#enterprise loyalty management

[ourjobagency]

Salesforce, a leading customer relationship management (CRM) platform, offers a robust solution for achieving this goal - Salesforce Loyalty Management.

[champstorymedia]

From Local to Legendary: Effective Branding Tips for Small Enterprises

In a world where businesses are rising and falling at a rapid pace, establishing a strong brand is vital for small enterprises looking to go from local to legendary. Branding is more than just a logo; it’s the essence of your business and how customers perceive you. This article delves into effective branding tips that can transform your small enterprise into a legendary brand, attracting a loyal…

[brucewaynehater101]

Hear me out for something. So we agree that Tim definitely took a bunch of Ras ninjas when he blew up the place right? And they're *super* loyal to him and also very, very competent.

What if when Tim brings Bruce back from the Time Stream, once Bruce is healed up, he insists on taking over WE from Tim. Not because Tim is bad at it, but because he doesn't want to sit around doing nothing while he physically heals and isn't allowed to be Batman.

So Tim decides to use the money he made to revive Drake Industries. He'll need a bunch of very loyal workers who know how math works to fill out upper management to make sure there isn't any corruption and wouldn't you know it. He has a couple hundred of exactly what he needs stolen from ras who are getting antsy about not having anything to do.

It only takes a year, maybe two at the most, for Drake Industries to raise to rivaling Wayne Enterprises and Lex Corp like it used to before Tim's parents died. There are rumors though, that it's impossible to rise beyond a certain point in the company as all those positions are filled already and if a new one opens, it's given to someone that no one has ever heard of before (more defectors from Ras). All the people on the board are weirdly young (is that Olympic Gold Winner Cissie King Jones???) And one of them just had a big scandal go public about being Lex Luthor's illegitimate son that he kicked out for being gay?? This is not at all what happened with Kon, and Lex has been trying to calm the rumor mill around it but the gossip collums have taken this and ran with it.

You would think that with a board of directors so young and a company so new that's so big, corporate espionage on them would be *easy* but that's to the fact that every single member of upper management would die for Tim, none of it happens. His company is massive and air tight. People who try to bribe his workers into selling secrets often end up in strange accidents. After all, you can take the person out of the Ninja Death Cult, but you can't take the Ninja Death Cult out of the person.

Yes! There is a series not quite like this, but dear to me. "Where Bats and Birds Roost" by Mouse_in_this_house has BAMF Tim Drake with ex-LoA agent spy network that he hides via the Neon Knights initiative.

However, I love that your AU had Tim make it from the corpse of his parents' company. Instead of using Bruce's resources, Tim used the ones that only belong to him. I also like his rehabilitation plans for all the defectors and their loyalty to him because of it.

Tim should go around snatching up people from his enemies because he has better benefits, way less chance of the job killing its employees, and charisma. Maybe Bruce gets a little annoyed cause WE employees also prefer to work at Drake Industries (probably not, but it would be funny).

Also, YJ working for DI? Brilliant ^^

This type of chaos and the BAMF Tim are spices I need more of. Let Tim use his whacky ability to befriend his enemies for his benefit!

[nayziiz]

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 4

As the weeks wore on, Lando and Amelia found themselves navigating a precarious game of cat and mouse, their every move shadowed by the looming threat of exposure. Despite the setbacks, they managed to orchestrate several successful shipments to various parts of the world, each one a testament to their resilience and resourcefulness. From the bustling streets of Paris to the neon-lit alleys of Tokyo and the sun-drenched beaches of Rio de Janeiro, they navigated the intricate web of international logistics with skill and precision.

But as the shipments continued, so too did the speculations between Lando and Amelia, casting suspicion on everyone from trusted allies to low-level associates. With each passing day, the sense of paranoia grew, fueled by the nagging fear that someone within their ranks was working against them.

In the absence of concrete evidence, they could only wait and watch, their nerves stretched taut with anticipation for the inevitable confrontation with George and his father, Steve. They knew that it was only a matter of time before the Russells reappeared, armed with questions and demands for answers.

Steve was unrelenting in his pursuit for answers. George's conflicted loyalties became increasingly apparent as the tension escalated. He found himself caught between his father's ruthless demands and a lingering sense of compassion for Amelia, a girl he once cared deeply for. He pleaded with his father to spare her harm, emphasising the need for restraint, but his appeals fell on deaf ears. The elder Russell remained resolute, driven by a relentless pursuit of answers, regardless of the methods employed.

In the pursuit of those answers, the Steve saw instilling fear in the young Rossi as a perfect means to an end. The calculated decision to create a climate of intimidation was intended to extract the information they sought. In George's mind, this heavy-handed approach seemed unnecessary, but he had little influence over the methods his father deemed fit for the situation.

The tension reached a boiling point when an unexpected intrusion disrupted Amelia's ordinary night at the car dealership. As she diligently worked at her desk, finalising purchase paperwork, a mysterious figure slipped into the shadows, wielding a gun. He stalked her as he made his way up the staircase to her office. The sudden appearance of danger shattered the illusion of Amelia's once seemingly idyllic life. The threat materialised from the dangerous undercurrents of her business dealings, casting a dark shadow over her personal space.

In the harrowing moments that followed, Amelia faced a stark realisation – the vulnerabilities that came with her involvement in the less-than-clean aspects of business had breached the sanctity of her private world. The once distant dangers of the underworld had materialised at her doorstep, leaving her to confront the consequences of her choices and the menacing presence that now lurked in the shadows of her seemingly secure life.

Amelia swiftly recognized the orchestrator behind the menace—Russell, and by association, George. Driven by a toxic blend of jealousy and a warped sense of rivalry, they had crossed a line that Amelia could not dismiss or forgive.

The bitter irony lay in George's role, someone who had once pleaded for leniency and attempted to protect Amelia from the ominous reach of his family. However, his own history of betrayal and a pattern of undermining friendships, including those with Lando and Amelia, had now come full circle. The loyalty he had hoped to foster had eroded, replaced by a perilous alliance with his ruthless family.

For Amelia, this was more than an isolated incident; it was a pivotal moment that shattered the facade of normalcy. The underworld, a realm her father had sought to shield her from, now unfolded at her doorstep, and she found herself at the centre of the dangerous game by her own volition.

Amelia's heart raced like a drumbeat in her chest, each thud echoing the gravity of the chilling reality before her—an imposing gun pointed unwaveringly at her forehead. The tension in the air was palpable, and despite her training in various martial arts, the starkness of the situation eclipsed anything she had faced before.

The training that once instilled confidence now offered only a fragile shield against the looming threat. Her breaths, normally measured and controlled, came in quick, shallow bursts, as she grappled with the instinctive surge of fear. In the dimly lit confines of her dealership, the menacing presence of the intruder cast an ominous shadow, and the world seemed to contract to the immediate proximity of the weapon aimed at her.

Drawing upon every ounce of her strength, Amelia fought to steady herself, her mind racing as she attempted to approach the perilous scenario with a facade of calm reasoning. The pulsating seconds felt like an eternity, each one magnifying the weight of the gun and the precariousness of her position.

In the face of imminent danger, her training became a delicate dance between muscle memory and raw instinct. She focused on the intruder, attempting to decipher the intentions behind the cold, unyielding gaze. The air hung heavy with unspoken threats, and as the seconds stretched, she steeled herself for the unfolding confrontation.

The assailant's demand cut through the air like a sharp blade, his words resonating with ominous intent—he sought information about her business dealings with Norris. Amelia, despite the palpable fear coursing through her veins, summoned a steely resolve and met the demand with a measured composure.

With unwavering determination, she firmly denied any involvement in fraudulent activities, each word spoken with deliberate clarity. In the face of the menacing weapon trained on her, Amelia asserted her autonomy, emphasising that her business operated within the bounds of legality. The echoes of her denial reverberated in the dimly lit room, a defiant stand against the threat that loomed before her.

The air became charged with an unspoken intensity, the intruder's gaze a piercing scrutiny that sought to unravel the truth hidden beneath her words. As the minutes stretched into an agonising crawl, Amelia's strategic mind worked swiftly, seizing upon a fleeting opportunity to lower the gunman's guard. In a moment of calculated precision, she initiated a series of manoeuvres, skillfully disarming him with a deftness that belied the urgency of the situation.

The sudden, unexpected struggle erupted through the quiet dealership, the scuffling sounds echoing in the otherwise silent space. Amelia's training in martial arts became a decisive advantage as she defied the odds, turning the tables against the assailant. The struggle played out in a dance of survival, the stakes heightened by the threat that had initially loomed over her.

Amidst the chaos, the sudden commotion escalated, the tension reaching a fever pitch. In the frenzied struggle, a gunshot shattered the silence, its reverberations ricocheting off the walls and distorting the perception of time. The deafening sound momentarily drowned out all other noise, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake.

Amelia's heart raced in the aftermath of the gunshot, her senses heightened as she assessed the situation. The abrupt eruption of violence had shifted the delicate balance within the dealership, leaving a lingering tension in the air.

Amelia's body tensed in the aftermath of the gunshot, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as time seemed to freeze. The once frantic struggle now hung in suspended animation, and the dimly lit dealership became a stage for the unknown. The surreal silence that followed the deafening sound of the gunshot enveloped her, and the world seemed to hold its breath.

In the oppressive stillness, Amelia waited with bated breath, her senses heightened, and her perception attuned to the slightest shift in the air. The harsh echoes of her own laboured breaths reverberated in the quietude, underscoring the gravity of the situation. Panic gripped her, the uncertainty of the unfolding events amplifying the fear that coiled within her.

The profound sense of relief that washed over her was palpable, a wave that momentarily eclipsed the lingering fear. The realisation slowly dawned—she had not been the target of the gunshot. The threat had been redirected, and it was the assailant who now bore the wounds inflicted in the struggle.

Amelia's gaze fixated on the fallen gunman, his laboured breaths a haunting symphony in the aftermath of the struggle. The reality of the situation seeped into her consciousness, and a heavy silence enveloped the dealership. Time, momentarily suspended, resumed its relentless march, yet Amelia remained frozen in place, a silent witness to the unfolding consequences of the violent encounter.

The man, now a mere shadow of the menacing threat he had posed, struggled with the injuries inflicted during the tumultuous struggle. The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, a visceral reminder of the brutal clash that had transpired within the once-quiet confines of the showroom. Amelia, caught in the aftermath, grappled with the weight of the encounter settling heavily on her shoulders.

As the wounded assailant choked on his own blood, the air became charged with an eerie tension, the sounds of his suffering echoing through the space. The dealership, once a sanctuary for luxury vehicles, now bore witness to the stark realities of the dangerous game Amelia had willingly entered. The poignant contrast between the opulence of the surroundings and the brutality of the confrontation lingered, casting a sombre pall over the scene.

