lab again. 

You threw your phone on your desk, sighed tiredly at him. Good news, Theodore is alive. Bad news, Theodore is alive. 

“Yeah, just some stuff. Don’t worry about it.”

But maybe Lennon should – he should worry, should give you some clarification, should fuck you again. Thing was: he couldn’t do any of it. He was an amazing friend, one with his own worries and responsibilities, and he wasn’t your mentor to give you advice. And yeah, maybe you hinted something to him, and then he turned you down by saying he was seeing someone – that guy from the 15B, remember? – and he liked them, so you could get your shit together and let him be, feeling bad for not remembering whoever this person was. 

So you got angry and worried alone – you got pissed alone. You went to the bathroom, saw yourself in the mirror, and felt like punching yourself in the face. And for what? For answering an unknown call? For listening to Theodore? For feeling that bad after Isla’s case? For, fuck, asking how Theodore was? For wanting to… 

Fuck, wanting what? 

You looked at your head again. A large scar was forming there, one that was uncomfortable. It wasn't that bad, nor that destructive, but looking at it was a reminder of how you shouldn't be so nice to the wrong people. What did that bring you, anyway? Turn the other cheek and listen to your ex tease you about it?

You clenched your fist and placed it against the marble of the sink for a while, eyes closed. 

It wasn’t him; no, it fucking wasn’t. It shouldn’t be. 

It was on you. You, you, you. Fucking you. 

****

“... And, you know, he’s kind of a bitch so-”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Which is why I wondered if there was the slightest chance of you knowing anything about it.”

“Mm-hm.”

“So… do you?”

“... Mm.”

The laptop screen began to lower against your will, so that before you could take your hand off the mousepad, the edge reached your fingertips and it hurt. You hissed, but before you could complain, your brother shoved the thing away to the other side of your kitchen table. 

“Hey!”

“Did you hear what the fuck I said?” 

The pain dissipated at the same time as you looked at his face with a frown -- he was irritated. If you were honest, and there was no reason to be any other way, you would say that in fact no, you didn't hear what he said. You hadn't been listening to what people were saying since Theodore's call, because suddenly you were in a hurry and needed to get away, anxious to put your mind together around the fact that he was still having this effect on you. 

“... No, I didn’t,” You sighed in defeat, relaxing your face to a defeated expression and leaning back in your chair, eyes lowering to the table. “What was it?”

“Theodore is on a new project with-”

“Be briefer. Maybe if you didn't go around so much, I-”

“He spoke to you.”

You went from defeated to tense. Honestly, and that was as far as you could go with that wake-up call, you wouldn't have thought that Theodore would make a big deal out of that phone call: it was one of the reasons you felt bad about reacting so intensely to it, in fact, because he didn’t give you the same importance as you did and that was pathetic.

Your face gave away the answer your brother needed, but he didn't hold on to his anger for long; with another sigh just like yours, he sat down in front of you and ran a hand through his hair worriedly.

“Just don’t tell me you’re reconsidering.” 

“... Reconsidering?” You asked, and it took you a beat to get what he meant. When you did, you raised your eyebrows. “Do I sell myself for so little?”

“You do. You answered the phone.”

Fair.

“I didn’t know it was him. I was expecting another call from-”

“From Linda Ricci.”

Okay, now this conversation was starting to get weird because you were sure you would hear if he mentioned that name first. You hadn't told people that you were considering, at least in a healthy way, the possibility of leaving LASD. God, you were still coming to terms with the idea of ​​doing this. But suddenly your brother knew the name of the person you spoke to, what you were thinking about doing, and that left you a little scared. He didn't give in, however.

“He told me,” He added. “Which is crazy, because I’m sure you didn’t tell him that if you didn’t tell me or anyone else about it.”

It sounded like an accusation, which could be also something fair because as far as he was your brother, you honestly didn’t put up with the intimate details of your relationship with Theodore. He cheated, you two split – that was all he needed to know, alongside with legal terms of your prenuptial contract. It was the kind of thing that made someone resentful, but his brother never blinked more than twice at his personal life, so perhaps the possibility of Theodore being the messenger of such intimate news of his life after so long was frustrating; between a cheating ex-husband and a negligent brother, who would be the first to know the good news about your life?

“... Can you not tell dad? Or mom?” You tried with an easy demeanor, even if your tone was clipped. He was ready to open his mouth to deny, though, so you rushed to add. “I didn’t even tell my boss yet!”

“And when are you planning to do that? When we all get worried sick about your well being in that fucking job?” 

You took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair. The email was open – the answer was there. You saw it. 

You glanced at the closed laptop, then at him.

“Soon.”

****

“Is it because of what happened?”

Byrne was definitely not a very sensitive guy, much less an emotional one, but the question seemed to have a natural compassion background like seeing a puppy at an adoption fair. You had asked for the first few minutes of his shift to talk about the subject, at zero hour when no one would arrive for a while, and you sat in front of him with a serious expression.

The question didn't make you change that, actually; you raised your eyebrows and sighed, but it was more like a spontaneous reaction to a subject you didn't want to talk about than an explicit denial.

“Depends on what we're talking about,” You threw the ball at him, who narrowed his eyes at you. 

