#data syd

[fandomsnoccasionalscreaming]

breaking news: starship captain, while being uncomfortably flirted with, gets his autistic bestie to cockblock via infodumping

i love this episode

(TNG 2x19 Manhunt)

[kylejsugarman]

pro: i got vaxxed today

con: the wifi is still out from helene and my hotspot connection has slowed down to the point where my laptop is basically unusable

[m9win-ice]

[sydchan]

Didn’t think to take a screenshot of the summon but RNG blessed me today with best boy. Wasn’t playing PokeMas when any of his alts were released so now gotta save up and keep my eye out for whenever they rerun the other two.

[girlhorrror]

kind of homophobic for them to release the bear season 2 right before i went somewhere with no wifi for a month

[billybob598]

How Many People? (Sydney Lohmann x Reader)

I'm backkkkkk. My bad for not writing in like 2 weeks, but whatever. This was requested by an amazing anon. I hope you all enjoy it! My next fic is an Obi one so maybe I'll do that. I'm thinking of doing a part 2 to this in the near future. As always any feedback good or bad is welcomed! Have fun reading!

And shout out to @ares3460 @simp4panos @inlovewithwoso @wosofanstuff and the lovely 🧡 anon for helping me decide what kind of ending I should have

Word Count: 2.3K (Guys?!?!?!)

You watch fondly as Syndey runs around the paddock, taking pictures of everything she sees. While she had been to many races before, she just really loved Belgium for some reason. It could be that the track was nestled in the Ardennes forest or that the race was one of the most historic on the calendar. Whatever it was, Sydney was beyond excited to be there. She looked like a kid in a candy store the way her eyes darted around, taking everything in. You, on the other hand, were not that fazed by everything. Instead, you opt to stare at your girlfriend with heart eyes as you fall harder when you notice how happy she looks. Walking into the Williams garage, Sydney immediately seeks out Lily (our favourite WAG). They had become close friends as they watched you and Alex race around the track. 

The weekend forecast was less than ideal. Everyone is predicting heavy rainfall on both Saturday and Sunday. Even on Friday, the dark clouds sat overhead, putting everyone on edge. Everyone knew the dangers of racing around Spa in the wet. Lando had a massive crash in 2021 and tragically, Dilano Van’t Hoff passed away at Spa, also in the wet. When you heard about Dilano your heart broke. You had raced against each other back in your karting days and become good friends. He was destined to reach Formula 1, both of you had dreamed of driving alongside each other in the pinnacle of motorsport. Now, due to the FIA’s carelessness, your friend who deserved to be where you are today was gone. Racing at Spa in the wet scared you. Not that you would admit it to anyone, although Syndey had kind of figured it out. That’s when you know something is wrong, when a driver who is usually crazy and ready to do anything, fears for their life doing something they love. 

As you’re in your driver's room with your head in Syndey’s lap, her nails running softly through your hair, you can’t help but let your mind wander towards the conditions of the track. Your girlfriend notices the furrow of your eyebrows, indicating you’re in deep thought. 

“So you gonna tell me?” She asks gently.

“Hm?” You hum quietly back. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“You gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Sydney says trying to coax an answer out of you.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the rain and stuff,” you speak softly as the rain patters against the window. Once the words leave your mouth Syndey knows what you’re thinking about.

“You don’t want to race do you?” She says. 

“No, I mean, I don’t know. Of course I want to race, I love this track and I always want to race, but…” You trail off. Syndey stops her hand midway through your hair and raises her eyebrows in question. “But, it’s just, how many people have to die before they realize that it’s not safe in the wet?” You sigh out as tears threaten to fall out. The midfielder looks at you sympathetically before continuing her previous motion in an attempt to soothe you.

“If it’s really bad then tell them it’s not safe,” she shrugs.

“It’s not that simple, Syd. I can’t just go to the FIA and be like, ‘It’s raining too much, I’m terrified to put my foot on the accelerator, I think we should just cancel the entire weekend.’ I can’t do that.” She nods in understanding, opening her mouth to speak but is cut off when a loud knock brings the two of you out of your little world. 

“Mate, let’s go! Quali is in like 20 minutes and the engineers want to go over some data,” a voice says loudly from the other side of the door. Both of you sigh as you stand up. Slipping your arms into your overalls, Sydney stands up and places her hands on either side of your waist. You freeze your movements and look at her. She places a feather-light kiss on your lips, then on your cheek, then on your forehead. 

“Please, please be safe, liebe,” she mutters against your forehead. Trying your best to give her a reassuring smile you whisper against her neck,

“I will. I promise.”

Lily and Syndey cling to each other as the qualifying session progresses. Both of them praying that all twenty drivers survive the session unscathed. It doesn’t help that almost every other minute somebody new has gone for a joyride through the gravel or grass off the track. What does help is that both you and Alex Albon made it through to Q2. Your first lap in Q2 was solid, with a few moments here or there, but all together a relatively tidy lap. The lap put you P10; on the chopping block but you knew there was time to find so you weren’t necessarily worried. On the downside, the rain had only gotten heavier, opposite to what the radar suggested. Now, instead of only being on intermediates the teams and drivers had to make the switch to full wets. So, when you went back out for your second Q2 lap with four minutes left, it’s safe to say Syndey was scared shitless. 

“Okay so, we have a good gap to the car in front of us so there shouldn’t be any problems with traffic. Gap to P11 is .098, again gap to the elimination zone is .098,” your engineer informs you over the radio.

“Copy. Visibility is very, very poor. So is traction. I’ll go for it, though,” you respond. Mentally you lock in. You tune out all the other distractions and prepare to give it your all for one lap. However, you can’t shake this bad feeling sitting at the bottom of your stomach. As you slam your foot down on the gas pedal, a ton of water smacks against your visor. Leaving you practically blind. At this point, you're just driving on instinct and memory. Smoothly gearing down as you approach Turn 1, you slowly apply pressure to the brake being careful to not lock up and slide through the corner. You straight-line it as quickly as possible and make the run towards your favourite corner, but also the most dangerous one, Eau Rouge. Usually, in dry conditions, you would take this flat-out, with no hesitation. The thrill of nailing it at 300kph was something you could never get enough of. As you turn left slightly to begin your climb up the hill, you feel the back end slip out. Immediately, you try to correct it, quickly switching the steering wheel to the right. This only causes the rear wheels to lose even more traction. The car starts to spin around wildly. Then, it smashes into the barrier with such force that your helmet jerks forward, threatening to rip your head off from your neck. A searing pain makes its way through your neck and your ribs rattle from the impact. It’s only when hit another solid object that you realize that you’re still moving. The second impact is a lot less painful, but you still figure that you hit the barrier at around 180kph. Everything stops shaking for a second. The rain continues to pour all around you. Yellow flashing lights can barely be made out in your peripheral. Your internal organs start to reorganize back to normal when through the sound of rain spattering on the asphalt you hear the roar of an engine getting nearer. Then, everything goes black.