As the dealership gradually settled into an eerie calm, the remnants of the recent struggle lingering like ghostly echoes, Amelia took a moment to collect herself. The adrenaline, which had surged through her veins like a tumultuous tide, began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a mix of shock and a subtle undercurrent of accomplishment.

Surveying the aftermath of the violent encounter, she found herself amidst overturned furniture and the tangible residue of the struggle that had unfolded within the walls of her once-secure sanctuary. The normally pristine office space now bore the scars of the confrontation, a stark reminder of the perilous world she had been abruptly thrust into.

“Shit.” She mumbled as she stumbled to switch off all the lights on in her office.

With her heart still pounding and her once-white satin blouse now stained in scarlet, Amelia made her way to her desk, a silent witness to the turmoil that had unfolded in her sanctuary. The stark reminder of the recent struggle clung to her, an indelible mark on the fabric of her existence.

As she reached for her phone, uncertainty gripped her. The weight of the decision loomed over her—should she call her father, the protector who had shielded her from the dangerous undercurrents, or should she call Lando, the ally who understood the shadows of their shared past? In a moment of visceral instinct, she chose the latter, trusting in Lando's unwavering support and the absence of judgement that their history promised.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she waited in breathless anticipation for Lando's voice to resonate through the device. The seconds seemed to stretch, each one echoing with the aftermath of the struggle. In the silence that enveloped her, the phone call became a lifeline, a connection to the one person who could comprehend the complexities of the perilous world she had been thrust into.

The pulsating beat of music and the lively atmosphere of one of Lando's clubs enveloped his surroundings as he answered the call. Amidst the rhythmic sounds and vibrant energy, a voice, laden with urgency, cut through the noise.

“Amelia?” Lando's voice crackled through the phone, momentarily competing with the lively ambiance of the club.

“Lando. I need your help.” She replied, the weight of the recent events evident in her breathless tonemanages to breathe.

“Now’s not the best time.” He informed her, his words navigating the delicate balance between the two worlds—one of immediate revelry and the other, a world in which Amelia grappled with the aftermath of a dangerous encounter.

In the background, the ambient noise of the club continued, underscored by the playful distraction of Zara kissing down his neck—a glimpse into the lavish and carefree surroundings that defined Lando's realm.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.” She emphasised, her voice a stark contrast to the surrounding revelry.

The weight of her statement penetrated through the distractions of the club, prompting Lando to take decisive action. In a swift motion, he pushed Zaral off him, leaving behind the allure of the night's festivities. Rising to his feet, he stepped away from the vibrant chaos, a silent acknowledgment of the urgency embedded in Amelia's call.

“Where are you?” Lando's voice held a sense of urgency as he sought to understand the specifics of Amelia's situation.

“I’m in the dealership. Just make sure you come alone and come around the back.” She informed him, her words laden with a discreet plea for discretion and swift action.

Amelia, far from being a passive victim, emerged from the ordeal with a silent vow etched in her heart. The betrayal she had endured fueled a fierce determination to retaliate. The past bonds that once tethered her to George were now severed, and she understood the gravity of the situation. It was no longer just about self-preservation; it was a commitment to safeguarding those she held dear, a pledge to shield not only herself but also the loyal allies who had stood by her side.

The passage of twenty minutes left the dealership in an eerie stillness, the back door creaking open to admit Lando into the shadowy expanse. The showroom, once a realm of gleaming luxury, now lay shrouded in darkness, the ambient glow of the city's night seeping through the windows.

Lando, attuned to the urgency of the situation, cast a glance upward at Amelia's office on the first floor. The dim light emitted from her phone served as a lone beacon in the otherwise darkened space, guiding him towards the heart of the unfolding drama.

Making his way up the spiral staircase with cautious steps, Lando's senses heightened. The air hung heavy with the aftermath of the struggle, and a palpable tension gripped the surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, a hushed realisation settled in—there, in the semi-darkness of the office, lay the assailant's feet.

“What the fuck?” The immediate shock and disbelief coloured Lando's voice, echoing through the silent expanse of the building.

“Shut up!” Amelia hissed, her urgency cutting through the tension that hung in the air.Amelia hissed.

“What did you do?” Lando's voice, now lowered but no less intense, sought answers in the darkness.

“I will answer all of your questions, but you need to help me get rid of his body.” Amelia's words carried a weight, a confession that reverberated through the shadows.

“Amelia.” Lando's tone held a mix of concern and incredulity.

“It was either be killed or kill. I had to choose.” She explained, the gravity of her words hanging in the air like an unspoken truth.

Lando, confronted with the grim reality of the situation, snapped into action. The urgency of the moment prompted him to shed his jacket, rolling up his sleeves with a focused determination. In the silence that hung over the showroom, his mind raced with logistical considerations.

His thoughts turned to the practicalities—they needed a different vehicle. The trunk of his car, by his quick assessment, wouldn't accommodate the task at hand. A calculated and strategic mind, Lando contemplated the intricacies of the situation, considering the weight and gravity of each decision.

“Alright.” He said, his voice steady despite the unfolding chaos. “We'll use another vehicle. We need to act fast, and we need to be discreet.”

Lando dragged the unconscious man by his feet, the chilling reality of the situation sinking in. The dealership, once a pristine display of luxury, now bore witness to the aftermath of a violent struggle, leaving behind a trail of stark evidence.

“Fuck, the blood is everywhere.” Lando muttered under his breath.

As Lando manoeuvred the body onto a rug, his gaze shifted upward, and he found Amelia, the once-composed orchestrator of her business, now completely spaced out. Disgust etched across her face, her eyes fixated on the volume of blood that stained her office floor—a visceral reminder of the choices made in the throes of danger.

“Are you hurt?” Lando's concern cut through the tense air, a reflection of the gravity of the situation.

“No.” Amelia replied, her voice holding a trace of weariness.

“You have blood on your shirt.” Lando observed, his gaze fixated on the stained garment.

“It’s not mine.” She clarified as the weight of her words underscoring the gravity of the struggle she had endured.

“You need to get bleach and a ton of paper towels.” Lando suggested, his mind already racing with plans to address the aftermath.

“I’ll get it.” Amelia responded, her resolve unwavering even in the face of the disconcerting scene in her office.

The logistics of the cleanup became a practical focus, a way to navigate the aftermath of their choices and restore a semblance of order to the chaos that had unfolded within the once-tranquil dealership.

In a matter of moments, Amelia descended the staircase and reappeared, carrying the cleaning supplies needed to address the aftermath of the struggle. The cleansing scent of bleach filled the air as she sprayed it onto the blood-stained tiles, the pungent odour mingling with the lingering tension in the showroom.

Amelia's movements were deliberate and focused, the rhythmic sound of the paper towel wiping away the evidence of the violent encounter. The dim light cast shadows on her determined expression as she worked to erase the physical remnants of the struggle that had disrupted the tranquillity of her office.

“I’ll have my security guys wipe the footage from the CCTV database.” Lando informed her, his tone authoritative and decisive. The practicality of his suggestion was evident—a strategic move to eliminate any traces of the recent events. “And, I’ll have them send some guys down to be here when you’re in the office.”

“That’s not necessary. My father-”

“Your father cannot know a thing. He’ll know that you're busy with shady business. Just say you had a security breach and I offered.” Lando interjected, his voice firm and insistent.

The weight of his words conveyed an understanding of the delicate balance they needed to maintain in the face of a situation that threatened to unravel the carefully constructed facades of their lives.

In the strategic dance of shadows and secrets, Lando's offer became a lifeline—a shield against the prying eyes of those who couldn't be trusted.

“He always liked you.” Amelia acknowledged, a subtle nod to the complexities of her father's affections.

“Precisely.” Lando responded, recognizing the leverage that goodwill might afford them in navigating the intricacies of their clandestine actions. “I’m going to need someone to help us. We can’t do this alone.”

“Just not Max. Or Alex.” Amelia stipulated, expressing a cautious reluctance regarding the choice of allies.

“Don’t worry about it. Just pretend like nothing happened.” He directed with a pragmatic approach to maintaining the illusion of normalcy in the wake of the violent encounter.

“I can’t go home looking like this.” Amelia confessed, her voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and concern.

“You’ll come home with me. We’ll get you cleaned up, get rid of your clothes and get you back home. No one needs to know a thing.” Lando assured her, his tone a blend of reassurance and determination.

“Thank you.” Amelia responded, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the support she found in their shared alliance.

“This is technically my fault.” Lando admitted with a sense of responsibility underlying his words.

“No, it isn't.” Amelia countered, her conviction unwavering.

“This has to be George, no?” Lando pondered, drawing connections between the recent events and their shared history.

‘It can only be him. He was the only one asking questions.” Amelia affirmed, a trace of frustration in her voice.

"You know George, he's only ever happy when he's included in something." Lando observed, a rueful acknowledgment of their former schoolmate's tendencies.

In the dimly lit showroom, Lando wasted no time. With determined efficiency, he rolled the unconscious assailant into the rug, the fabric concealing the evidence of the violent struggle. As he straightened up, he wiped his hands on his jeans, a pragmatic gesture to rid himself of the residual traces of the grim task at hand.

Pulling out his phone, Lando dialled the number of his right-hand man, Jon. The urgency of the situation echoed in the hushed tones of their conversation as Lando briefed him on the need for assistance.

“Jon, I need you to come to the dealership. We've got a situation. We’ll leave everything open at the back for you. Just a clean up and disposal.” Lando spoke, the weight of the words underscoring the gravity of the clandestine operation unfolding within the confines of the dealership.

As Jon's acknowledgement reached Lando's ears, the stage was set for the arrival of assistance—a strategic move to navigate the aftermath and ensure that the shadows of the night kept their secrets hidden from prying eyes.

“Jon will sort out the body and his car. He'll get some people in to give the room a proper clean. You and I need to get out of here. I'll be your alibi if shit hits the fan.” Lando asserted, his words carrying a sense of urgency and commitment.

“Feels like we're back in high school.” Amelia remarked, a wistful note in her voice as she drew parallels between their current predicament and the challenges they faced in their youth.

“Neither of us killed someone in high school.” Lando responded, his tone a mix of pragmatism and reassurance.

"We saw someone get shot and we kept quiet, Lan. That makes us look fucking guilty." Amelia countered, her words laden with the weight of their shared past.

“We weren't out there that night looking for a murder scene.” Lando asserted, drawing a distinction between the events that unfolded in their teenage years and the unforeseen circumstances that now required their discretion.

Flashback

They were just 17 that night. Lando, bold and adventurous, had snuck out with one of his father's Audis to pick up Amelia for a house party. The night took an unexpected turn when they got lost, the dimly lit roads leading them to an abandoned stretch. Eager to regain phone signal, they pulled over, the night air thick with anticipation.

As they sought connectivity, the tranquillity of the night was shattered by screams and yelling, the ominous sounds drawing them in. Their curiosity propelled them forward, and seconds later, they found themselves witnesses to a harrowing scene—a man being shot several times, the violent act searing into their young minds.