“... About the DEA case,” He said after a while, leaning back on his chair. “The recent events wouldn’t give you time to recalculate like that. Tell me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like a well-thought decision, one you wouldn’t make out of spite.”

“That’s a good observation.”

“Not as good as the one you’ll tell me.”

Then you smiled – a bitter, large grin. You measured his reactions with caution, licking your lips and reconsidering what to say. After a beat, you arched an eyebrow and averted your gaze to your hands, both of it splayed out over your thighs. 

“... I'm not a very virtuous person, Doctor, and I like to believe I'm not a moralist. Despite this, I have never given anyone reason to doubt my integrity as a professional,” You raised your eyes at him. “Maybe, at some point, but nothing that time wouldn't prove otherwise.” 

“You talk about your alliance with Major Crimes.”

Alliance. You needed to prevent a snort at that. 

“My partnership, yes,” The correction made him retrieve a little. “And, look, I understand how things work. I'm not an idiot and much less indifferent to them, but I think there comes a time when they stop being just things and start putting you on the main stage.” 

For a moment, as soon as you closed your mouth, you remembered Emma, ​​just as you remembered Walsh and his pitiful speech to the cameras. That made you frown.

“You, doctor, are here because the Department's credibility went to waste after what happened. People have always questioned LASD's methodology, but what happened was much greater than common sense about what we do.” 

“Are you talking about Emma?”

“I’m talking about being put in the hot seat for sabotaging the case.”

He shut down again, this time considering your stern tone with more caution. You already left her with a cracked friendship, you wouldn’t want it to be worse than it was. 

“... You didn’t, I assume.” 

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you know I could work it out. I'm not Emma, ​​but it's no secret that Major Crimes doesn't have much room for imposition with me here.” 

Which was quite funny to think about, but you did as he did and just took it as it was – a single comment. You nodded, averted your gaze again. 

“Not only that, but I appreciate your consideration. Rest assured that, despite everything, they should have the right to speculate. Maybe it was my innocence that I thought I didn't have the tendency to go over anyone to gain an advantage, especially people I've worked with for so long.” 

Not that that would actually solve it, but you also didn't want to repeat Emma's attitude and put yourself as someone who was harming someone else's work, even if Nick and company had a lot of capacity to do that on their own. You thought about it. You thought about Benny. He could also harm you with what happened at the hospital, he could make conversations with Byrne less cordial and make Nick push you away even more, to the point of making the murmurs even worse than they already were. 

So you said something else to put him at ease. 

“It's not Major Crimes that's going to get me out of LASD. Everything that happened and happens makes me sure that I got out of LASD myself.” 

****

Gina got the news with a frown, but her hug said that she was proud. 

Lennon smiled, placed a small kiss on your forehead – just don’t become a stranger, he said. 

Your departure was silent: no parties, no goodbyes and, please, no speeches. Despite all your years at LASD, leaving in an atmosphere of so much falsehood would be worse than dealing with more personal problems mixing with professional ones.

So no one in the lab other than Gina, Lennon and Byrne knew. From what you heard, Cillian would break the news as soon as he found someone else, and two days later he informed you that that other person had already been found. Efficient and fast, just how he liked everything to be.

You considered talking with Nick in the meantime – considered apologizing to Benny, like, properly. But every time you grabbed the phone and dialed their number, every time you thought about texting but saw the flirting stuff Benny used to send you or clipped orders O’Brien sent over, you would chicken out. 

You just didn't want drama.

****

Byrne was fucking dramatic, the kind who was probably a theater kid in school before deciding to be a scientist. He had been probing the work of Major Crimes since he had set foot in the LASD, so each and every interaction came with a passive tone that bordered on rudeness, but always hovering with unharmonized friendliness.

It wasn't like Emma – with Emma there was a flow, a rhythm. She and Nick had known each other for a long time, it was just different. Byrne was ruthless, regimented, too close to an OCD diagnosis, and two feet on the spectrum of control obsession. He didn't like them and had made that clear from the beginning; for him, the defeat of Major Crimes was a personal gain, which could be reasonable, since no one there made much of a point of being pleasant.

That day, however, Cillian was radiant, smiling. He asked for permission to enter the office and had both hands in his pants pockets, almost bouncing in tune with what seemed to have been a great weekend.

It should have been – for him, of course. He practically hummed the news, or sort of purred like a cat.

“I received very ecstatic news that our lab partner is leaving us,” He said, looking at Nick and only Nick, wanting to have every single drop of reaction or bother or anything. “She received a particularly undeniable opportunity at Ricci & Co.” 

Benny was sure you didn't use the term 'irrefutable'. He just knew that you weren't that definitive about things, or that at least you wouldn't talk to Cillian that way. In any case, it seemed certain that it was a good thing financially and professionally speaking: they already had the opportunity to scratch Ricci & Co. when they worked on an old case. Family business, the kind that wasn't limited to university newspapers like Theodore Park and with big, New York glass doors.

It was an immediate rational thought, one he only processed with more consideration when he saw Henderson exchanging a confused look with him.

“Since when?” Connors asked with a clipped tone. 

“Hiring processes at Ricci last, I don't know, thirty days?”