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

The Williams garage is absolute chaos. Everyone is scrambling, trying to see if you’re okay if the ambulances are on their way, or trying to watch the replay of what happened. To Sydney, everything was happening in slow motion. The second Pierre Gasly’s Alpine collided with you, tears rolled down her face. Lily was also crying at the sight of your car broken in two. Out of the corner of her watering eye, Sydney could see your race engineer frantically repeating your name into his headset, trying desperately to get you to acknowledge him. Her head feels like it’s underwater with everyone's muffled voices. Her mind directly goes to the worst possible outcomes. All the negative thoughts swim around her brain for a few minutes until the wailing of the ambulance sirens breaks her out of her trance. Desperately, she looks at the cameras on the pit wall only to see that they have lost connection. After five more agonizing minutes that felt like hours, Sydney was informed by one of the team members that you were being airlifted to the nearest hospital. She was also told that they arranged a car to take her there. Lily refused to leave her side and slipped into the car with her, holding her hand as an act of comfort. Alex’s girlfriend also had the Sky Sports live coverage playing on her phone so they saw the camera zoom in on Alex’s wide eyes as the TV replayed your accident. It was like some sick joke the way your car just snapped in two like a twig. 

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, Sydney running through the rain towards the front desk. 

“I’m-I’m here for Y/N Y/L/N,” she pants out, her eyes watering and her clothes drenched making her quite the sight. The receptionist nods her head as she scrolls through her computer,

“Uh huh, Ms. Y/L/N is currently in surgery. You are welcome to sit in the waiting area,” the young lady says pointing towards a room full of chairs and concerned looking family members. The Bayern player mutters out a thank you before finding a seat. Lily comes in a few seconds later and sits in the chair beside Sydney.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lily attempts to sooth your girlfriends nerves. She continues to talk about how you’re a fighter and how you’ll be fine, but this all goes in one of Syndey’s ears and out the other. After what felt like an eternity, but really closer to about an hour, a nurse comes into the waiting area saying your name. Instantaneously, Sydney shoots out of her seat and makes her way towards the nurse.

“Is she okay? What are her injuries? Oh God, please tell me she’s okay,” the young midfielder rants out quickly. Unfazed, the nurse replies,

“Relation to the patient?”

“Girlfriend.”

Sighing, the nurse looks down at her clipboard and starts to read,“Ms. Y/L/N suffered many injuries. Major trauma to the head, a collapsed lung, a broken leg, and severe damage to her spinal cord.” The tears threaten to fall once again as your girlfriend gets told the extent of your injuries. 

“Is she…Is she like stable?” Her bottom lip quivers. Again, the nurse sighs,

“She is in critical condition, currently she is hooked up to a heart monitor and an artificial ventilator to help her breathe.”

“Can I go see her?” The nurse nods before motiong to follow her.

“RIght now the doctor is just finishing up, but he will tell you more about Ms. Y/L/N’s condition.” They arrive at a brightly lit room, white covering every inch of the walls. Then, Sydney sees you. Your body laying limply on the hospital bed with what seems like a thousand different tubes and cords attached to you. You seem so small, your usually bright face now covered by an oxygen mask. The smile that can make anyone’s day better no where to be found. 

“Hi, I’m Dr. Khan, I’ll be overseeing Ms. Y/L/N for the next little while. Have you been briefed on her injuries yet?” Syndey tears her eyes away from you to see a tall man in a white lab coat talking to her. She nods in response to his question. “Perfect. Well, right now she is in critical condition. The next forty-eight hours or so will be crucial. If she makes it through the first couple days her chance at surviving and making a full recovery will greatly increase. I’ll give you some privacy now, but a nurse will be in to check on her every hour. If you need anything just give me a shout.” He then turns before briskly walking out of the room, leaving Sydney and your unconscious body alone. She takes a seat in a chair alongside of your bed. Her vision goes blurry as the tears flow freely,

“Y-Y/N, please d-don’t leave m-me,” she chokes out in between sobs, “I need yo-you. I don’t k-know what I’d do without you, please liebling.”��

For the next fifty minutes Sydney stays silent, her mind racing as her eyes rake over your body. The only thing brining her the slightest bit of comfort being the steady beep of your heartbeat on the monitor. Soon enough, a nurse comes in to check on you, inspecting all of the machines you’re hooked onto. Sydney for the most part ignores her, that is until a small curse leaves the womans mouth.

“What? What’s wrong?” She questions the woman. All of a sudden the nurse shouts for the doctor and presses a red button near your bedside. Within seconds Dr. Khan and more nurses come flooding into the room, one or two of them pulling Syndey out of the room. She tries to fight them, desperate to see what’s happening. 

“She’s gone into cardiac arrest!” Someone shouts. Her eyes widen as the words sink in. With one last tug from behind she’s taken completely out of the room. But, she sees one last thing before they slam the door shut in her face. 

The line on the heart monitor going completely flat.

[kommandonuovidiavoli]

I cannimagine Ray & Syd use Whatsapp when they discovered it only relies on internet connection & mobile data/quota

The app launched in 2009 so it sort of tracks with your KND timeline

I mean, you're right, but all I can think about it this:

And then, years later:

OH HOW THE TURNTABLES!!!!!!!1!!1!!

[context: Syd now works with technology so he's up to times for the most part, but Wally fell a bit behind for reasons, so...]

[yannaryartside]

Parallels between Marcus and Claire

I am not about to compare Claire’s ass (which had, in my opinion, people pleasing tendencies more than other things, but that is in clear view a manic pixie dream girl) to my sweet angel Marcus. Marcus is a whole character to begin with.

But in their relationships with Carmy and Sydney respectively, there are some parallels:

1. Both Claire and Marcus did all the pursuing of the relationship

2. The pursuing lasted the whole season, with both Claire and Marcus trying to take the relationship to the next level on opening night. Claire by saying I love you, and Marcus by asking Sydney out. Funny enough, both attempts ended up in the culmination of the romantic relationship /eliminating the potential for one. Both Carmy and Syd said no.