The shooter's face remained hidden in the shadows, a faceless perpetrator of a crime witnessed in the dead of night. Lando, quick on his feet even in the face of danger, grabbed Amelia before she could utter a scream, and they sped away from the scene.

In the aftermath of that fateful night, a silent pact emerged. Lando and Amelia, bound by the shared trauma of witnessing a crime, made a promise—an unspoken agreement never to speak about it with each other or anyone else. The weight of that secret forged an unbreakable bond, a shared understanding that transcended the boundaries of adolescence and lingered as a shadowy thread woven into the fabric of their friendship.

“This is different.” Lando voiced with a discernible tension in his words as the echoes of their past mingled with the challenges of the present.

“Lando.” She implored, her gaze seeking reassurance from the one person she had turned to in times of both peril and secrecy.

“Remember you called me, Amelia, not the police, not your dad, me. You called me because you know I won’t tell a soul about any of this.” Lando reminded her, his tone carrying the weight of their shared history. The unspoken bond that had endured the trials of teenage secrecy and witnessed the violence of that night now became the anchor in the tumultuous sea of their present predicament.

As Lando and Amelia made their way down the staircase, each step echoing in the quiet showroom, a pregnant pause settled between them. Amelia stopped halfway down the staircase causing Lando to turn back to see where she was.

“If this is your way of reminding me that I make shit decisions, it is not the time.” Amelia retorted, a note of defiance in her voice as the weight of the night pressed upon her.

“You forget that when you agreed to do this, you agreed to get your hands dirty. And, I know you didn't mean to kill that guy. It was an accident and you were defending yourself. So, when I offer to help, just take it and trust me.” Lando explained, his words carrying a mix of understanding and urgency.

“Of course I trust you.” Amelia conceded, a hint of vulnerability in her admission.

“Then start acting like it.” Lando urged, his tone firm but laced with a genuine concern for her well-being.

In the wake of their tense conversation, Amelia followed Lando in the dimly lit showroom and out to the back parking lot to where his sleek McLaren awaited. The low hum of the high-performance engine punctuated the stillness, and as they settled into the car, the interior became a cocoon of shadows and shared secrets.

The engine roared to life, and the McLaren glided out of the parking lot, merging seamlessly into the city's nocturnal symphony. The darkened streets unfolded before them as they embarked on a journey to the Norris family home, a sanctuary where they hoped the shadows of the night could be momentarily left behind.

As the city lights streaked past, the McLaren became a vessel hurtling through the spaces where choices and consequences collided.

“We might need to keep a low profile on exports the next few weeks and wait for the Russells to sink their teeth into someone else's business.” Lando suggested, his voice carrying the weight of strategic thinking in the face of external threats.

“Fucking George and his incessent need to make everyone's lives difficult.” Amelia muttered, frustration evident in her words.

Flashback

In the hazy atmosphere of the party, Amelia and Lando, still reeling from the shock of what they had witnessed that night, arrived seeking refuge in the noise and distraction. However, George, always on the lookout for drama and mischief, was quick to spot their anxious and flustered demeanour.

Seizing the opportunity, George, with a mischievous glint in his eye, began to weave a narrative of his own. He subtly suggested that the two had hooked up during their absence, letting the whispers of the partygoers carry the story further into the crowd. The rumour spread like wildfire, growing more exaggerated with each passing moment.

The consequences of George's manipulation reached unforeseen heights when the school, influenced by the escalating gossip, decided to intervene. Concerned about the well-being of the students, they went so far as to phone Amelia's mother, urging her to discuss family planning with her daughter. The supposed affair between Amelia and Lando had transformed into a spectacle, a testament to the power of whispers and the lengths people would go to spin a tale in the shadows of high school drama.

In the quietude outside the Norris family house, Lando parked the McLaren, the engine's hum subsiding into a gentle purr. Anticipating the need for discretion, he reached back to grab a hoodie, a makeshift cover for Amelia's stained shirt.

As they entered the Norris residence, Flo, one of Lando's younger sisters, zipped past with the carefree energy of youth, barely offering a greeting to Amelia. Lando, recognizing the need for privacy, ushered Amelia upstairs to his bedroom. With a deliberate gesture, he shut the door and locked it, creating a temporary sanctuary where they could navigate the aftermath of the night undisturbed.

“We'll have to burn everything.” Lando stated matter-of-factly, the weight of the recent events hanging in the air.

“Everything?” Amelia queried, a hint of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah. Panties too, I'm afraid." Lando confirmed, a touch of humour attempting to lighten the gravity of the situation. The necessity to dispose of all evidence, even the most personal items, underscored the severity of their predicament.

As the gravity of their situation hung in the air, Lando took charge, crossing the room to the fireplace. He skillfully arranged the wood, the flames flickering to life under his deft touch. The warmth emanating from the growing fire cast a gentle glow across the room, creating a play of shadows on the walls.

The crackling flames seemed to dance in rhythm with the uncertainty of the night, their flickering light casting a comforting yet eerie ambiance. As the fire gained strength, its radiant warmth began to fill the room, creating an intimate haven where Lando and Amelia could confront the shadows of the night and embark on the delicate process of erasing the traces of their clandestine actions.

“You're disgusting.” Amelia remarked, her tone a mixture of reproach and weariness.

“Well, you're not exactly the girl I thought I was bringing back home tonight.” Lando retorted, his words carrying a note of frustration and perhaps a tinge of regret.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Amelia responded, a touch of sarcasm underscoring her words.

The room, bathed in the warm glow of the firelight, became a stage for the raw honesty and tension between them—a moment where the repercussions of their choices unfolded

In a silent acknowledgment of the need to erase any trace of the night, Amelia retreated to the bathroom. There, she methodically stripped away the stained clothes, leaving behind the remnants of a tumultuous evening. Wrapping a towel around her body, she returned to the room, a vulnerable silhouette against the warm glow of the fire.

Lando, understanding the gravity of the situation, took her discarded clothes and tossed them into the crackling flames. The fire eagerly consumed the fabric, its hungry tongues licking at the evidence of the night, reducing it to ashes. The room bore witness to this ritual of cleansing, the dance of shadows on the walls telling a silent tale of discretion and consequence.

“Now a shower.” Lando suggested a practical continuation of their efforts to cleanse themselves of the night's events.

Leading Amelia back to the bathroom, Lando started running the shower. A moment of vulnerability hung in the air as Amelia expected him to leave her to her privacy. However, to her surprise, Lando began undressing, leaving him stark naked in front of her.

Amelia, caught off guard, quickly averted her gaze, her breath catching in her throat. The unexpected intimacy in that vulnerable moment accentuated the complexities of their relationship, adding another layer to the shadows that seemed to linger in the spaces between them.

“You have blood in places you can't see so I might as well help you with that.” Lando remarked, his practicality cutting through the awkwardness of the moment.

“If you wanted to shower with me, you could have just asked.” Amelia grumbled, a hint of annoyance in her voice. Memories of a similar situation resurfaced, adding a layer of familiarity to the present. “I vaguely remember you doing this one night after we went out. I was so drunk and covered in alcohol. You showered me that night, dressed me and tucked me in.”

The echoes of the past mingled with the present, creating a sense of déjà vu in the bathroom.

A small smile crept onto Lando's face as the memory of that past night played in his mind. 

Flashback

Amelia sat at her desk, buried under a mountain of textbooks and lecture notes, her mind buzzing with the weight of her upcoming university exams. She had been studying for hours, pouring over endless pages of information, but the words seemed to blur together in a haze of exhaustion and frustration.

With a sigh, she pushed her books aside and rubbed her tired eyes, feeling the stress of her studies weighing heavily on her shoulders. She needed a break, a moment of respite from the relentless pressure of academia.

Without thinking, she grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, searching for a familiar name amidst the sea of numbers. And then she found it: Lando.

With a sense of relief washing over her, Amelia dialled his number and waited anxiously as the phone rang. And when he answered, his voice was like a lifeline, grounding her in the midst of chaos.

“Lando.” She said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I need you.”

His protective instinct kicked in immediately, his concern evident in his voice as he asked her where she was. And when she told him, he didn't hesitate for a moment.

“I'm on my way.” He said, his tone firm and reassuring. “Just hold tight.”

And true to his word, Lando arrived moments later, his car pulling up to the curb outside the club where Amelia had sought refuge from her studies. With a sense of relief flooding through her, she hurried outside to meet him, grateful for the familiar sight of his reassuring presence.

When she climbed into the car beside him, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, knowing that no matter what challenges she faced, Lando would always be there to protect her, to guide her through the darkest of times.

As they drove away from the chaos of the club, the weight of her worries lifting with each passing moment, Amelia couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unwavering support of her friend.

Stepping into the shower, he extended a helping hand to Amelia, the towel dropping to the floor.

In the intimate space of the shower, the warm water cascaded around them, washing away the physical remnants of the night. The small smile on Lando's face carried with it a mix of nostalgia and genuine care, a reflection of the bond they had forged through the years.

The spacious shower, though offering room to breathe, found Lando and Amelia pressed against each other beneath the hot water. In the closeness of the moment, Lando took a loofah and squirted shower gel onto it, gently scrubbing away the dried blood from Amelia's arms and hands.

“You OK?” Lando inquired, his voice carrying a note of concern.

“I'm still processing.” Amelia admitted, the vulnerability in her words echoing the weight of the night.

“Scared?” Lando asked, his touch and presence offering a sense of reassurance.

“Terrified.” Amelia confessed, her honesty underscoring the gravity of their situation.

“Understandable.” Lando acknowledged; his understanding becoming a silent promise that they would navigate the aftermath of the night together.

As Amelia took over the loofah, the roles reversed in the warm embrace of the shower. The steam-filled air carried a sense of familiarity, a tangible connection that transcended the immediate circumstances. The loofah glided over Lando's tanned skin, the intimate act of washing away the remnants of the night weaving a tapestry of shared history.

It had been a while since they'd been this close, the memory of past intimacy echoing in the quiet moments between them. Recollections of nights filled with solace, where Lando sought refuge after heartbreak, resurfaced. Amelia had offered him comfort and affection, creating a bond that endured beyond the ebb and flow of relationships. Their connection, built on shared vulnerabilities and unspoken support, had weathered the storms of life.

They were never strangers, and the shower became a canvas where the past and the present merged. In the dance of shadows and steam, Lando and Amelia continued to navigate the complexities of their intertwined lives, finding solace in the comfort that only the truest of companions could provide.

“Everything will be fine.” Lando reassured, his words carrying a comforting certainty.

“I know.” Amelia responded, the weight of the night and the shadows they faced momentarily lightened by the shared understanding between them.

Lando, in a tender gesture, pressed a finger to Amelia's chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. In the closeness of the shower, their eyes locked, becoming mirrors reflecting the intimacy they both crave.