“You know that's not what he asked,” Nick pressed, which made Cillian hide a smile behind a satisfied sigh. 

“She gave us two weeks' notice and made sure to finish as many ongoing cases as possible. Today is her last day.” 

Benny remembered what happened at the hospital, made mental notes of any sign you might have given as if the whole situation wasn't already a big enough warning. He remembered your tired, defeated expression, your slumped shoulders; you looked sick, apathetic. Then he went over Isla's case, the conversation in your kitchen, your look of fragility at his rejection.

Your defeated stance with Walsh humiliating you in front of everyone, your lost look when he made you sit in a room to solve the problem. Maybe he didn't know that these little things were pushing you out of LASD, that every frustration or disappointment or tiredness was draining you enough to make your decision.

“I see that everyone is very upset, which was expected, so I made a point of letting them know and avoiding gossip or side conversations. I believe there is a lot to think about, especially because this is a personal gain for her but an almost irreparable loss for the Department.” 

“You know, Byrne, this is a good chance to stop beating around the bush and be direct with what you want to say.” 

“Well, Detective O'Brien, I think everyone here is smart enough to know what I'm talking about. Please be aware that as much as I would have made a point of cutting even our toilet paper budget to match the offer she received, I should have warned you that I am not willing to sacrifice the sanity of my employees for what appears to be a whim of yours.”

Everyone was quiet, expectant – Nick was being called out by a guy who knew shit and, as far as they all knew what kind of thing O’Brien would say, his silence made a wave of shock wash through all of them. 

“She was kind enough to say that it wasn't because of you, but I've been watching her movements for some time. No day off to photograph a crime scene that wasn't in her jurisdiction, small bribes with dinners, requests for preferences in evaluating evidence… This isn't exactly professional. A good reason for someone with decency to reconsider, though.”

“You know this agreement always had two sides.”

“Yeah, but only one of them was self-aware of it and clearly the wrong one made the right decision. Should I tell you which side you are on or are we on the same page here?”

It was an exaggeration – at least it seemed like one – but deep down Benny knew it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't like a feeling, just an obvious awareness, the kind that everyone knew about but didn't talk about openly. Big Nick was no longer in the sheriff's good graces. Major Crimes received a portion of annual investment that didn't come that year, and since the last meeting with superiors, Nick wasn't very satisfied with the way things were going. It was off. Odd. 

If it was the case of what they did that influenced you to leave, it might sound very absurd but it wasn't impossible, even if Magalon firmly believed that you wouldn't give in for so little. 

Byrne wanted the excuse to give Nick a hard time – unfortunately he wasn’t totally wrong about it too. 

When he left without a word, using the silence as a way of having the last bit of speech, there was a swagger on his steps, like a weight leaving his shoulders. He knew for sure that was how you saw them all, how you accessed them: full of themselves, always without a worry in the world because they could handle it. 

Nick threw a stapler on the panel near his desk, muttered a small ‘fuck’. Tony could even be the one to be at least pleased about it, but no one felt like sharing their opinions on the subject. 

There wasn’t a worry about you leaving – it was about how it wasn’t something O’Brien couldn’t control. 

****

The idea was a drama-free exit and you knew that Gina and Lennon would be able to comply with your wishes with as much effort as they could. When Cillian let everyone know at the weekly meeting, you got a few hugs and handshakes, but everyone there knew you well enough to be cordial up until that point. You were even relieved. Apprehensive, but relieved. Everyone said so many good things about Ricci & Co., Ballard even showed up at your lab during the day and told you that 'this technology thing was cool', that it 'suited you'.

He was nice. Warmed your heart with the gesture. 

Lennon arrived there towards the end of the day and handed you an envelope. As no one had time to buy you a gift as they were busy because they just didn't know you were leaving, some people from the lab raised a donation and gave you around 450 bucks.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“It wasn’t my idea. Rob from IT always had a small crush on you.” 

That made you smile and almost made you cry. 

And maybe your last day at LASD would turn out perfectly fine if it were like that, if you only said goodbye to people with silly, happy memories, so that you could miss it a little while you were tied up in the good parts of working there. 

Looking back, you should have been more insistent about saying no. Not because it sounded like a bad idea from the beginning, no, but mainly because you knew how nights like that could end and you should be just a little less carefree just in case. Lennon invited you for some drinks – Gina too. Took you, what? An hour? And then what was supposed to be only a small gathering with only the three of you turned into a ‘remember when we got our asses busted for going to that bar?’ and before you could decline, the three of you were smashed in the backseat of an Uber to meet some Gina’s friends at that same bar. 

It was like the old days, the trio fresh out of college, excited from the perspective of being in LASD, all excitement and fervor to be your best versions. Theodore wasn’t with you when that happened – he went to get you from the bar, yes, but if he was there in the first place, you wouldn’t be that drunk or have that much fun. 

And you had enough fun. You weren't very drunk, but you had that buzz, that feeling of excitement and anxiety; for a while, you managed to forget your apprehension about saying goodbye to LASD, about taking a direction in a place where you didn't know anyone. For a while, only. With dancing, beers, a shot or two like the cops used to do. With music too, voice high and hands moving in the air. 