3. Both Claire and Marcus could be considered “out of their league” to Carmy and Syd (if they were in hight school). Claire was a popular girl in hight school, and Marcus played football in college so I am assuming he also did it in hight school. Don’t come for me I am getting these data from America teenage movies. Both conventionally attractive. They are an aspirational partner.

4. Both are caregivers to sick people. Claire as a doctor, so it is her job. Marcus as a “nurse” to his mom and making sure there is others to care for her.

[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 06

Error 404 - File Not Found

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues.

- ( The song of the chapter is "Daddy Issues" by The Neighbourhood ft. Syd)

Khushi sits in front of her laptop screen, staring at the empty file that once held her escape. It feels as if the code of her life has been rewritten, lines of her plan deleted without warning.

She managed to recover some of the files from her formatted computer but the most important folder is, of course.

Empty.

Her encrypted freedom was hijacked by an unseen hacker, who tore down her firewall from the inside and rewrote her life's code with a single keystroke.

She feels the walls closing in, like the network is shrinking, suffocating. Every key she types echoes like the ticking of a countdown. Each attempt to trace the hacker, to recover even a shred of her stolen evidence, hits a dead-end. The once familiar language of numbers and commands, her shield, now betrays her, leaving her exposed in the dark web.

The trap is perfect.

She feels herself sinking into it.

The safety protocols failing one by one.

There's no backdoor, no way to break the code that now binds her, leaving her frozen in a system she thought she could outsmart.

The last few days were tough, frustration gnawing at her ever since that unexpected meeting with Mr. Raizada.

Damn it, Damn him.

She will be lying, if she says she isn't sacred of 'Mr. I-despise-you'.

Actually

He terrifies her.

The man is like an encrypted code filled with blank spaces, written in hidden algorithms that she had no idea how to decipher. So much information, so many answers encrypted within his layers. And she had no idea where to find the correct data sequence to decrypt his mysteries.

Sighing, she shakes her head, as if to remove Mr. Raizada out of her head. She leans back into her pillow, closing her eyes to escape the strain of too much screen time, replaying the events that happened last few days.

After ditching her bodyguards, again, she slipped into the city yesterday to meet one of her college professors, someone brilliant enough to maybe help her trace the hacker. After days of gruelling effort on her own, pushing her limits until her eyes stung and her hands ached, he was her last hope.

She explained the situation as vaguely as possible, hoping he'd see something she missed, some miracle solution that would break her free. But there was none. Just more dead ends.

Finally, after exhausting all options, Khushi decides to wait. Patience will have to be her strategy for now. She plans to rely on the network of resources she has meticulously planted throughout the house...hidden cameras, discreet microphones, and surveillance equipment. Each one is her carefully placed set of eyes and ears, her silent sentinels. All the while, she prays no one discovers them.

If she can't act yet, she can at least watch and listen, biding her time until the perfect moment to strike.

And meanwhile, she hopes for something significant to unfold, something she can use to her advantage, something she can leverage to turn the situation in her favour.

She hacks into the main circuits of the house's CCTV system, gaining full control. Now, every camera, every angle is at her command. She watches the feeds stream through her laptop, monitoring every movement in the house without anyone suspecting her. It's her own invisible web.

Through the CCTV feeds, Khushi scans the sprawling mansion her father built in Delhi after their move from Kolkata, a blend of traditional Indian designs and modern conveniences.

The mansion may look like a symbol of status and power from the outside, but through her feeds, she sees it for what it is.

'A gilded cage'

It is filled with secrets and shadows, a place designed to control both the outside world and the people trapped inside it.

Her father recently had the house repainted. No matter how many fresh coats are added, the crimson will always remain, splattered beneath the pristine white wall.

Unseen but never forgotten.

Nothing in the mansion screams opulence. The carefully curated simplicity is just another layer of control. The wealth is there, woven into the fabric of every room, hidden beneath a veil of restraint, much like her father's carefully maintained image.

Her father cannot openly flaunt his wealth, as any display can draw the scrutiny of the Income Tax Department or the Anti-Corruption Bureau. Though these departments are in his pocket, it's always better to be safe than sorry.

She observes the Entrance hall, with its polished marble floors gleaming under the soft lighting. Beyond the hall, a staircase rises, curving upwards like something out of an old-world palace, its handrails intricately carved from dark mahogany, leading to the upper levels of the house.

The mansion is filled with abstract artwork, some genuine, some likely smuggled. Large French windows overlook manicured lawns, but she knows every one of those windows is equipped with bulletproof glass.

Her father's study is discreetly tucked away behind a solid wooden door on the first floor. It's the heart of his operations.

It was always off-limits to her, a place of secrecy and constant mystery. Despite all her expertise, she can't infiltrate the walls with any of her surveillance tools.

No camera can penetrate those walls.

There's no CCTV as well.

It frustrates her endlessly, knowing that within those walls are the answers she sought. But she isn't entirely powerless. She has managed to plant a small microphone inside a flower vase during one of her rare visits, hoping it would give her some access to the world her father has kept hidden. Now, as she pulls up the feed, she wonders if it's still active.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard as the feed comes to life. It's still active!! Relief washes over her as she adjusts the volume. The faint crackle of static confirms the microphone is picking up sound. She connects her headphones swiftly.

Voices float in the background.

Pulse quickens.

Breathing ceases.

And she listens.

".....what should we do next, sir?" The gruff voice of Mr. Sharma filters through. He is the lifelong bodyguard/right-hand man of her father.

"I said it was a bad idea," her father snaps, his frustration palpable even through the static. "But he was so stubborn... and oh so impatient... he could wait a few days...I had it all planned."

"Mr.Jha picked someone so unprofessional for such a sensitive job," Mr.Sharma commented.

A pause....

A static....

"That lousy motherfucker Rocky botched the entire thing. Soon they will find out, we were behind it." Her father's voice drops lower, almost a growl.

"Why did Mr. Jha act without consulting us? We could have handled it on his behalf, " frustration creeps into Mr. Sharma's voice as well.

"He thought he was avenging his father," her father replies.

"If you don't mind, can I ask something, Sir?" Mr.Sharma asks. Her father might have given him the green signal because a minute later, he continues, "He said he was sure about who killed his father. But how could that be? The person he's talking about was just a boy back then...what, 14 or 15?"