“We can't, Lan.” Amelia asserted, a note of restraint in her voice.

“Why not?” Lando questioned, his gaze searching hers for an answer.

“Because you have a girlfriend and I'm seeing someone.” Amelia explained with the weight of their entangled personal lives adding complexity to the moment.

“I don't have a girlfriend.” Lando clarified, challenging the assumption.

“Then what is Zara?” Amelia pressed, her gaze holding firm.

“I didn't realise you and Charles are together now.” Lando countered, revealing another layer of their tangled connections.

“It's just casual for now. No pressure.” Amelia admitted, her tone suggesting a nonchalant approach to her current situation.

“Yeah, that's because he's got another girl in Monaco waiting for him.” Lando remarked, a touch of frustration in his voice.

“Stop it.” Amelia implored, the tensions of their conversation escalating.

“Amelia, seriously, why do you waste your time with these men who offer you nothing? First it was Daniel, now it’s Charles.” Lando questioned, a hint of concern in his words.

“The sex is great. What more could a girl want?” Amelia retorted, her response laced with a mix of defiance and humour, attempting to diffuse the underlying tension.

The exchange revealed the intricacies of their personal lives, the complexities that had always lingered beneath the surface of their friendship. Feeling flustered by the intense conversation in the shower, Amelia stepped out into the cool air, the droplets from the shower clinging to her skin. The exchange had laid bare the complexities and unspoken tensions that existed between her and Lando, their words echoing in the silence of the bathroom. As she wrapped a towel around herself, the lingering steam seemed to magnify the uncertainties that hovered between them.

“What about love?” Lando questioned, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“Lando, I appreciate the concern, but I don't question who you date.” Amelia responded, her tone attempting to maintain a sense of detachment.

“Well, for your information, Zara isn't my girlfriend.” Lando clarified, seeking to dispel any misconceptions.

“So, she's just met your family for fun then.” Amelia retorted, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Amelia Rossi, are you jealous?” Lando teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“Fuck off, Norris.” Amelia snapped, her response revealing a mix of frustration and defensiveness.

Quickly drying herself off, Amelia made her way into Lando's room, searching for a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Lando followed behind her, the atmosphere carrying the lingering tension from their earlier conversation in the shower.

“Do you remember what happened that night?” Lando inquired, the memories of a pivotal evening resurfacing in the quiet space of his room. “When the shooting happened.”

“We went to the party like we planned and George told everyone we hooked up.” Amelia recounted, the events of that night etched in her memory.

“What happened after that?’ Lando prompted, seeking to revisit the moments that had shaped their relationship.

“We drove home early from the party and I stayed over.” Amelia replied, the details unfolding.

“You're forgetting the part where you could barely speak for hours after and refused to leave my side.” Lando added with a touch of sincerity in his voice.

“Do you blame me?” Amelia questioned, the vulnerability in her words hinting at the impact of that night on her.

“Just don't go all silent on me again. Tell me if something is bothering you or if you want to end the deal before things get worse.” Lando implored, the weight of unspoken concerns lingering in the air.

“The deal sticks. Now, are you driving me home or should I call for a driver?” Amelia shifted the focus, steering the conversation toward the practicalities of the present.

“I'll drive you back.” Lando agreed, a silent understanding passing between them.

As Amelia locked herself in her room, the weight of the night's events bore down on her. Alone in the quiet confines, she spent the whole night reliving the harrowing moments of the shooting in her office. The memories, vivid and haunting, replayed like a relentless film, each frame etching the fear and uncertainty of that critical juncture.

This ritual, revisiting the scenes in her mind, was not unfamiliar to her. Years ago, she had engaged in a similar process, attempting to etch faces and features into her memory. It was a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos, to understand the shadows that lurked within the corridors of her own life.

In the solitary hours of the night, as she grappled with the echoes of gunshots and the weight of her choices, Amelia navigated the complex tapestry of her past. The walls of her room became a sanctuary for introspection, a space where the shadows of her memories danced in the darkness, revealing the intricate threads that wove together the fabric of her existence.

[truwaifu]

Heartstrings Entangled

Satoru and Chiyori have been best friends since college, her loyalty to Satoru is strong but what happens when Satoru introduces Chiyori to Nanami Kento and she realizes she has feelings for her best friend's boyfriend?  Chapter One in this series. Pairing: Nanami Kento x Chiyori (fxreader) Word count: 1.4k Warnings: Slightly nsfw towards the end if you squint

As Chiyori pushed through the people in the overcrowded room she immediately began to regret ever saying yes to a night out with Gojo Satoru. Yes, he was her best friend, and yes, technically the work aspect of her trip was over but nights out with Satoru never ended well. They usually ended with Chiyori sitting in a booth alone while Satoru got chummy with whatever man he found attractive that night. 

“Hey, Chi! Over here!” Chiyori was grateful to Satoru’s parents for his strong genes because trying to find him in the dimly lit bar would’ve been a task she wasn’t ready to deal with. As she approached the booth her eyes were met with the most stoic man she had ever seen. Wow, he’s beautiful. Tall, blonde and muscular. So, so muscular. She snapped out of her revere before she made things weird and introduced herself.

“Hello.” says the blonde. That’s it? That’s all I get? ChiyoriI brushed off her disappointment and slid into the booth, happy to be sat next to Satoru, a wedge between her and the arctic freeze that was Nanami Kento. He didn’t even bother to tell her his name, Satoru was the one to help fill in those blanks.

Satoru had been talking Chiyori’s ear off, handing her drink after drink. It was nice catching up with him since he lived in Japan and she lived in America. It wasn’t often the two got to spend time together like this. Being in Japan now was just chance. A recruiter told Chiyori about a corporate office here that was specifically looking for Americans to hire and she jumped at the opportunity. She had the experience and had always dreamed of leaving America. It was a no-brainer to apply for the Chief Marketing Officer position at Kirin Enterprise. Chiyori did so well on her virtual interviews, the hiring manager of KE wanted to move forward and have an in person interview. Hence how she ended up at a nightclub, in Japan, with her best friend. 

“Another drink, Chi?” Satoru offered Chiyori.

“Yeah, I’ll go get this round.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a madhouse up there, it’ll be quicker if I go.” She didn’t want to fight him on that, but that would mean she would be left alone with Mr. Arctic and she wasn’t too sold on that notion either.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Toru.” As Chiyori attempted to slide out of the booth, Satoru climbed over her like a child. 

“Alright, jeez, you can go, I would’ve slid out ya know.”

“I know, but this way was much more fun.” Satoru turned to the blonde man and asked

“Kento, another?”

“No, I'm fine, thank you.” 

The loud music couldn’t hide the timber in Nanami’s voice. Of course he’s got a deep voice. Chiyori looked towards where she saw Saturos body last and hoped he’d be back soon. She looked at the space between herself and the pretty blonde, she had two options here, she could either yell across the booth to make conversation or slide in closer to him. He came off as the type of man that would be annoyed by both. Too worried about seeming rude to Satorus’ friend, Chiyori made a choice. She slid in close and was immediately met with his cologne. Should I even be surprised at this point?

“So Kento, how long have you known Satoru for?”

“It’s Nanami-san.” He didn’t even look at her. 

“Excuse me?”

“Nanami, my name.” 

“Right, sorry, I just heard Satoru and just assumed.” She was rambling at this point. 

“What was that?” Mr. Arctic, cold as ever.

“You know what, nevermind.” She attempted to slide away from him right when Satoru came back with the drinks, and boy did he bring back drinks! 

“Thank god, I’ll slide back out and switch if you’d like?” Chiyori’s second attempt at putting space between herself and the blonde fell flat. She felt like she was suffocating under his cold presence. 

“Don’t be silly, scooch over. I brought shots!” It seemed as though Satoru had brought back the whole bar. Multiple shots and cocktails for the table. 

“Did you bribe the bartender? Jeez! This is way more than just a couple of drinks!”

“Nope, just blew him a couple months back and he’s been trying to keep my attention ever since.”

“Toru, you tease!” Chiyori laughed and kept her focus on her friend. The hell with Mr. Arctic, the night was still young! The shots kept coming and the suffocation of Nanami’s presence didn’t let up. All Chiyori could notice was the tightness of Nanami’s shirt and the veins in his arms or the length of his fingers. No matter how hard she tried to ignore his presence she couldn’t. She felt herself getting frustrated. I swear it should be illegal for unavailable men to be this attractive and of course I say unavailable because the man clearly hates me. Either that or he’s gay. Could that be why he’s so angry at my presence? The second the thought entered Chiyori’s mind, it was like a light bulb went off in her head. Am I cockblocking this man with Satoru??? It all made sense. His disdain… maybe Nanami Kento was like her,  maybe he doesn’t get a lot of time to go out and meet people for… personal reasons. She felt like such a ditz! At that moment Chiyori decided she still had time to make things right with Nanami and set to put her plan in motion. 

Chiyori loosened up almost instantly. She found herself leaning on Nanami, placing her hand to his defined chest. She felt like a whole new person, laughing more, engaging with the pretty blonde more without a care about how he received it. Sometimes she would place her hand on his thigh, anything to help make him feel more included. It’s okay, I understand now. Chiyori felt like a mastermind who finally cracked the code on the encrypted file that was Nanami Kento.

Satoru was adamant about one more round so Chiyori took this opportunity to let Nanami know that she would get out of his hair soon so he could have Satoru for himself. She leaned in real close, placed her hand on Nanami’s biceps and spoke directly into his ear. She ignored how intimate it felt to be this close to Nanami and said what she had assumed he’d been waiting to hear all night.

“When Satoru gets back, I’ll make my escape and you’ll have him all to yourself. That’s when you’ll make your move, okay?”  She leaned back to look at Nanami’s face and he looked mortified. 

“Don’t give me that look, you’re a fucking ten. If this is how you look after a hard day of work, I can only imagine what you look like after letting yourself indulge in some Gojo Satoru fun.” Chiyori giggled like a school girl. She was surprised at how bold she was being with Nanami after spending most of the night afraid to look him in the eyes. Nonetheless, She continued her assault. “Look, I’m sure he’s into you too! I personally wouldn't have picked him, you’re more my type but alas, we all can’t get what we want.” 

Nanami never got the chance to respond, Satoru was back and Chiyori slid out the booth before he could slide in. She tried to ignore the pang she felt after putting space between Nanami and herself so instead opted for putting her arms around Satoru’s neck. She leaned into his embrace and let him know about her departure. 