You would certainly need to deal with your relationship with alcohol after that. That was something for tomorrow, however, or the day after tomorrow, or next week or next month. Fuck Theodore. Fuck him and his fake concern and his phone call and his fucking money. You didn't need any of that. Look at you: a young spirit, hot, single, with friends, having fun. He didn't have that. He would spend his life licking the balls of rich people to invest just a little of their time in him, humiliating himself for crumbs to grow in life… And you wouldn't. Nooooo, not you. You would be great. She would be a fucking analytical security manager for mansions up and down the Coast, earn your money and be respected. That's what you were going to do. And no thanks to that mediocre piece of shit. No thanks to Walsh or your work for even more pathetic and idiotic detective messes.

You were almost a wreck, but okay: your reflection in the mirror was more inviting than you thought it would be. Gina was already vomiting, one of her friends holding her hair as those tequila shots took effect. You watched the scene in your reflection for a while, then heard your friend turn to you and say that it was late, that it was better to leave. You nodded. You turned to the sink, turned the tap on, watched the water drowning your palms in. 

She got Gina on one side and you on the other. This was your chance to leave too. Yes, you've already had your relaxation, you've had fun, and you could go and rest. But then you glanced in the wrong direction at the wrong time and spotted Benny a few tables away with Connors and Henderson. 

You looked around – Lennon was distracted, probably didn’t even notice them. You had this… frown on your face, this… sense of inadequacy. Should that be your second chance to say something? Because, well, it didn’t take long to admit the coincidence. 

Benny turned slightly amidst laughter and the two of you held each other's gaze for a while. The laugh turned into a smile that turned into a grin, that turned into a straight line, then a frown. You felt embarrassed, called out, caught out. Suddenly you were too sticky, too uncomfortable, ready to run away. 

Gina slipped through your arm when her friend announced she would take her. You stood still, watching them both stumble out of the bar with a lowered gaze. Flexing your fingers, you forced a big smile on your face when Lennon came jumping up and down, offering you another shot of tequila. 

They would leave, you decided. They would leave and you would be able to relax. You didn’t owe them a thing. 

****

You were sitting in the gutter nursing a can of Coca-Cola that was already hot. Lennon had already left sometime around one, and it was reckless of you to let him go alone with another guy, but before you could worry anymore, he sent you a photo in the mirror of his own house. Damn, you could be closer to Gina's friends, they were really good people.

You should have gone with her, even, and not stood there saying that you were fine, that you would order an Uber and go home alone. Firstly, you were clearly not well. The drink had gone bad, you were drunk and everyone obviously knew it was the stupidest thing in the world.

Still, you sat there, watched the streets fading into blurs of light and dark. Another peak at your phone and the driver was 15 minutes away, taking turns, expecting you to cancel the ride. It wasn’t like you were going to throw up in his car or whatever – you just wanted to go home. 

“Seems warm.”

His voice made you grunt, bowing your head down in defeat. When you looked up, he was standing right beside you, both hands inside his jacket pockets while he eyed your hunched figure. 

“Because it is,” You grumbled, taking another stubborn sip. “Borderlining my sobriety, so… cheers.”

“Yeah, I think we can agree that you have a conflicted relationship with alcohol.” 

“Calling me an alcoholic?” You frowned, to which he just shrugged. He raised his eyes to observe the street surrounding you two, nonchalant as ever, and after a beat of silence you just scoffed to do the same. “Too bad you saw it too late, I guess.”

“What? You think I wouldn't fuck an alcoholic?”

“I’m not-You know what, eat shit, Magalon.”

But he didn't go. Damn, he wasn't. He remained there, moving the sole of his boot on the concrete here and there, sighing as you held your head with both hands. After a few minutes, your cell phone buzzed: the driver canceled. 

“Lemme guess-”

“Why are you still here?”

“I have a tolerance for the number of bodies to find in one night,” He arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to you. “Just imagine if the first thing I see in the early hours of my morning is a reckless drunk girl who took an Uber at 2 am.” 

“Right, okay. Got it.” 

“Yeah, so.”

“But I’m good. I’ll find-”

“Another Uber to go back home?”

You glared at him, then made an effort to get up from your seat and feel the whole world spinning in your head. That almost got you on the floor again – you lost your balance for a second, got up too fast. 

“You know what,” You raised both hands in the air. “I’m done. I’m totally done. Say what you mean or leave me for you to find me dead in the morning.”

Benny shook his head, taking in your state with what seemed like frustration. 

“I don’t remember you being so annoying. Last time you drank a little too much-”

“We kissed. I know the lore, Magalon, I was there. But we are not gonna kiss now, if that’s what you’re intending to.”

“I don’t wanna kiss you right now.”

“Good.”

“But I want to take you home.”

It could be the alcohol. Well, there was a good chance it was alcohol. Anyway, when he said that in such a genuine way, with a more accessible and light tone of voice, as if he was comforting you, you felt your eyes water and an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. He noticed it too, noticed the way you wavered, blinked hard a few times and stayed curiously quiet.

You averted your gaze to the side and sniffed with a dry nose, doing a hard job to keep the tears at bay. 

“Do I look like I need to be saved by you? Like, all the time?” 