A long, tense silence follows before her father responds, his voice now cold and measured. "We never truly know the monsters people carry inside them."

Mr. Sharma says cautiously, "But how does killing the Wolves' daughter fit into that revenge?"

Another pause. Her breath catches as her father's voice cuts through, sharp and suspicious. "Someone's been feeding him information. He believed he'd killed The Vulture's sister."

Her mouth hangs open, as her heartbeat picks up. Holy fucking shit!!

"But why would his sister be with The Wolves?"

"We had no idea where the girl went after her mother's death, but Mr. Rathore has a nasty habit of using daughters as bargaining chips, doesn't he?" her father's voice drops down.

There was a long pause as if her father was in deep thought. "It's entirely possible he handed the girl over to the wolves to hide her identity or.... worse.. exchanged her with a daughter of the wolves to gain leverage over someone in their family."

"Do you think she really was his sister?"

Khushi leans in closer, her heart racing as she strains to catch her father's reply.

"Let's hope she wasn't." her father responds, his voice steady yet a dark, bitter shadow overpowers his voice. "If she was, the hell will break loose."

"If we're lucky," he continues after a pause, "...no one will ever find out we're behind it. But the way it was handled... so sloppily...it's only a matter of time before the wolves figure it out. It's a direct slap to their face. And if she was indeed his sister, soon both the Eagles and the Wolves will be at our throats.. This is war. They'll demand retribution....You understand what that means, don't you?"

"Yeah," Mr.Sharma responds grimly. "We need to tighten our security. And with Mr. Jha's political campaign underway, we'll have to stay on high alert."

"I'm concerned about the Wolves' new security expert, Adam Marcus. He's a former American Navy SEAL, and people have already started calling him 'the hound dog.' They say he has a special talent for digging up dirt. Keep an eye on him."

"Sir?" Mr. Sharma asks after a brief pause, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence. "Should we alert your daughter?"

"There's no need," her father replies, his tone dismissive yet sharp. "It's not her safety I'm worried about, it's ours. And our reputation is what's at risk right now."

Yes, of course. What's new?

Her father's indifference no longer surprises or bothers her.

Then his father's faint voice crackles in the faint static as if he were talking to himself, "The Eagles won't hurt her..''

"Sorry, Sir, I didn’t quite catch that."

"It's nothing. Do as I say.....Tell..."

A sharp knock on her door jolts Khushi from her thoughts, sending her heart racing. Panic floods her as she hastily shoves her laptop beneath a pillow. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to smooth away her startled expression before standing up.

Mr. Jha's smiling face peeks through the ajar door,

"Khushi," he beams, his voice light, "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"..umm..Hello, Mr.Jha." Khushi just gives him a tight-lipped smile.

"Khushi, Khushi, Khushi," he says with an almost playful tone as he steps into her room, a package in his hand. He sinks into the chair at her desk. "You look more beautiful than the last time I saw you."

Light filters weakly through the curtains, casting elongated shadows across the floor that seem to shift with the tension. Her room, her sanctuary amidst the chaos of her life started to feel different all of a sudden, taut, like a wire ready to snap. It feels exposed.

So does she.

She's always kept her space simple-a bed neatly tucked in one corner, a sleek desk where she often loses herself in study and a leather couch facing the TV. If she listens closely, it feels like she can hear the silent screams of her furniture.

Her bookshelf in the corner, filled with books she escapes into, stands as a silent witness, but nothing in this space feels safe now. It's as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. Waiting

Just like her.

Khushi stares at Mr. Jha with a blank expression, realizing he's waiting for a response, evident from the expectant look on his face.

"Mr. Jha, you just saw me two days ago," she says dryly.

He smirks, eyes glinting. "You're a beauty I could never tire of praising..... and soon, my goddess, you'll be my wife. Drop this 'Mr. Jha' nonsense. I have a name. Call me Shyam."

Standing, he strides over to her, his fingers wrapping around her hand before she can pull it away. He places the package in her palm. "This is for you."

She resists the strong urge to yank her hand free and step back. But that would be disrespectful and her father would have her head for it. He made it perfectly clear to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Jha."

He sighs, frustration leaking into his eyes. "Come on, open it."

Reluctantly, she pulls apart the wrapping. Inside is a deep red saree with intricate borders, adorned with shimmering stones. She glances at him, confusion flickering across her face.

"We're going on a date tonight," he declares with smug satisfaction.

"Oh..." she falters, unsure of how to respond.

"We'll be joined by some of my party's politicians and their wives. They've been eager to meet you for a while."

She blinks, still processing. The last thing she feels like doing is entertaining those sleazy politicians.

"Wear the saree. You just look divine in red. " Mr.Jha's tone drops down an octave, "Red suits you, but having you all to myself suits you more." His hand lingers on her forearm, sliding up toward her shoulder, then her face. Her stomach tightens, and she bites her lip, wishing he would stop. Her throat tightened as if invisible hands were squeezing it. Every breath she took felt shallow, incomplete, like she was drowning in the very air around her. The urge to pull away, to run, to be anywhere but here, was overwhelming, yet she remained frozen, trapped in the politeness expected of her.

A sharp knock breaks the tension. Mr. Jha steps back, clearly irritated. It's Buaji.

"Mr. Jha, Mr. Gupta is waiting for you in his study."

Khushi exhales deeply, releasing a breath she doesn't realize she is holding as she grips the package with trembling hands. Mr.Jha flashes her a smile that promises this isn't over, before leaving the room with unsettling ease.

The moment the door clicks shut behind him, Khushi feels her entire body sag with relief, her shoulders falling as if unburdened by an invisible force.

The stillness that follows his departure is welcomed.

She savores the quiet.

It is all she has at this moment.

Author's note:

Hello-hi bye-bye, sweet readers ☺️

Thank you for reading! It's always exciting to share this story with you. Drop a comment if you enjoyed it, and don't forget to hit the star! Until the next chapter!

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @shiyaravi @titaliya @arshiradio

[blazetbw-art]

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[spidereggs888]

Miguel’s new secretary ooh-la-la

(lol /j 💀)

Miguel O’Hara & y/n, any gender or non gender. Very casual writing style. TW Dark humor, dangerous situations, 18+. Y/n are sorta attracted to Miguel (why else would you be here?) but he doesn’t know you lol

This is a loooong read so make sure you have time or something. Also, there’s an illustration in the middle of the chapter! Enjoy

≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋≋

MIGUEL & YOU

ACT 1 | ALGORITHMIC LOTTERY

It's the year 2110.