“I’m heading back to the hotel. Have fun and be safe, you lucky prick. God, he’s hot.”   Chiyori ignored the confused look Satoru gave her and left. She was in an uber and back at her hotel room before I knew it. She tried to fall asleep as soon as she got back but all she could think about was the crinkle in Nanami’s eyes when he found out she was leaving. She thought of his blue collared shirt and the top buttons he had undone. But most importantly she thought of Gojo and how horrible of a friend she’s being for thinking of Nanami in this way when it was so obvious they were at the bar together. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to see Nanami again. She loved Gojo but she knew he wasn’t the committing type. Maybe she could let herself indulge in thoughts of Nanami just for tonight. She could beg for forgiveness later but tonight, Chiyori wanted to be selfish. Maybe it was all the drinks but she felt hot all over. Chiyori let her fingers dance around her navel, tempting her to go to where she needs attention the most. Just for tonight, she thought as she slipped her fingers past her pantyline and let herself come undone to thoughts of Nanami Kento. 

Chapter 2

[penny00dreadful]

Cat and Mouse - Spy AU - Part 1

AO3

18th April 2015

Steve pulled the trigger, barely even paying attention as the bullet tore through the head of his target. He was just so ready to go home, god this week had been boring.

His target was some bank executive that had started to funnel funds towards various criminal enterprises, helping those criminal families gain more power and Steve had been contracted to weed that rot out, right at the root.

The Hagans, Kline and Johnson families would probably still find ways to rise up in the ranks but it had been kneecapped now, making things more difficult for them.

They’d never climb to the heights of the Creel Syndicate anyway. 

Steve was pretty sure no one could.

Henry Creel, legendary crime lord that he was, had somehow managed to cultivate a culture of fear and respect amongst even the lowest of street drug dealers.

Not to mention the borderline mythical assassin he was rumoured to have at his side. No one knew who they were, no one even knew if they existed. Some claimed the assassin was just some boogeyman story cooked up by Creel to keep his workers in line and Steve wouldn’t put it past him. The guy was creative.

And some things that had been attributed to this assassin were downright impossible so… They were probably made up.

This mythical boogeyman had some kind of title as well but Steve had never really paid much attention to the rumours and the ghosts floating around the underworld he was a part of.

Lies were practically currency to them so he’d have to see it to believe it.

Whoever ended up working on the Creel case was going to have their fucking work cut out for them.

Holstering his weapon, Steve snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves and he knelt beside his dead mark, slowly leaking blood and brains from the hole at the back of his head.

Steve fished around inside the guy’s pockets, locating his wallet. There was a family photo in there, library card, organ donor card, an obscene amount of credit cards and a loyalty card for the strip club across town.

Since when did strip clubs do loyalty cards?

Whatever. Steve located his driver's licence and pulled it out. 

“Hm.” Steve tilted his head, reading the name from the laminated card. “Sorry, Peter. It’s not personal. It’s just business.”

He tucked the licence back into the guy's wallet, returning it to his pocket.

It only took three minutes for Steve to stage the scene, breaking into the guy's gun safe, planting the weapon just next to his hand, like it had flown out of his grip when he pulled the trigger.

He slipped out into the hallway of the high rise apartment building, removing his gloves and stuffing them into his pocket, pushing his hair back from his face and coming to a stop in front of the elevator.

The doors opened and an elderly lady with a yappy dog gave him the suspicious eye, no doubt not recognising him from this floor but as Steve took a step back with his most charming smile and a gentlemanly gesture, motioning her out of the elevator she smiled back and he knew he was in the clear.

He got back down to the lobby and through the front door, onto the streets with no issue, allowing himself to get lost in the crowd. 

He reached up to his ear, flicking a small switch on the back of his ‘hearing aid’, allowing Robin to hear him, rather than just monitor his location and vitals.

“Okay, I’m out. You can stop looping the cameras.”

“Roger that, dingus.” Robin was probably saluting him right now from behind her desk, sounding like she was speaking in his head. 

It had taken a long time for him to get used to it, hearing Robin, but still being able to hear everything around him at the same time.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Be nicer to me.”

“You say that to me every time, and every time I say no. Job went easy enough?”

“Yeah, practically childsplay.”

Steve kept his eyes open, never quite able to switch the part of his brain off that was waiting for the next hit from around a corner, a knife in the gut or a bullet in the shoulder.

He’d already managed to walk a few blocks, trying to put as much space between himself and his completed job as he could without moving too fast.

The crowd around him was both safety giving and dangerous.

Easy to disappear into but easy for someone to sneak up on him unseen.

Speaking of…

There was a figure shadowing him, had been shadowing him for a few minutes.

It could be nothing.

It could be some guy walking the same route as him.

But it wasn’t.

Every time Steve caught sight of him in his periphery or through the reflection of a store window, the guy had his eyes on him. 

Locked on him, like he couldn’t afford to lose him, but Steve wasn’t worried.

The guy was weedy, probably weighed 140 pounds soaking wet. 

The large leather jacket and the denim vest made him look bulkier than he was and he'd nearly tripped over his own shoelaces twice trying to keep up.

Steve could tell when people were dangerous. It was in the way they held themselves. The way they walked. The way they looked at those around them. How they held their hands at rest.

This guy was none of those things. 

He might dress mean and scary but he was as delicate as a flower petal on the inside, Steve could tell.

So he wasn't exactly worried he was about to be shoved into a black van or choked out. 

At least not this time around.

He was probably just going to be pickpocketed.

He recognised the look on the guy's face. 

Desperate. 

A panicky kind of desperate.

Like if the guy didn’t get some money into his hand immediately, the hounds of hell were gonna be on his ass. Probably break his kneecaps for good measure.

He could just be looking for money for a fix, Steve tried to reason with himself. He certainly had the eye bags, the pale waxy skin, the skinny frame that told that kind of story.

But even from as far away as he was, Steve knew that wasn’t the case. 

Though he couldn’t see him clearly, he could tell his eyes were bright.

Alive and clear and piercing and active.

Not the hazy, cloudy, bloodshot gaze of someone coming down from their high or going through withdrawal.

Steve guessed he was some kind of dealer. 

Street level, considering how he tried to look scary but wasn’t really.

Any higher up than street level and he would have held a certain amount of danger around himself. He would have had to, to survive after all.

So what had made him so desperate and what about Steve had caught his gaze?

Steve glanced down at himself, to his pristine polo, light wash vintage levi’s and spotless sneakers.

Ah. 

Well that would be it. 

Steve looked like he came from money. Especially walking through this part of the city.

And like… the guy’s guess wasn’t wrong.

Steve did come from money. But he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his parents or their money since he was eighteen years old, nine years ago.

Any money Steve had now was his own. Being a spy paid really well, as it turned out.

But the desperation radiating off this guy, even as far back in the crowd as he was, was making him sloppy. A regular civilian would know they were being followed at this stage, never mind Steve Harrington who’d been trained to within an inch of his life for this. 

He could enter a room he’d never been in before and immediately know the most effective route for escape. He could look at a lineup of randomly selected people and know straight away who was the most dangerous in hand to hand combat and who would be most likely to have a weapon on them.

Steve could snap this guy in half over his knee probably without breaking a sweat.

Even still he felt a little bad.

He needed to talk it out. Needed someone to confirm for him he wasn’t going crazy.

"Someone's on my tail, Birdie." Steve muttered, flipping the switch on his hearing aid communicator again.

"Okay,” He could almost picture her nodding. “Gimme a description, I'll see if I can find them."

"No, it’s not an enemy or anything. I don't even think it's something I need to be worried about, honestly. Just some bottom of the totem pole dealer. Nicotine stains on his fingers, cigarette burns on his clothes. And Jesus Christ has he ever even heard of conditioner? And his eyes are huge.”

“Do you think he’s on something?”

“No.” He kept his eyes forward and continued to smoothly weave his way through the crowd. “But he is pale. Gaunt. His denim jacket looks pretty ratty. It’s been repaired multiple times. By hand. And he definitely hasn't eaten in a while. I think he’s probably gonna try to steal my wallet to stop his boss from breaking his legs."

“You don’t think that maybe he’s just hungry?”

Steve shook his head. “No. He looks pretty desperate but not that kind.” He frowned again, almost muttering. “Scared desperate.”

Robin sighed. "Steven."

"What?"

"Don't do it, babe."

"Why shouldn't I help the guy out?” Steve was already pulling his wallet out while ruffling his hair. 

Misdirection. 

“I can part with $20. Stick it in my jacket pocket, loose. Make it just obvious enough and easy to take. What's the big issue?"

"You're a bleeding heart, that's the issue."

"Yeah, well. He clearly needs it more than I do."

"Is he cute?" She asked in a teasing tone, making it clear she thought he wasn’t just a bleeding heart, he was a horny bleeding heart who could be swayed by a pretty face. 

Which…

Didn’t need to be pointed out.

"...No."

"Wow, decorated Special Operative Steven J. Harrington everyone.” He could almost hear her waving her hands around. “Infiltrator, martial combatant and, apparently, a master liar. On his way to recruit another wayward stray."

"Oh, fuck off. Why not spit out my whole government name, that definitely won't put me in danger."

"You're wearing a bone conduction audio transmitting ‘hearing aid’, I'm literally in your head-”

“You’re not in my head, you’re in my cochlea.”

“Which is in your head, dingus. No one can hear me and it's a secure line. You, however, can be overheard so don't sell me down the river."

"Well then, you better be nicer to me."

“Never.”

Something bumped against his elbow and he was suddenly, painfully aware of a body behind him, right up in his space.

He didn’t even think before he lashed out behind him, snatching the figure's wrist in a vice-like grip, spinning the two of them into a nearby alleyway and pinning the stranger against the wall.

“Woah, man.” 

Oh. 

It was just the guy who’d been following him.

He was staring at Steve with wide, deep, brown eyes, shaking his head. 

He looked fucking terrified. 

“I- I don’t want any trouble, I swear.”

Steve took a breath before dropping the guy’s wrist like it had burned him, taking a step back.

The guy's eyes were flicking nervously over Steve’s face, waiting for him to strike probably, before his gaze settled just to the left of Steve’s head.

He was looking at his hearing aid, but Steve pretended not to know that, lifting his hand to his ear in confusion and allowing him to subtly flip the switch off so Robin couldn’t hear anything anymore.

“Try not to fall on his dick.” She muttered at him when she heard the click.

But he could hear her, like always.

Steve rolled his eyes, making sure it was aimed at the guy, acting like his exasperation was because he just noticed the hearing aid.

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly gonna feel bad because of this?” Steve gestured at it.

The guy shook his head, still plastered up against the wall as though he wanted to melt into it, trying to put even more distance between them.

“Relax, man. I’m not gonna attack you, or whatever.” He crossed his arms over his chest, setting up another barrier between them to try and put the guy at ease.

He didn’t think it was working very well.

The guy in front of him looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. The same height as Steve but built much smaller, slender and delicate looking despite the heavy boots and chains and tattoos Steve could see peeking out under the neck of his shirt and spreading over his hands and fingers.

His hair was a curly nightmare, clearly needing an introduction to some conditioner and probably brushed with a regular hairbrush like a heathen, but aside from that the guy was…

Well, he was gorgeous. 