He didn’t walk closer, didn’t try to bring any kind of physical comfort – Benny shrugged, kept it cool. When you looked at him again, he wasn’t giving you anything but a straight face. 

“At this point in time, you could say it's just a coincidence that we're in the same place when you screw up. And luckily, of course, I'm not such an asshole that I'd let you go off on your own.” 

And then he said something that made you waver even more. 

“I like you. In a very stupid way, but I admire you as a person and as a professional. The difference between then and now is that you're hitting the goalposts for a longer time because you're too stubborn to understand that it's not always your responsibility.” 

That would make you really cry, but you didn't, opting to swallow dryly while locking your jaw so that your lower lip wouldn't tremble and you wouldn't falter. He was too good at it, it was even annoying. You didn't see Nick or Tony having that same kind of ability to read people, even though it was naturally intrinsic to the anatomy of a good detective.

The cold night breeze hit you, making you shiver and flinch a little. He then took a single step closer, pointing at his own car down the street. 

“Home. Let’s go?”

****

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@seaweeden

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@eclecticfashionbookszipper

@servenas-inner-fangirl

@mysoulisasunflower

@dizzybee03

[outmakingmoonshine]

I wrote this in response to this post about Adam Shapiro but I didn't wanna hijack OP's post as I was replying to @freedelusionshere comment anyway so i'll put it here instead.

I agree the way Shapiro's character has been presented seems suspicious. Like a lot of things on this show it's portrayed subtly and indirectly but purposefully.

It's interesting to me that Syd had no idea who he was even after she stopped to look at him, until he said his name and she recognized it as a chef from Ever. But he knew who she was and seemed to know enough details about her role at The Bear to ask her to do an almost identical job for him the next time they met. How did he know she was capable of all that?

All the articles we've seen about in the show don't mention Syd, they don't credit her with helping to build the restaurant or even mention that Carmy is partnered with another chef. As far as we know her work isn't being publicly acknowledged and nobody outside of the staff and Emmanuel (and possibly Claire) know how much Syd's done there, so how does Shapiro seem to be aware of details you don't just pick up eating at a restaurant "under the radar" one time?

Richie worked at Ever for a week in S2 but he wasn't exactly Syd's biggest fan then so if he did talk about her I doubt he made her role at The Bear sound like a good thing or said positive things about the changes she'd made to make Shapiro want to poach her.

Shapiro said he ate at The Bear with friends, maybe one of them told him. But again, how do they know? The show makes it seem like Syd's full role at The Bear isn't public knowledge. Especially not the kind of details Shapiro seemed aware of.

Syd told a couple of chefs Carmy's her partner in S2 and judging by the lack of Syd mentions in the articles, I'd imagine they're probably thinking "I told you so" right now...but this does seem like the most plausible way he could know. It's still a flimsy connection imo bc the show has given us no other outside acknowledgement for Syd's work at The Bear. No other chef mentioned it or congratulated her in 3x10, even Chef Terry who congratulated Carmy then partied with Syd at her apartment didn't mention it to her. I assumed Luca would have an idea through Marcus or Carmy but he didn't say anything about it either and there was plenty of opportunity in their conversation. Shapiro is the only other chef who's congratulated her or mentioned it.

Knowing this doesn't necessarily make him a bad person, maybe he just noticed the negative environment of The Bear and decided to offer Syd an opportunity but it does make you wonder how he knows so much and no one else seems to. Maybe the show just does a bad job at portraying that it's public knowledge but judging by their usual level of attention to detail in storytelling, I don't think that's the case.

I guess Shapiro could know other chefs Syd's worked with in the past but getting info from them then approaching Syd the way he did without mentioning that is also just weird. And how would he know she can single handedly build a restaurant from scratch to the point of giving her complete creative control?

If it was sudden for Carmy to offer Syd such a big role in building his dream restaurant after months of working together in S1, it's very strange for Shapiro to offer Syd an almost identical offer but even better, after only meeting her twice.

Plus he says he doesn't want it to be "a gross poaching" but what else do you call asking someone who's already trying to build a restaurant with a chef he personally knows to basically abandon that project to come build his business full time instead? A decent person with good intentions would've spoken to Carmy and Syd together or at least gave Carmy a heads up that he planned to offer his CDC an opportunity to work for him instead. And Shapiro made that offer hard to refuse, even Syd knew it seemed too good to be true. That in itself is such a shady thing to do.

The definition of poaching in business: "Poaching is when an employer actively approaches, or 'head hunts', someone who is already employed by, or working at, another organisation, as opposed to advertising a vacancy and going through a usual recruitment process." [Source]

Shapiro can dress it up all he wants, poaching is the literal definition of what he's doing and the way he's gone about it is "gross" bc it's not like Carmy is a stranger to him, Syd was a stranger though.

His character has been subtly presented as someone who shouldn't be trusted imo. Kinda like Claire in S2. There seems to be no reason to dislike them on the surface but if you look beneath the surface there are plenty of reasons, too many to be a coincidence. Maybe Shapiro's not a good guy or maybe it's deliberate misdirection, either way I think he's been presented as a slightly suspicious character on purpose.

[spotlightlowlife]

Writing for Millie should be hella easy

Stereotypes and cliches can work.