You are maneuvering through traffic in a sputtery fashion, the lifter problem in your engine getting so bad it almost sounds like you got rocks under the hood. The podcast is going on about alligators in Nueva York sewers.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” you mumble, “there’s CROCODILES in the sewers, not alligators.”

You aren’t looking forward to this interview. How the heck did you manage an audition for office secretary to the CEO of Alchemax?!

“I don’t know,” you say aloud to your other self, “but if I get the job, Imma upgrade to a better ride than this heap of Maglev shit…”

But there’s other bitches who want this position. Two of them you are aware of: Syd and Brody. Syd is a real suck up who will say any damn thing to get the position. She out-groveled you and got the lead PR accounting job you wanted. Suck-up Syd is what you call her around your friends. Brody on the other hand is opposite; he thinks he can strong-arm his way into anything and he pretty much has. He’s kicked people down, screwed people over, and there’s a rumor he filed a sexual harassment charge on his friend Ashton just to get the promotion before Ashton could.

These two skanks are gonna be tricky, but that’s the least of why you loathe this whole thing. You also heard that Miguel O’Hara is a hard ass. When he came into power a few years ago, he immediately fired the former secretary for talking about his father in a positive light. Then he proceeded to chew and spit out people who ever had the misfortune of being in that job position.

“Or maybe they just cut their losses after raking in half a billion,” your friend Speshall guessed the last time you seen her, “they prolly couldn’t take the heat for that long so they waited until they were set for life then said something stupid on purpose to get him to let them go. What a retirement plan! To work for the sexiest man of the year then have him berate you on your way out!”

She was always like this.

Anyway, now your car is not being validated in the automated parking center.

“What the HELL?!”

“Sorry, your credit has been declined.”

“Oh fuck me-“

You fumble your lanyard of data sticks. You are looking for the green one, which has a small amount of credit you procured from test playing phone games. You lean out of your car window to bring the green stick drive near the wireless reader.

“Sorry, we cannot accept credit from online gambling. Please use another method of payment.”

“Oh fuck you!”

≋ ≋ ≋ ≋

Now you are walking. You had to park where they don’t give a shit about where your money is from. Alchemax is trying to create a good precedent by not accepting dirty money, but Alchemax, as far as you know, does dirtier stuff for pay. Why the hell is “gambling money” any different?!

Scowling so hard, you almost didn’t notice there’s some douchebag trying to walk close behind you. He probably saw the lanyard of data sticks around your neck, so you fluff your scarf around until they are covered.

“I don’t have any money, muh guy” you say in your heaviest Nueva York accent along with this generations lingo.

“Oh I’m not afta you. I was tryna tell ya there’s this otha weirdo following ya. I’m tryna group up here.”

You know better than to look back. That’s what this fucko wants you to do. He’s probably a flasher, so you walk into traffic.

“Hey that’s dangerous, yo!”

You don’t listen. Cars flying past is not as scary as going up to see the freakin CEO of Alchemax.

No cars hit you, so now you have to face reality. You walk into the Alchemax Business Bureau building (one of hundreds), and wave your ID at the receptionist in the lobby. The receptionist is preoccupied with a lady who has one hand on her hip and the other holding out a holo watch. It’s projecting a screen with a giant hourglass animation flipping over and over.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to get a damn cup of coffee around here, I just don’t!”

“C’mon it’s not necessary to bring security here, ma’am.”

He remains standing behind his desk and grimaces at you. You really need to get him to validate your ID so you won’t be stopped by security, so you pull up your phone and say to the woman, “you want some coffee coupons for Dunkin Donuts?”

“What?”

You open your savings app and hastily air-swipe several coupons to her holo device like someone flicking bills at a stripper. She stops to look at them.

“A regular frap for half off? Oh woooow, how- will they really honor this?” She asks.

“Yeah! It’s good for two more days, so you may wanna hurry over to the kiosk at the west end.”

“Really?”

“They sell all brands of coffee, they’ll honor it.”

“Well, nevermind, then,” she says curtly to the receptionist as she turns her shoulder away, “Didn’t want hours-old coffee anyway.”

She turns on her fancy heel and trots away. You grin stupidly at the receptionist who rolls his eyes and snatches your ID card from you. He swipes it near his card reader then flicks it back without a word.

After a nod, you swiftly leave down the lobby to the elevator area. You round the corner and see an open elevator closing. It's the only one since the other two are under construction. You rush forward as fast as your legs will allow.

"Wait wait WAIT WAIT!"

The doors are closing and you see the face of Suck-up Syd with her smoky eyes and faux fur capelet. She smiles and does nothing as the doors close.

"Shocking typical," you grumble. But you know where the other elevator is. You take off to the other end of the building for the second set of elevators.

You make it onto the elevator with two other people, some white chick and an Indian dude. The lady sees your pass.

"Going for the secretary job?" She asks.

"Yeah."

“Me too. If I don’t get this, I’m going to jump from this building,” the lady jokes.

“If I get this, I WILL jump from this building,” you add.

“Either way, it's gonna be job security for the custodian department,” the Indian guy says. All three of you chuckle politely.

The elevator lets more people in. You check your phone. You are fucking late by 20 minutes, but so is the lady who wants this job or else. You assume it would have taken a while anyway, since there was about 15 people going in for this very same job. Could it be you?! Could you land this job?! What if your mom was wrong?! And what if O’Hara says yes? What if you are set for life?

The final floor of this elevator is reached. You wobble on your way out. The lady doesn’t move.

“Actually, I can’t do this. I’m going home.”

The elevator doors close and she goes back down. You hear a faint byeeeeeeeeeee as the elevator descends to lower levels. You pay no heed and follow the Indian man into the massive hall.

There’s already chaos. One guy is being escorted out of the lobby by his shirt collar, and he's spouting obscenities. Some lady had dropped all her paperwork and she’s too numb to pick it up again. Two ladies near her are sarcastically wishing each other luck, one of them is Suck-up Syd. She looks 10x more desperate today with her tight-fitting outfit and belt buckle the size of a plate. Her overly fake smile gives you no esteem or hope. You almost sit but realize there’s barf on the chair.