His mouth was full and plump and parted ever so slightly in fear. His eyes were as huge as Steve thought they were at first glance, deep and brown and warm. His face was slim and soft looking, with laugh lines cutting down on either side of his mouth and a hint of scraggly stubble that was putting Steve in emotional danger.

Steve could probably throw him over his shoulder with ease.

Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful thing to be thinking right now.

“Right, right, yeah.” The guy nodded again. “You’re not gonna attack me. You just dragged me into an alleyway for a friendly chat.”

“And you just stuck your hand in my pocket for completely innocent reasons.”

The guy blinked at him, those big eyes somehow getting bigger before growing mischievous, despite the clear nervousness still radiating off of him.

“You planted it there.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, his eyebrows high on his head.

“You saw that?”

“Was I not supposed to?” He squeaked, like Steve was gonna kill him just for pointing it out. “It was kind of obvious.”

Interesting. Maybe he’d underestimated him.

“It shouldn’t have been.”

“Really?” The guy gave him a playful grimace. “Then I don’t know what to tell you. I saw it from a mile off.”

Steve’s mouth tugged into a reluctant smile and he ducked his head a little to hide it, leaning back against the opposite wall.

“What’s your name?”

“Wh-” The guy paused, shaking his head, bewildered. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m asking you your name.”

“Yeah, I got that part sweetheart, but why the hell are you doing that?” 

Sweetheart was sneered out but it still got the colour rising up Steve’s neck.

“I don’t know, to help you chill out a little bit or something. Fuck. I’m sorry I dragged you back here, I think I was just going off of… fight or flight or something.”

“Great, great. You be fight, I’ll be flight.”

Steve couldn’t help the light chuckle that came out at that and was taken momentarily off guard by the small smile it brought to the guy's face. 

Pretty. He’s so fucking pretty.

Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the $20 he’d originally stashed, holding it out between his index and middle finger.

The guy eyed it before flicking his gaze back up to Steve. 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting in exchange for that but I’m not that cheap. Even for a face as nice as yours.”

“What?” Steve scrunching his eyebrows in confusion before realisation dawned on him. “Dude. I’m not asking you to blow me for twenty fucking dollars. Christ.”

The guy hummed, but snatched the bill up anyway. Steve could just make out the word inked across his knuckles, mors. The calluses on the tips of his fingers brushed Steve’s skin, telling a story of years playing a string instrument. 

Based on the position and angle, it could have been guitar or bass, but it could have also been cello or violin. 

The look would suggest guitar or bass but classical instrumentalists were always dark horses, never looking like how they’d be expected to look. 

Steve would need to see his other hand to confirm if there was any healed damage on his thumb, indicating years of holding a bow and to see what he had inked over the fingers there.

Not that he was interested.

He was staring at the guy's hand for too long, the tendons standing proud under his skin and Steve only snapped back to himself when the guy tucked the bill away into his back pocket.

“I would say I have more dignity than that but a blowjob is definitely not the worst thing I’ve ever done in an alleyway. But yeah. Not for twenty dollars.”

Steve could feel the blush rise up higher on his neck and if the expression on the guy's face was anything to go by, it was visible now over the collar of his polo.

“You alright there, sweetheart? You seem a little flustered.”

“Steve.” He supplied, clearing his throat and trying to push the redness back down. “My name is Steve.”

The guy hummed again with a grin. “Think I prefer ‘sweetheart’.”

“And you?”

“I’m partial to ‘baby’ myself.”

Steve uncrossed his arms with a shake of his head, unable to hide his smile while putting his hands on his hips. 

“What’s your name,” he asked, before deciding to add on “baby?” At the end, with a tilt to his head, making his hair fall into his eyes and giving the guy, what Robin called, his puppy dog look.

The guy bit down on his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes seeming to turn darker the longer he paused. “Eddie.”

“Eddie suits you.”

“I should hope so.” Eddie shrugged. “It’s the only name I got.”

“Baby suits you too.”

His eyes travelled up and down Steve’s body, leaving fire in their wake.

“Gotta say sweetheart, this is not how I thought this was gonna go when you grabbed me. Thought you were gonna smash my face in.”

Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t do that.” He dragged his eyes over Eddie again. “Wouldn’t be fair. Guess I was just surprised to feel your hand in my pocket.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Eddie had managed to sneak up on him, which was not something he was used to.

Eddie’s smile dimmed a little and he sighed, pushing himself off the wall and beginning to wander aimlessly.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, lightly punching at the wall, expending energy. “Sometimes there aren’t a lot of options I guess.”

“Listen. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re wrapped up in but there’s always the option to get out of the game.”

Eddie swept his boot back and forth through the grime and dirt on the ground of the alley, leaving a tiny clearing in his wake. “If only that were true.”

“It can be.”

Eddie shrugged again now backing up towards the mouth of the alley. “Sometimes life doesn’t work out that way.”

Just before he got to the edge where he could disappear around the corner and into the crowd, he paused.

He regarded Steve with a tilted head before stepping forward again and taking Steve’s hand in his, raising it to his lips. 

“See you around, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered into his knuckles before pressing his lips down, gentle and soft.

Steve let the blush take over his face this time, playing up the coy angle just a bit too hard but fixed Eddie with a cocky smirk regardless.

“I certainly hope so, baby.”

He was delighted to see a matching blush across Eddie’s face who exited the alley with a wink and then he was gone.

Steve reached up to his ear and switched his hearing aid back on.

“Oh good,” Robin’s voice came through a little bored, “you’re not dead.”

“No, I am actually dead, my ghost has just possessed the instruments monitoring my vitals to make it look like I’m still alive.”

“That’s alright then.” She sighed. “Less paperwork involved for me if they think you’re still alive.”

Steve hummed in agreement, finally leaving the alley with a quick glance up and down the street but Eddie was well and truly gone.

“So what happened with the guy?”

“We talked a little, I gave him some money and told him to get out of whatever game he’s in.”

He was close to his apartment building, he was surprised to find. 

He’d been an auto pilot, paying more attention to Eddie following him than he had been where he was going.

“That’s it? I would have expected better from Slut Harrington.”

“You’d prefer if I told you the guy fed me his dick?” Steve asked, stopping in front of the entrance to his building and using the subtle biometric security to get in. “Or worse, you’d prefer to listen in? Wow-”

Robin’s screech nearly blew the side of his head open. 

He was glad he had made it into the elevator by then because the shockwaves sent him reeling backwards into the metal walls like he’d been punched.

He heard the ding and the whir of metal as he started moving up towards the top floor.

“Jesus tap dancing Christ, Birdie!”

“You deserved it! I remember Steve! I still remember the last and only time I nearly heard you get your dick into-”

“Then don’t get pissy when I tune you out!”

Robin huffed. “I will never get those sounds out of my head.”

“People would pay good money for those sounds.”

“I’m sure they would but I am not one of them.”

Steve didn’t respond, just let out a heavy sigh as he exited the elevator and crossed the short hallway to get to his door. 

He put his key in his lock and his hand on the handle at the same time, waiting just a second for the scan to complete before he heard the multiple locks and bars in the thick door click open allowing him inside. 

If there was one perk to working a life threatening job that regularly got him injured for a non-governmental international agency resulting in almost no personal life, it was that the pay was really good.

Steve had grown up around money, he was used to it. But that money had been stuffy and came with so many strings attached. This money was his money and he got to do what he wanted with it.

And what he wanted didn’t involve soulless art pieces and ugly as fuck chandeliers just because they were in some magazine that his mother read.

Steve’s space was mismatched. He decorated with pieces he liked the look of, regardless of whether it all ‘went together’. He was the only one living here so he wasn’t going to decorate according to anyone else’s standards. He’d been doing enough of that throughout his life already.

His furniture was vintage or artisan in nature, found in tiny little antique shops hidden away in corners or crafted by small business owners who loved what they did.

The front door led directly into an open plan living/dining/kitchen space. The floor to ceiling windows facing the park had been heavily altered. Thick enough to not let any sound or bullets through and made to obscure the view enough that a person would need to be pressed right up against the glass to see in, even though Steve could see out clear as day.

Steve’s apartment was the go-to venue for any kind of game night, the Super Bowl, playoffs, the World Series, they were all hosted here. His TV and sound system were unparalleled. 

He’d made sure of it. 

The couches were solidly framed but Steve wouldn’t have gotten them if they weren’t also the most comfortable ones he could find. One of them had to be reupholstered and none of them matched but he didn’t care.

Lucas always got pride of place in the middle with Steve while the other sports-heads, Robin and surprisingly El, took up the remaining space at either side of them.

Everyone else was happy to sit along the sidelines, mainly there for the food anyway.

Even all the pots and pans in his kitchen were a hodgepodge of whatever he found. Vintage copper and well aged cast iron lined the walls. 

The only things he’d conceded to buying new were the electrics. 

And then there was all the spy shit.

But that was a given. It was mostly functional stuff, hidden safes and compartments to keep documents and hard drives secure. Multiple concealed pockets and nooks containing a variety of small handheld weapons. The odd button here and there to enable or disable the silent alarm.

And the safe room, hidden behind the bath that only Steve knew how to get into or that it was even there. Robin didn’t know. The higher ups at work didn’t know. Hopper didn’t know. 

Maybe that was just a little too much paranoia, even for him, but paranoia had never steered him wrong before.

“Okay Birdie.” Steve flopped down face first onto his couch. “I am officially clocking out. Will I see you this weekend?”

“If this date goes well, hopefully not.”

“Go get her, tiger. I believe in you.”

“I believe in me too.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They said their goodbyes, Steve hoping against hope that Robin and this new girl worked out. 

She deserved something good in her life. 

He tried to distract himself by making dinner, showering and bingeing that TV show she insisted he had to watch (Ineffable Husbands or whatever it was called) but his mind kept wandering back to big brown eyes and soft plush lips.

Steve rapped the remote against his forehead a few times, trying to drive the thoughts away but they wouldn’t go anywhere.

Robin had jokingly suggested that Steve was going to recruit Eddie into the fold and it wouldn’t be the first time, if it ever did happen. 

Honestly, if it helped pull the guy out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into, why shouldn’t he?

There were probably a thousand reasons to not drag Eddie into Steve’s dangerous world but just the thought of those eyes and that smile being directed at him again would have Steve doing almost anything.

Part 1 AO3

@geekymagicalpotato

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation.

This fic is about 70% complete and is currently clocking in at just under 40k so far. I love this story so much, it has taken over my life in the best way.

[horizon-verizon]

There is an enduring sense in the fandom that if you cannot structurally change the entire or major parts of an oppressive status quo, it's somehow better that one does absolutely nothing. Bc you're "messing up the stability of an already stable social order, which proved itself to be the best or most reliable bc it's endured for so long".

And I despise it. Because it essentially means that any effort except a huge, topsy-turvy one where the whole system gets upended or severely so doesn't matter. (At the very least those that don't seem like it.)