Right infront of us we have a tought southern farm girl, already a half written character. Millie's family, the first full family we meet, who don't even get to say much were actually crucial for her character building, they're a big family who are set in their ways, they're loving but not supportive of Millie's choices in a very passive aggressive way.

All these episodes later, these points are barely touched upon.

We would learn the Millie likes attention, she enjoyed playing a character who was the coolest person on the scene who could show off

which makes sense if you look at her rowdy upbringing, which could also explains why she is giddy at Moxxie's grand gestures and adoration of her.

Yet why did she have to play a role and take herself out of her usual setting in order to enjoy herself? This made sense for Moxxie who's sensibilities and hesitations aren't heard and is constantly frustrated, but why give Millie a similar storyline (not the first time a couples stories were awkwardly and disproportionately merged)? Having moved far from her family, having a supply of attention on tap from her biggest fan of a husband, working with a coworker she gets along fine with Loona and Mille worked together just fine when Blitzø and Moxxie got snatched, there were no differences between them, they actually appear to have hardly engaged with eachother?

and a boss who she's on excellent terms with in their small company, a boss who's intrusive ways she sees no issues with

which could also go back to having a big, noisy, busy body family who are slack with respect and boundaries something many people can relate to, why exactly did she need this moment in the spotlight?

Perhaps she's phased by being friendless?

Loona is

I she even friendless? Who knows. Her relations don't matter outside being a plot device, she even got sidelined in her families episode several times because it served to introduce Striker and show how much of an outsider Moxxie is.

On the topic of relations

Why do Millie and Moxxie have the same ex?

Why did neither of them know this?

What difference did it make?

Why such hostility?

No reason, nothing matters, none and ?

An ex would have been yet another person needed to give her some content but it would have been character building none the less.

Where did they meet and what would have been the mutual setting that lead to this guy being in both their lives then them coming together?

Has Millie had a life away from the farm as a single woman or did she leave home for Chaz? So many possibilities. Being that she is the stereotype rough and tumble country girl, she could have consciously decided to go to the city to hang about in places where those supposedly unlike her are so that she could stand out and be appreciated without having to compete with anyone. She would have her own thing going on and this would be a good way to meet hipster Chaz and thespian Moxxie.

Of course, Millie could have shown up one day and met Moxxie on the job.

Blitzø and Moxxie being the buddy cop type lead characters is fine, it's clearly the dynamic that's intended and on the few occasions we see them working together this is what we get.

The lack of characters doing the jobs we are told they do is an issue that affects all characters.

Being a side character should offer a load of flexibility, not having to carry the story offers room to be busy doing irrelevant stuff, or serve as a voice of reason or scepticism to help move the plot forward, side characters can wrap up side plots writers can't be bothered with, but side characters being ignored serves nothing.

There have been shows that have a leader and their more competent sidekick who quietly does the work and never shares in the credit.

This could work for Mille, however dispite her lack of content, she is not the quiet sidekick. We are sold a praised and admired bruiser whose performance isn't up for criticism, someone not always clued up when faced with a challenge but that's fine, challenges are rare and she's someone we have no reason to believe is a pushover, she is also someone happy to have more of a say but also fine with how things are. OK, what next?

Neutral.

Why not commit and tone her up?

Play on that country bumpkin casting. So far Millie is the fun and violent scrapper which fits but this role is also totally appropriate, someone is going to fill it, other than that she's, just there, with no say.

In and out of work, why not have her behaviour be socially neurotic, inappropriate, possessive and apathetic?

Why doesn't she stand up for Moxxie more? Is the casual workplace bullying something she's used to, comparable to the regular fun mockery that circulates throughout the family home/town banter etc? Is she used to not being heard? Growing up not having her own things, having to answer to someone, ignorance, comparassion and lack of personal space could result in someone who doesn't like being challenged or ignored, doesn't like a lack of control but has been sheltered enough to not take consequences too seriously? Anything goes after all.

It works for Blitzø, whose modest and tragic past, isolation, guilt and loneliness has lead to a sympathetic, overbearing and desperate hustler

I actually think Millie's character is fine but is she just a decent side character who is only 'fine' because she's underutilised? I'm not sure?

[astralm00ns]

WXS CYBER AU (my takes on it)

feel free to use these au ideas with credit! (if you decide to please tag me i’d love to see)

SHIBUYA, TOKYO | CYBER UTOPIA - 20XX. shibuya, tokyo, for the most part, has remained one of the most bustling and important parts of society as a whole. it’s many products, businesses, and overall heavy advancement in technology have made it a staple in the world, especially those looking for business partners. it’s technology has absolutely exceeded many, turning it into a cyber utopia.

though, what hides is the corruption underneath all of this cool tech and beautiful cityscape. crime is a regular, mostly by rogues who want to fight against businesses, who have turned creativity and art into nothing but a huge money making scheme. the higher ups always consider rogues as criminals, as they would prefer siding with the people who would give them money.

rogues for the most part, spread around their creativity without the form of payment, without needing to think of it as a cash grab. also engaging in fights and crime for the sake of defending art over fame. rogues typically act late at night, since ordinary folks are typically distracted by the cityscape and flashy products being shoved right into their faces. while they fight, they do have good intentions. merely wanting to put a stop to cash and fame grabbing scenes, and return to art being a form of expression.

companies released these power hungry robots to combat rogues. selling them in mass, disguising them as “protectors.” it’s gotten to a point where these robots have taken over a huge portion of shibuya, and it’s starting to become a major problem to the cityscape.