Okay, surely everyone is overreacting in here.

“Man I’m not scared at all. There’s a trick to facing down Alpha males,” says a guy who you didn’t ask.

“Ah, cool.” you say through a grin. It’s Brody. You don’t even have to see him to know he’s there with his overwhelming presence of snobbery.

“See, as a Sigma male,” he continues, leaning on the back of the barf chair to talk to you, “I don’t adhere to the Alpha’s orders. That’s how the pack survives! One guy is an outlier so like if the Alpha fails in his role as leader, the Sigma will show by example and the rest of the females and Betas will follow him-“

“BRODY!”

You and Brody see Ashton in the doorway you came from. Ashton beelines across the room with his briefcase raised high. He brings it down on Brody with a loud clunk and they grapple and exchange blows. You go ahead and sit down perfectly still.

"Oh my GOD!" Suck-up Syd muses. She only sees this as two less competitors. You wince as the men start yelling obscenities at each other in their struggle. The guards who took out the last guy come back in and see this happening and they both huff angrily.

"Next!"

"Ah, that's me!" Syd says, “you guys are welcome to leave, I probably got this in the bag.”

She gets up and thrusts her capelet onto the lobby assistant.

.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱ⋅.˳ ˳.⋅ॱ˙˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.

Four hours pass. Brody and Ashton were escorted from the building, those bozos didn’t even get an interview, but it was funny watching Brody get dragged down to hell by a demon he wronged.

Suck-up Syd walked out in tears and a forced smile. You felt bad for making fun of her in the past. She’s just kinda desperate and a little pathetic. You assume groveling doesn't work on the boss.

Other people came and went swiftly. The cheerful Indian man from earlier left looking surprised at his failure. The lady who dropped all her crap earlier apparently already had an interview and was reeling from her bad luck. You understand their disappointment since being chosen for this position was like winning the lottery, except you don't know if you won or not.

“Next!”

Your stomach twists but you refuse to be like them. This is just a job. You’ll be answering phones, emails, and possibly even mailing some dry cleaning. No big fuckin deal.

You thank the lobby assistant but she ignores you and walks away. She is just doing her job. She looks very tired of everyone else’s shit and is probably glad it's over. You walk to the elevator where the second to last person is taking baby-steps, talking on his phone with someone nursing his wounded pride. That could be you in a minute.

I'm probably not gonna get it either, you think, but I'm going down with some dignity.

You work yourself up as you step into yet another elevator, this one glass paneled. You stare across Nueva York as you ascend, contemplating your future. So what if you don't make it? You will simply fall back to your job and go about your life. Your mom will say she's right about the invitation being a fluke. You will go back to paying off debts and supplementing your food budget by testing mobile phone games during work hours and before you go to sleep. You see your own reflection, no longer as young as you used to be, and you sigh.

The glass doors open behind you. You walk through another set of foggy glass doors. Despite your self pep talk, you are still not looking forward to this. You've seen pictures of Miguel O'Hara before; over 6 feet tall, wide shoulders that could support an ox yoke, and a presence so large one would think he could go toe to toe with Godzilla. How will the interview go? You imagine fire. You expect a demon sitting behind a black marble desk in the darkness, a horrendous mob boss wearing Scarface attire, spitting fiery facts and passing cruel judgment, his horns ascending at the heavens with searing indifference and contempt for mercy. You expect a fax machine in the corner that will print out your death.

This is not what you see.

There he is, in this meager temp office sitting behind a tiny desk covered in empty water bottles. His shoulders are wider than the desk, but he's scrunching them in to seem normal. He's wearing a regular dress shirt, no tie. No fancy jewelry either, just some off-brand oversized watch on his left wrist. He looks disappointed already, but not at you. He’s squinting down at some of the tiny desks’ interactive holo-projections. You see your name on one of the files he’s peering at through comically large anti glare glasses.

You don’t sit. You are too stressed. He hasn’t noticed you. He picks up one of the water bottles and carefully opens it with his monster hands. They look travel-sized compared to him. He sips it and notices you.

“Hello!” You greet.

He finishes it in two gulps and sets it down slowly, as to not disturb the other bottles.

“Okay I don’t have a lot of time left, so let’s cut through here… you work for the guys in the PR department-“

“Ah yeah, they are a very friendly bunch down there! That is until you get to know them!” You blurt out. He looks up at you with tired eyes and swipes through the files without looking at them.

“Says here you were demoted from vice head PR accounting a while back, but you attached a note saying you have an alibi? Let’s hear it.”

“Uhhh.”

“C’mon I don’t have all day.”

“There was a payment discrepancy, uh, I was given a raise but I noticed my boss didn’t update it for a whole month. He was on vacation and wasn't answering my calls, so... since he left the finances to me I updated it myself… And I got into trouble BUT it was technically not embezzlement, so I was given an ultimatum to either move to a lower department or get fired, so-“

“Self-reliant. Got it. There's a note from your current department head saying she's been notified anonymously that you've been paying for Alchemax home services with gambling money, what do you have to say about that?"

"I- that is a th- thing with SoloGameMedia, ah, they are a parent company to a gambling franchise, therefore every transaction from them is registered as gambling profit- but I test games with- from them directly! It's a side hustle- thing, I- that, I DO NOT playtest games during work hours! Only on-"

"Why do you think I should hire you?”

You are caught off guard by the most basic interview question.

“Hhhhhh WELL… because you need a secretary now?”

He’s already looking back down at the files again. You can see NYPD files, apparently he’s now looking at your small criminal record. You also notice his shirt is unbuttoned on the top. For curiosity's sake, you discreetly raise up on your toes to see down his cleavage. It's deeper than you expected. One mighty flex and that shirt will send buttons flying everywhere. He looks back up as you quickly drop back down on your heels.

“Yeah. Mmm. Ok. So you are way in over your head in college and credit debt, you have been gambling as a means to get by- really don’t care about that, and you did not dispute your boss's ultimatum when you had the chance."

"Wait, what?"

"Four years ago, when your boss gave you the ultimatum to get demoted or get fired. His proposal was ILLEGAL."

Your gut twists.

"That- that was illegal?!"

"You had six months to report him and you didn't. Why?"

"Be- because I just thought he was being fair, I-"

"I'm sorry, but you got screwed."

He looks sincere behind those nerdy lenses with his pout lips. You really want to throw something right now.