KAMISHIRO RUI

a vigilante who works alone in the shadows, though also once a well known figure in local parts. thanks to his past of showing off the inventions he made.

in his youth, his inventions were ADORED. absolutely loved by people, and that made him happy and all that. he wanted to keep making more such things since it’s something he really likes doing

though as he got older, he noticed people trying to buy his inventions off of him, saying how he’ll make it big and that he won’t ever need to worry about living his life the way he does anymore. and it gets consistent too. like, REALLY consistent these offers, when rui’s just really trying to enjoy making inventions for enjoyment and artistry. he doesn’t ever want to see his inventions as products that can be sold.

it starts infuriating rui since he thinks that these rich companies just want to get his inventions in their hands to make a quick buck, and it gets him really pissy and shit. so he stops showing off his works, keeping it private and only showcasing it to people he trusts. only works he does show off publicly are the ones he uses when it comes to combat, like his drones.

rui wants to find others like him. others who have seen through the minds of these other companies who are supposed to focus on art, not actually doing so and instead using it as a way to go viral and get money. he is a firm believer in using art to express, not to sell. he’s typically either working on inventions or out fighting, though alone most of the time. occasionally going out to combat with nene, a childhood friend of his. also since she’s really the only person he knows now that he still trusts a lot (prior to meeting emukasa)

TENMA TSUKASA

a well known rogue, at least around other rogues. he keeps himself undercover when not in public, but he goes full out flashy when engaging in combat. tenma tsukasa style and all that idk. he buys his tech, especially his combat ones, from other rogues, mostly to help them out. also to put it to good use. when it comes to being out in the city, he’s mostly hidden. watching over the cityscape overtop buildings and planning, or walking about scramble crossing. he really can’t deny that despite the amount of advertisements being shoved everywhere, all the lights do make up for a beautiful looking area.

tsukasa was often seen doing play battles as a kid, especially with little abandoned robots he had found laying around in parks or other public spots. taking them home to keep playing with them. his little friends that kept him entertained while his sister, saki, was in the hospital. he gave some of these robots to her so she could also have someone with her. tsukasa often prioritized going whenever his parents gave him the opportunity, doing anything with those little robots to make her happy. tsukasa then started going out more as he got older, starting to see rogues doing their thing. he believed it was one of the most amazing things he ever saw, and agreeing fully on their motives. he remembered saki talking to him once about them before, but never would’ve have believed he would see some in action. he wanted to do just that to make saki happy. once he was of age, he became a rogue himself. though forgetting his original motive, wanting to climb ranks, he moved up extremely quickly. now being one of the top rogues out there. both to his amazing ability handling tech and physical combat, his lack of identity in public too.

he met rui while taking down some robots. his ass was getting whooped by some robots, but rui found him, going in and dealing them off. tsukasa thanks rui for the saving and decides to ask him about his inventions, mostly since they caught his eye. something he’s never seen before. after rui explained to tsukasa that he made all of them all on his own, tsukasa was immediately taken back and impressed. he offered rui to join him, in which he was first denied. mostly since rui still had trust issues at that moment. eventually the pair kept running into each other, until finally rui gave in, seeing what this “oh so great tsukasa” truly had potential for. proving to be a great partner in combat.

KUSANAGI NENE

a not so active rogue, mostly spending her time in arcades. either for fun or for tournaments. though she does manage to get herself to go out whenever rui decides to ask her to. while she doesn’t go out as much as rui at all, she certainly knows her stuff. especially with robo-nene, a robot rui made specifically for her as a friend. also so that way she had someone to play games with. nene over time requested features for robo-nene, and now she often uses her as some sort of side kick when fighting other robots. thanks to robo-nene’s analyzing, it allows nene to act fast and prove to be a very strong opponent, whether it be human or AI she’s fighting.

she typically avoided being flashy and showy, mostly since she didn’t want to bring any attention towards her. mostly for safety reasons. she prefers keeping herself much more secluded, especially since it makes everything easier. it’s been like that since she was little, only exception being when she was with rui. often being shy and not really talking to people. she started fighting after rui introduced her to it, seeing it as a good way to bond with rui again after growing a little distant. often going on little side missions just to keep her busy, though she did eventually find enjoyment out of it. often thinking about it like playing a game. where the objective was to destroy as many robots as possible. she and rui complemented each other really well with each other’s fighting styles, the pair always working well the few times they fought together. though for the most part she fought alone with just robo-nene.

it was through combat where she tsukasa, seeing him do his thing. at first she felt second-hand embarrassment at how extra tsukasa was acting when talking about himself, at least before seeing him whoop ass. she couldn’t help but be impressed, then deciding to occasionally watch him fight. until eventually he noticed her, introducing himself and inviting her to join him. she decides to, occasionally fighting with tsukasa now as well. nene decides it’s best not to tell rui about him yet, just to be safe. besides, rui would eventually catch a guy like him anyways, considering how easy that man would be to spot. she met emu in an arcade tournament. watching her talk to one of the players about plans. then occasionally running into each other in rogue safe spaces. she came to grew an appreciation towards her after seeing her contributions towards rogues, despite not even being one at all.