“I… oh…”

"Look, the most I can do is re-open your case," he says as he pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge, "You might get a small settlement out of it, but even that isn't guaranteed."

"So... I'm not getting the job?"

"How do you expect to get hired with such an unexceptional history of white collar crime and a meek attitude that's gotten you nowhere? Hey Lyla? Is this all we have?”

An AI assistant pops up from the interactive desk.

“This is the last one, sir.”

“Okay, cool. Look I’m sure you’re actually great at your job, but I have places to be-“

“Wha- well so do I!”

“Uh huh, nice talking to you,“ he scoots his chair back and hits his knee on the tiny desk, sending empty bottles scattering all over the room. He cringes.

“Well if I’m so unexceptional, why was I accepted for an interview?!”

“I’m gonna guess because of some algorithmic lottery? Probably to do with the amount of experience you have in your department, I dunno,” He guesses as he attempts to gather the bottles by sweeping them under the desk with his shoes, “If you wanna blame someone for the short interview time, thank those other time-wasters who came before you. I gotta go.”

“Now WAIT a… minute”

He stands up from his tiny desk as you say that. He’s towering over you with a tired expression and loose strands of hair about his face.

“What?” He asks, all friendliness gone.

“Can we continue this interview at a different time? You obviously haven’t found a secretary you want, but you still need one, right?! I could be the one you need even if I’m not the one you want!”

It takes every inch of your being to not slap yourself on the forehead. He is scrunching his nose, squinting down at you with mild contempt. You get a good look at his sharp, broad temples and cheekbones, complete with a hardened jaw. His thick dark lips are pulled to one side in annoyance and are accentuated with a pair of jowls that look poised to bite at any time like some kind of deep sea angler fish. His eyes are very dark. They almost look red…

His expression goes blank as he sighs.

“Okay.”

“Great! Ah, when?!”

“Tomorrow, same time.”

“Grabsolutely- Great- fantastic! I won’t let you down!”

“Uh huh.”

He leaves. You assume you should leave too. You awkwardly follow him. He grabs his coat off a nearby chair, and you get a brief display of his amazing body shape as he flips the coat over his shoulders. You avert your attention to the floor, already feeling disrespectful after having looked down his shirt. Now you are both in the elevator. You are doing all in your power not to pass out over your small lucky break.

O’Hara pretends you aren’t there as he looks at his phone and chats with his AI assistant.

“Lyla, push the evening meeting to tomorrow as well, except an hour earlier.”

“Roger that!”

“I need coffee.”

“Roger that also!”

“Please, PLEASE tell them to not add cream. I really hate when they do that.”

You wanna ask him if he’s lactose intolerant but you already pushed your luck today.

Apparently he is exiting the building in the same way you are going, but he's booking it with long ass strides and it's difficult to keep up. You both end up on the same elevator again, this time with other people. He awkwardly acknowledges you with a blank smirk and brow raise, then promptly looks back down at his phone. Everyone else is trying not to bother him.

"Hello, Mister O'Hara, I didn't realize you were here! Hi!" says a lady who is shooting her shot at a social connection (she totally knew he was there.)

"Ah, hey. Miss...?"

"Stacy Brian! We met at the Student Festival earlier this year."

"Oh, right, right! Miss Brian, how are you?"

"Doing well! I didn’t know you wore glasses!"

"Oh- I totally forgot these were on my face," he admits while taking them off and trying to find a place to stash them, "I actually don’t wear glasses, it's- um, I have issues with bright computer screens."

You discreetly watch him in the elevator wall reflection as he quickly swaps the lenses out for a pair of red sunglasses. The elevator doors open and everyone flows out into the foyer. You realize you never got his card.

"Hey one more thing, sir!" You call out to him.

"What?"

"I don't have your number! What if we need to reschedule?!"

"Ah, right. Get your phone out, please."

He turns back around and searches for something on his phone. With a swift flick of his hand, he air drops his ID and number to your device.

"Thank you!"

"¡De nada!"

He swiftly leaves through the front doors and trots down the steps. You watch this huge marvel of nature hail a cab. The automated transporter car is so small that he has to bring his shoulders in tight to fit through the doorway. This seems to have more to do with him not wanting to snag his nice jacket.

A man of this position and wealth... hailing a cab? Must be in THAT much of a hurry. You look down at the data he sent you. His ID photo looks like they took his picture after pulling an all-nighter, and his half-hearted smile reveals his crooked teeth. But somehow he still looks great in an unconventional way.

•°《💀》°•

You drive home, feeling both anxious and also deflated. Miguel O'Hara was a mixed bag of what you expected. Speshall hyped him up as a sexy hunk of the year and Brody felt so intimidated that he went on an unwarranted Alpha Male rant, but the guy was so awkward with his tiny desk and water bottles and weird glasses, and he was whining to his AI helper about his coffee. He’s a large… finicky… lactose-intolerant nerd, but he's also got the moxy to move mountains. What’s more, now ya gotta think of what to say to him in the next interview. What could be expected of a guy like that? What if he cancels the meeting and your chance is lost forever?

Your car makes it home and you sit in it for a moment. Speshall left you a text asking about the interview.

Went weird, you text back.

"Welcome back, tenant 27," the AI apartment valet greets.

You open your car door and notice you've been parked over the grates again. You remember when you last dropped your phone in this spot, the fucking thing went right in between the grate holes and you couldn’t get it back for a week. You have the presence of mind to upload the latest bit of information (O'Hara's phone number) to your data cloud.

You walk through the parking garage. You know all the safe routes. It didn’t matter who you were, Nueva York was never safe at night.

You hear footsteps to your left but it’s just a couple of people walking together, a man and woman trying to huddle. The garage opening is just ahead. You go ahead and march out, not looking back.

You step out into the warm breeze of middle-class Nueva York. The wind is artificial, billowing from the hydro-electric plants that keeps this city running. It took you forever to get here, a lot of cheap-skating, white lies, and debt piling to maintain this life, but you are here! Unapologetic holo screens buzz near you as you walk, begging you to spend money as they light up the way to your apartment. There's no point in tapping their "no" buttons since that just wastes your time. The screens showcased brand-new cars, beautiful clothes, and radiant health. If you had more money, at least some of that could be yours. You hate that people roll around in all the wonderful things this world has to offer while you have to make do with decade old clothing and over-processed food. Where the hell is everyone getting it all from? When the hell will you get yours?

“Hey! Wanna buy a shared data cloud?!”

You are now being bothered by a salesman. You say nothing and keep walking. Even saying no opens more dialogue. He gives up but another comes at you.

“Wanna be a part of the elite task force that edits any and all articles about Thor?! It’s a paying job! $100 an hour!”

As dystopian as it sounds, $100 an hour won’t get you far in Nueva York, not in this era of quadrillionaires.

“Hey, I saw ya on da street earlier! Ya walked into traffic!”

You accidentally glance over at the familiar voice talking about the familiar subject. He’s got you. Your eyes are fixated on a creepypasta face, his irises flashing in a hypnotic pattern. This was way worse than the idea of the guy being just a flasher.

He’s a black market demon. The worst street hawker known to man.

You can’t remember much else besides him taking you by the hand and leading you away.

_________________________________________

Next: ACT 2 | BLACK MARKET DEMONS

[fandomsnoccasionalscreaming]

i would violate several geneva conventions for data

fuck this bruce maddox guy i hate him

(2x09 The Measure of a Man)

[kylejsugarman]

he is my good little friend and im taking him with me as i put on my shoes and get ready for the night shift......oh jessimer lets see if those potassium levels ever normalized for that patient we saw last night

[museofthepyre]

do you ship Sydney x Elijah?

I don’t really ship anything tbh. I don’t even ship Syd and Jedidiah per se, I’m a strong queerplatonic Seddie advocate 🎉🎉 although I think Juniper and Rowan are cute together… Salem and Marisol too

WAIT ACTUALLY I DO HAVE ONE STRONG SHIP OPINION I think Adam and Matthew should kiss and furthermore we should let them [data expunged for violent, gourmet cannibalism related content].

[its-your-mind]

Your honor they are my very favorite comedic duo.

[Photo ID: A series of screeenshots from the transcript of the Sawbones podcast episode on Gamer Pills.

Image 1: And first up, I want to tell you- and Syd, if you feel the need to weigh in with any sorts of like, scientific contributions... Sydnee: Oh, I will.

Image 2: Justin: Now, Syd, I have given you access to my research, so you can sort through my data that I have gathered. Sydnee: Your data. Justin: My data, yes. My data suggests that Teacrine and theacrine are similar. I found a Reddit post on it that seemed very scientific, but I could not understand it. But it seemed extremely scientific, the words in the Reddit post. So that's one of the big ones in Genius Gamer.

Image 3: Justin: They're all extremely powerful. Sydnee: No. No. Justin: Any study is very powerful, I think. Sydnee: And then you gotta look for bias and conflicts of interest in the- Justin: Did you have a chance to look into my work on Spectra? Uh, I've been doing some preliminary research, which is linking you to another article on PubMed. [laughs] That's right, this is from the National Library of Medicine. And PubMed. Yeah, it is from PubMed. So, um…

Image 4: Justin: Glucoside, yeah, which is clinically validated to improve focus and psychomotor skills. Sydnee: It is? Justin: Clinically validated. Sydnee: Because I am, right now, trying to find where… Justin: Well, I'll tell you what. You look into brainberry a little bit, I'm (the next line is cut off)

Image 5: Sydnee: I am desperately trying to find Cyanidin-3-0-glucoside... Justin: You still haven't found all the clinical proof?!

Image 6: Sydnee: Uh-huh. See, I am trying to find it desperately, and everything is... um, I mean, man. It's really well-written scientific nonsense. It's really dense, and so a lot of people would- if you don't read in too deeply, would think like, "Oh, well, it must do these things." But I am not finding that it has been proven to do anything, honey. Justin: Um, well, I guess you're just wrong. Um-

Image 7: Justin: [laughs] So, also, it's got rhodiola, which is an herb that grows in cold mountainous regions. Okay. Y'know what, Sydnee? Sydnee: There's 22 people in this study you sent me. /End ID]

[blackjack-15]

coach kay again....fascinating...

"you're not gonna get there alone" oh i'm sensing movement in that plot point!

sydcarmy resolution come on i need them working together again where's that scene of them under the table i've seen gifs of

i know that's prolly the finale even so. i crave it.

it's a fun cycle this season: sydcarmy working together -> dish doesn't turn out perfectly -> both isolate -> dishes continue to turn out poorly. they need process, time, and collaboration.

and to kiss

richie!!! is it a richie ep?

"f//k you cousin" oh he's mad.

is he staging? that's not The Bear, it's way fancy

"you're forks. change your shirt" heheheh

EVERY SECOND COUNTS -- yup this is somewhere carmy's been

richie thinks it's a punishment. that's not even a little carmy's style, so there's def something here's here to learn

"let me give you some purpose, then" I KNEW IT I EFFING KNEW IT

richie watching everyone around as he dries forks -- love seeing that he's always watching

"i can do respect" and he can! richie's never gonna be a peppy Cheerleader, but he's got both passion and the ability to respect others, and that'll help him at The Bear. carmy's building a ridiculously strong team, and he's doing it by showing them that they want to learn and grow and have purpose.

richie watching trains, coming full circle

oh richie. and he handled tiff's news amazingly. the train running over his "i love you" to give him a bit of privacy. beautifully done, heartbreaking. i think this is the only scene i've not hated his ex in, so well done there too.

"i see the pattern" THERE'S THAT SCHOOLING IN DATA MANAGEMENT. DEVRY IS SERIOUS ABOUT SUCCESS

more seriously, this is what richie is gonna be good at once he sees the purpose in being good at it. he notices everything, asks the right questions, and is good at seeing patterns. i'm thrilled beyond all reason with this

this whole montage with richie and the pizza and the quizzes and love story is the most joyful thing i've seen on tv in a long long time. watching richie have life and purpose again is just. it's BEAUTIFUL i'm so happy

the faceless statue! representing possibility

fire suppression again....is it b/c mikey wanted to burn the place down? his Specter is looming again?

"i know you sent me there to get rid of me" oh richie. no baby. that's why he's so mad. and carmy is so, so confused, this poor kid. whenever he tries to do something for someone it always follows the same pattern of people misunderstanding XD

season 1:

carmy: tells syd he knows she's impatient even though she's skilled, so he needs her to slow down for him

syd: oh so that's why my business failed???

carmy: ????

season 2:

carmy: sends richie to stage at an incredible restaurant to build his skills and give him confidence

richie: oh so you want to get rid of me???

carmy: ????

this boy i love him

also fak you are going to Die