OTORI EMU

her family owns OTORECH, one of THE most largest businesses in shibuya. they sell out a whole bunch of devices in mass, ones that supposedly are supposed to make things easier for people. emu, being an otori, knows what goes on behind the scenes. she often overheard her brothers and father discussing their sales, and how they only keep trying to come up with more products to make even more. emu believes the money her family makes could go out to other people rather than blowing it on even more products, but her proposals never end up getting to her family. 

what emu does instead is give insight for rogues. she delivers information about OTORECH and other companies they have partnered with, mostly to allow them to plan ahead of time which areas they need to deal with in terms of savage robots. she never asks for anything in exchange, other than the ability to either watch or help fight said robots. rogues have come to respect her a lot, always looking forward to what she has to bring. in turn she also keeps the rogue’s plans as secrets, that way they won’t be caught. enjoying delaying some of her brother’s plans so rogues could do what they need to do much quicker. she’s very skilled in using weapons way larger than her size, carrying them with ease and also using them to beat down robots. always wanting to go on combat missions solely because of how much she enjoys them. she’s hoping that one day she can be the one running her father’s business, that way she can put a stop to all the unbelievably pricey items her dad and her brothers decided to put out.

tsukasa was the one that introduced emu to rui. nene had already known her for a bit from the few times she encountered her at the arcade or at some vacant places with robots, but it was her first time meeting rui. emu was quick to like rui’s presence, not really hearing much about lone vigilantes, let alone ones with all of their gadgets being self-made. also trying to see behind rui’s serious exterior. she and tsukasa both then decide to take rui out to fight. eventually nene joins as well, the four of them forming their own small coalition with one another. each using their own unique skill sets to take down robots much easier, for the sake of bringing back art in its purest form.

[fbfh]

more stark tower info: employees/staff

aight y'all know the drill, long post read below take w a grain of salt use in your own stuff if you want just pls credit!!!

Stark Industries Corporate Offices

Standard offices for legal, HR, finance, PR, business development.

100–150 employees per floor.

Estimated Employees: ~3,000–3,500

Research & Development, AI, & Cybernetics

Labs for AI development, cybernetics, energy research, and defense tech.

50–80 scientists/engineers per floor.

Estimated Employees: ~600–900

Secure Weapons & Suit R&D, Advanced Tech Labs

Classified research with fewer but highly specialized staff.

40–60 engineers per floor.

Estimated Employees: ~400–600

Security Personnel

On rotation across lobby, underground, R&D areas, and executive floors.

1,000+ security staff total, but ~300-400 on-site at a time.

Estimated On-Site Security Staff: ~300-400

Industrial Storage, Robotics, Engineering Workshops

Large-scale robotics & AI facilities.

50–100 engineers per level.

Estimated Employees: ~800–1,200

Additional Support Staff Breakdown

Food Services (Restaurants, Café, Lounge)

In-house restaurant & café: Serves thousands daily.

Chefs, baristas, waitstaff, managers.

Estimated Employees: ~250-300

Housekeeping & Cleaning Crew

Cleaning for 73 floors + underground.

Day & night shift crews rotating.

Estimated Employees: ~400-500

Maintenance & IT Support

Building engineers, electricians, IT, and HVAC technicians.

Estimated Employees: ~300-400

Personal Assistants & Admin Staff

High-level executive assistants, receptionists, and schedulers.

Estimated Employees: ~150-200

Interns & Entry-Level Workers

STEM interns, business interns, and apprentices.

Estimated Employees: ~200-300

TOTAL: 6,400–7,800 Employees

Daily on-site occupancy likely 5,000–6,000 people at peak hours.

Events, high-security operations, or crises could temporarily raise staffing needs.

other info

contract tour guides also give regular tours of the publicly accessible parts of Stark Tower

tours are available to the public, and for schools/private organizations

tour guides are contract workers for a tourism company that work with Stark Tower and tons of other places in Manhattan

security levels

still working on security clearance levels lol but keep in mind that all departments have a hierarchy of clearance

like within housekeeping the more entry level positions work in the public parts of the tower, and the higher ranking/more trusted employees work in the more secure areas

this does extend all the way to Tony's penthouse and the Avengers areas

staff in these high security areas have to go through a lot of measures (NDAs, fingerprinting, getting their DNA on file etc) and are also monitored constantly

which might sound overkill until you think about how many times people have tried to kill Tony. also there are literal government secrets up in that bitch. so yeah. good pay good job security as long as you don't fuck around where you're not supposed to

realistically Tony probably will also have cleaning drones for some more dangerous or ultra secure areas. The people who do maintenance on those robots are also under heavy security protocols to make sure they don't sabotage anything

visuals for the rooms and floors coming soon!!

DISCLAIMER: the lists of employees and their numbers were partially generated with chatgpt, everything else (other info and security levels) was organically written by me without the use of ai