It's a perfect partner to racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. & people use it not just against Rhaenyra but Dany, Rhaenys, & Alysanne!!! Any Targ woman, really. Aegon V, if one mentions his laws. Ironic, bc Jaehaerys had progressive laws for peasants ONLY bc of Alysanne, but it's obvious why they prefer the female-heir denying Jaehaerys over Aegon V!!!

Coupled with this sense, some say that these women are totally complicit in those systems bc use they happen to be born into royalty or aristocracy, actively use their privileges at times for their own ends instead of ALWAYS to create or influence others for groundbreaking policies & laws, or manage to just escape certain abuses other women face bc they were reserved for the specific task of having children for their male spouses.

Daenerys was a bridal slave, for example. She doesn't face SA from random men every other night, but that doesn't stop the risk of her facing that fate if she were to ever fall out of her husband-owner, Drogo, favor. That doesn't stop her haters from arguing that she should have done more for Mirri & those Lhazareen women, that she even profits from slave labor when she clearly is allocating and directing funds from taxes to the city of Meereen! From ignoring how all those she freed are not still slaves, that the slave masters time and time again have said, point blank, that she is a danger to their enterprise CONTINENT-WIDE!!! She makes mistakes and the biggest one compromising too much with the slave owners of Meereen, yeah, bc she is in the beginning of her leadership journey, and still she manages to inspire loyalty, faith, and hope in many of her followers and she also still manages to keep most people alive w/o actually giving all the way in and that terrifies the slaveowners! For good reason. Read the last few pages of the last book and tell me that she won't come for their necks, either literally or figuratively idc. She's obviously not fucking up so bad or has totally failed in her role as a protector, and she will make mistakes as other leaders before her and after her will! Why this level of negative & bad faith scrutiny?!

And let's go to Rhaenys the Conqueror. She created the rule of thumb & the rule of six, where no man could legally beat their wives to death when she decreed that the rod could not be thicker than the husband's thumb and he could not whack her more than 7 times. Some argue why didn't she outlaw wife-beating entirely if she and her siblings conquered Westeros. First of all, these are the very same people who bleat abt how the Targaryens destroyed and colonized Andal culture without bothering to offer material evidence of such. If Rhaenys & her siblings actually have "colonized" the Andal-FM lords, & it was Andal custom for men to beat their wives indiscriminately…then the Targs couldn't have actually destroyed any part of Andal "culture" and replaced it entirely with Valyrian ones where seemingly men could not beat their wives at all! If you can even consider this "destroying culture", as I'm sure a few would argue. If anything, this was a cultural compromise, and it obviously functioned and was intended as a form of protection for women when before there was absolutely none! Aside from male relatives, but that's not system-wide, makes such cases seem not serious enough or that people across communities shouldn't care too much about others when you personalize it, AND that just reinforces the idea that only men have a property claim over women, be they biologically family or by marriage. Secondly, if you argue that Viserys should have obeyed the "laws" of male primogeniture bc he is a feudal king--the "Protector" of their customs and interests--that is only supported by the swords & loyalty of lords, that the GC of 101 proves that (as if Jaehaerys also didn't use that to enact his own will passively for a male heir), then why is it that Rhaenys seems to do something along those lines and WORK with the current Andal customs, her efforts--which actually are protective to those who needed protecting!!! Rhaenys & her siblings were new monarchs of a newly unified-ish realm, & as unifying conquerors tend to do, they opted for the strategy that would keep them seated bc it made "the lords" comfortable that they would not force them to change the bulk of their religious and cultural practices. Not only did Visenya & Rhaenys arrange strategic marriages that both benefited them and those married (their families), but Aegon made it a point to go on progresses and hear various lords and peasants' issues to arbitrate. Which made it so that these lords felt they would not be led by a leader who'd enforce his laws willy-nilly without considering his subject's conditions or desires. It is in this context that Rhaenys, we could see and assume, was taking a bit of a risk with not one but 2 new laws against men's "rights" over their wives' bodies!

There's Alysanne, who took it a step further in her women's courts, and the right of first nigh abolishment, her attempts at the Citadel, & the Widow's Law. Again, if not for her, Westeros and KL would be 3 steps behind in infrastructure and women's protection. Alysanne was a Queen Consort who had even less power on her own than Rhaenys & Visenya and we see that she had to convince Jaehaerys to implement his laws; it took Septon Barth's interference/support for Jaehaerys to even go along with the abolishment of the right of first night! Later with Viserra, I believe that she arranged the much older Theomore to Viserra bc it coincided with Jaehaerys' plans for that marriage alliance between the Manderlys and the royal house. And to please or to go along with some of her husband's plans was to also add onto her own power…bc a royal Consort only has power by their monarch spouse gives them license to influence and status! Was it clumsy writing? Of course, it was pretty bizarre and partly due to how F&B is written as a historical document despite how this portion of history is better documented than others. Did Alysanne indirectly cause Viserra's death in her refusal to relent from her suspicion that Viserra was trying to become queen, as she interpreted it? Arguably. and I think that GRRM was telling us that over time and over the disappointments w/Jaehaerys, she slowly got more determined to retain any sense control…and where does her control end up coming from? Yeah, GRRM is showing that tightrope, I think.

Rhaenyra was not actively progressive in policy nor direct action as all the prior 3, but to argue that she should be feminist so that the usurpation and the femicide done against her becomes unjustified is absurd! Oh, she wasn't a feminist at all or progressive, she didn't implement any sort of law at all for women or smallfolk [did Aegon?! or Alicent?! or Aemond? Daeron, Otto?! so why are they better?!!!], so that's why she shouldn't be queen even though by the very "law of the land", she is by right the heir to this throne that never actually was about who would make a good, consummate ruler in the first place. 🙄.

So there is a vague & un-discernable, forever shifting, & impossible goal-post-level of feminist activity or "being" that these nihilistic or conservative naysayers use against women being leaders or even passively having positions of power that may still benefit the women of Westeros through setting a precedent &/or actions of necessary intervals that build on the past ones under conditions that are already limiting how much they can do or say in order to be able to put forth those feminist (really proto feminist), anti-slavery, etc., progressive steps--on a damn psychological and psychosocial level that:

diminishes how much brain power and time a woman can put to policy or things outside of the "house" because their power depends on the husband's regard towards them

makes it much harder for women to really commit themselves or fully expect to implement their goals & dreams for any sort of change (or even dream of any) when there's such subtle and unsubtle obstacles in their way: Rhaenyra, her stepmother an siblings plotting against her and then the usurpation, that we see in the microcosm of how the treasury stolen from her and the crown led to the smallfolk turning against her at KL AND the ongoing war, thus preventing her from really establishing herself as Queen/ruling at all; Alysanne, I described with Jaehaerys; Rhaenys, Andal patriarchy; much less, in Rhaena the Black Bride's case, find just actual happiness and plain old security against male aggression!

provides a setting where women become more compelled to compromise with some patriarchal ideas/practices to maintain a certain level of power or defense (there's a thing line to measure and transgress the "right way" and without other's judgement and impatience or lack of faith adds an additional pressure of, outside of fiction but applicable)

leads up to Daenerys having to have the strength to pursue her goals on with her own instincts and compassion and wit, work harder than most men would face in her position...not that any could since men cannot and have not largely had the bridal slave’s experience!

Anyway, all of it ignores or tries to hide the fact that it is exactly that undisrupted male authority over female (of any class or wealth) & under-classed people that is the true destabilizer and destroyer of lives. That there is still so much meaning and real impact in what people like Alysanne and Rhaenys did/do and huge upheavals or entire sweeps of structural change like Dany does takes measured steps!

That through multiple Targ women dying form childbirth, raped, murdered, or sidelined and critically limited in political authority or agency, this becomes so obvious! you cannot oppress half of your population, reduce them to sex-giving broodmares who you can kill if you think they have a male heir on the way or have cheated on you and call yourself progressive! You're actually 10 steps behind where you're supposed to be because half of you is not involved enough in the development of your society!

We wanna be all "feudalism is bad", "blood purity is bad", "the Targs didn't end feudalism so they are the most evil and responsible for all evil in Westeros" but when they see someone either passively or actively seem to make any progress to mitigate the pressures and power of patriarchal boundaries or concepts or whatever....they go screaming "not feminist enough" or "they're actually just like everyone else"! And some of us will also try to say that Daenerys is either entirely too much like her colonist ancestors or she will end up that way as D&D published because she is Targaryen (a bio-essentialist argument) to argue about why SLAVEOWNERS should stay in power!

And it all is very anti-intellectualism, anti-critical thought or introspection and examination...because on closer look and investigation, you will see how F&B is a text that was always anti-misogyny on GRRM's part (attemptively) even as it is misogynist as an-in world text! And it's on purpose--both the writing and how people wax "it's a dragon show, nothing at all to do with misogyny or wokeness!"

Because then you are not challenging the status quo...because you can't reason through it or against it and when it happens in seemingly harmless manifestations people will think it innocuous.

[uboat53]

I just recently listened to a lecture by Grace Hopper, one of the pioneers of modern computing, and, while her discourse on computing was amazingly prescient even by today's standards, much less in 1982 when she gave it, I was particularly captivated by her monologue on young people.

I'm a teacher myself, a college professor, and too often I see older people simply writing off young people and forgetting that they themselves used to be young and what it was like. Given that, it was great to see a woman of 76 (at the time) delivering such a fantastic take. Honestly, I think she hit the nail on the head, and you should read it in full:

"I find we have a very bad habit of underestimating our young people. I think we totally fail to recognize how much more they know than we knew at the same age. I can make the comparison. They've had radio and television all their lives long for both information and misinformation. I didn't have a radio until I was a senior in high school, I built a crystal set. I didn't have a vacuum tube set until I was a senior in college, that was the year the superheterodyned circuit first came out. I knew man would never walk on the moon, they know he has. They know all about jet airplanes. They can't remember their first flight in an airplane, they were taken on a jet to visit their grandparents when they were babies. I didn't fly on an airplane until I was a sophomore in college. I spent 10 dollars, and that was a heck of a lot of money in 1925. I went up in an open cockpit biplane, built out of wood and linen and wire, and it went up about a hundred and fifty feet and floated along at eighty miles an hour. I'd be scared to death to go near it today. They know all about jets. I was reminded of this not long ago because I was walking out to take Allegheny city big commuter flight from Washington to Philadelphia - I guess it's ransom airlines now - and there was a young man beside me. He was looking up at that plane, finally he turned to me and he said 'is that thing safe?' and I said 'yeah, why not?' He said 'I've never flown in a prop plane before.' We have a whole generation that's never flown in prop planes. We've totally forgotten how much more they know than we knew at the same age. On the other hand, they are no more mature than we were at the same age. And they're looking for something which they cannot always put in words. And I've seen it across the country as I've talked to schools and colleges and to our young people. What they're looking for is positive leadership. I mean leadership in the in the old Navy sense. It's a two way street, it's loyalty up and loyalty down, it's respect for your superior and keep him informed of what you're up to and take care of your crew. We've forgotten that, we think leadership only comes from some guy up there at the top. It's everybody's job. It's everybody's job to take care of their crew. … I think we forget that the four and five year old's are learning arithmetic. A little professor. The six year old's are getting speak and spell. You better look out, there's going to be a generation coming that will know how to spell. The seven year old's, of course, are learning BASIC, running the computers. I know one man that bought a computer and took it home, his son is teaching him BASIC. His son is seven. Of course I know another guy that took a computer home, now he has to apply to his three children for computer time. They're tremendously bright and they're out there, the brightest youngsters we have ever had. … And yet somewhere in the last 30 years we lost that word 'leadership.' We went overboard for management, partly under the influence of Mr. McNamara, partly under the business schools. We concentrated on this quarter's bottom line, this year's fitness report. We forgot to look ahead for the next five years for any enterprise, and we lost that concept of leadership. Loyalty up and loyalty down, it's the one thing those youngsters are looking for. You can't do it all by management. If I had a Marine standing here beside me, what he would say would be, 'When the going gets rough, you cannot manage a man into combat, you must lead him.' And I think he would further add, 'you manage things, you lead people.' We need to bring that back very badly, not only in the armed forces, but in all of government, throughout business and industry. It's the one thing that those youngsters are looking for - good, positive leadership." Capt. Grace Hopper (U.S. Navy) in 1982

Source from 31:28 to 36:50

[bigfan-fanfic]

I just read the thing you wrote about Batdad being extremely overworked and probably depressed and I'm really sad. I was just used to thinking Bruce would never cheat on him because monogamy is key, but now it's like reality hit me :( I need some serotonin

Awwwww, my friend! If it helps, you can happily imagine countless other universes and happy scenarios of their faithful, loving relationship. I do as well.

If it also helps, I don't necessarily consider it to be part of Batdad "canon", as it were, more just a look at one version of the story. The more I think about, the more I see just how much more emotionally healthy Bruce is with Batdad in his life. In my opinion, a lot of his relationship with Selina in canon is because Bruce desperately craves a kind of companionship he can't have, and in the context of being Batman, being with Selina fulfills that craving while also handily being justifiable as redeeming a villain. With Talia, I think there's genuine admiration and affection, but again, seeking a kind of companionship with someone he doesn't have to lie to.

With Batdad there, Bruce has a confidant right from the beginning! Honestly, I think their issue, quite apart from infidelity, might actually be codependency, lol. I wrote that piece and I stand by it as one angle of a possible version of their relationship - a story of broken trust and feeling alone in a world of superheroes and vigilantes, but I think I like a story of support, and gathering your friends and chosen family together much better.

Studying the Bats longer and longer shows me how I sometimes write from a place of the common fan misconceptions. And I think writing this, I did write it from that place. But studying Bruce more, I realize how important family is to him, even with how bad he is at showing it, and more than that, his deep loyalty to the short list of people he considers trustworthy. I don't really see him actually cheating, beyond thought experiments and au exercises.

So instead, my friend, I invite you to imagine a kinder, happier Bruce, protecting the one ray of sunshine he sees in his dark home and trying to give Batdad the space to thrive and grow.

And also don't forget the amazing Lucius Fox, who mentors Batdad in the business and steps up to manage Wayne Enterprises as president and CEO once Batdad starts helping with the Justice League! Batdad and Dick working together on the charities and foundations, Jason and Tim and Damian joining them, and finally Bruce once he retires from being Batman!

So there are definitely options and ways Batdad can get the support he needs, and I can see Bruce being a much more dependable figure to him.

[chronotopes]

building on that last ask, what would aivide be like if she was hatched a malcos heiress? not a hybrid, just malcos. i know she and vinbre both have mommy issues a pathological need to right the (perceived) wrongs of their ancestors, but i would be curious to see how aivide would differ, especially with regards to her pitch and her attitudes about the board

now HERE'S a question i am eminently prepared to answer. i've considered aivide malcos a lot (with the help of friends) and can tell you that the two most revelatory things about her are that a) she gets on the board and b) she's a page of space (canon aivide, for context, is a mage of hope).

but i'm not going to stop there. some fun facts about aivide malcos under the cut, with allusions to a big spoiler from the end of vtn in case someone follows me who's making their way through rn

aivide malcos grows up, obviously, in the same way that vinbre does: at the bottom of the ocean, listening to eubala's schoolfeeds, with nothing but that and internet access to keep her company. vinbre and aivide are hilariously minmaxed at their core – vinbre has the commitment to strong principles and quick action-taking and decision-making ability that aivide lacks, whereas aivide has an ability to strategically defer to authority that we see vinbre struggle with profoundly over the course of vtn. where that leads to is that, regardless of aivide malcos's complicated but profound admiration of eubala, she can read between the lines enough to determine that impressing eubala is not what's going to get the other fuchsias to safely vote aivide onto the board.

as such, aivide's pitch is something fairly safe and uncontroversial. i hadn't thought about the specifics before this morning, but my first thought is something like 'rethinking midspectra education and entertainment in the light of labor shortages' – sixteen-year-old aivide malcos basically makes the argument that instead of raising a2's substantial teal population to expect centuries-romanticized office work and then pulling the rug out from half of them and sending them to the navy instead, malcos enterprises schoolfeeding should be teaching teals interesting and compelling facts about a variety of subjects, combined with initiatives to make adventure shows about a SUPER AWESOME AND HANDSOME TEAL NAVAL RECRUIT or a workplace commentary about a QUIRKY TEAL GREENHOUSE MANAGER WHO LOVES HER JOB. in essence, aivide malcos shares vinbre malcos's impression that teals are a very confusingly leveraged labor force and makes her pitch on the basis that we should be gently propagandizing them into liking the non-office jobs that they're pretty desperately needed in.

she passes that pitch with flying colors. with no small degree of horror, and the recognizable 'horrified inertia-driven bit commitment' that you already know aivide has, she helps eat her mom. untovy, very pleased about getting Her Own Sixteen Year Old Vote On The Board and getting rid of eubala, acts very gentle and parentally understanding about how much it sucks to eat your mom, earning aivide's confused loyalty. for her first few years on the board, aivide is quiet, respectful, deferential, votes with untovy pretty unfailingly, open to untovy's pitch to aivide of chiono as a non-eubala role model. she's even given all the resources she needs to work on her cute little teal propaganda project.

between the ages sixteen and twenty, the bright spot is that aivide learns to read as fast as she can. that's about the only bright spot. aivide confronts with the reality of board politics, rewatching old videos of her mom and acknowledging for, how all of how horrible eubala was, for all that she would have killed aivide without a thought if things had shaken out differently, she was still right about a lot more than aivide ever imagined. subconsciously, she had been hyping herself up for her pitch by convincing herself that eubala was The Problem rather than the board – 'if you meet an asshole, you met an asshole, if you meet twenty assholes, you might be the asshole' type thinking. the more she stays on the board, the more she knows that eubala was simply an asshole surrounded by assholes. an asshole who understood things, important things. she's stuck in aivide's teeth and her words are stuck in aivide's head. a weird combination of grief guilt and the knowledge that aivide did the only thing that enabled her to live, which....

or in other words (invokes esther and katia texts from 2021 again) -

needless to say aivide malcos is very suicidal but in the sort of way where it doesn't make her worse at doing her job because she is pretty sure that wanting to kill yourself if you're that important of a pawn will invoke some kind of consequence. (she is a Good Pawn who has never had to be told about the calm down tank, but she soon understands the board well enough to know that something like it exists.)

eventually, with no vinbre to get in the way of untovy's schemes, carett gets on the board, untovy gets her supermajority, and aivide gets marriage of convenience'd to carett. even though canon aivide would have gotten along really well with carett if she had ever chanced to meet them, this version of their respectful marriage of convenience involves a fair bit less real camaraderie because aivide may have the juice to Smile In Board Meetings but she is attached enough to being miserable and insane and depressed in isolation that having a MATESPRIT!! is just not thrilling to her. i think there is some measure of solidarity between them, but neither of them is stoked about being in an untovy-mandated marriage of convenience and (for a long time, at least) they do not feel as if they can speak freely to each other.

if vinbre malcos's take on fuchsias is that everybody should access the benefits of being one, aivide's take on fuchsias is simply that they should not exist. whether she thinks this should be put into action or whether this is just a heart-of-hearts belief depends on the day.

(bonus: since this is a bloodswap, vinbre thieri exists. she is a secretarial focus at amhl santerre, has been arrested four times, got told off by nora for making fun of her presentation and then never spoke to her again. professional idgafer when it comes to stelad's stupid book – the isolation and on-video incisive charisma that defined vinbre's parasocial relationship with eubala are just not factors when your ancestormom is a thick tome full of cutting meanness and your lususmom is a soft and warm cat who loves you. eventually she finagles her way into becoming aivide's secretary. they have an unformalized pale-ashen thing going on and aivide makes vinbre teach her to use troll google docs even though she can't get the hang of sharing settings)

(bonus bonus: sasara is a goldblood whom aivide meets when investigating alternative energy strategies and Rescues From The Psihives. the resulting dynamic is exactly as fucked up as it sounds.)

(bonus bonus bonus: hold on i'll find my old AUvide Field Guide, which has an aivide malcos image in it, and post that)

[jasonswh0rre]

// OC Dossier

Universe: Batman Arkhamverse

Full Name: Amira Mae Leigh Thorne

Age: 26

Alias(es): Doll, Mama, Miss Thorne, Nurse Thorne

Occupation: Receptionist (currently)

Gotham General Nurse (formerly)

Height: 5'11" (181 cm)

Hair: Dark Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Background

Amira Mae Leigh Thorne was born into the affluent Thorne family in Gotham City, her father being a prominent CEO. From an early age, Amira exhibited a profound empathy and kindness that set her apart from most other peers. Her privileged upbringing provided her with a top notch education and exposure to various social circles, yet she still managed to stay grounded often volunteering in local charities.

During her adolescence, Amira encountered Jason Todd, who was then a troubled youth newly taken in by Bruce Wayne. She became one of his first friends in Gotham's elite, offering him a glimpse into a less violent and gritty life that he was accustomed too. Their friendship deepened over time, marked by shared secrets and budding, yet unspoken, affection.

Despite her comfortable life, Amira was driven by a desire to contribute meaningfully to society. Her path took an unexpected turn when she volunteered for a medical mission in Venezuela. It was there, amidst political turmoil and social unrest, that she inadvertently became involved with a local militia. During a harrowing encounter at a remote military base, she discovered that the enigmatic leader of the militia was none other than Jason Todd, now known as the Arkham Knight. This revelation shocked her but also rekindled old feelings.

Torn between her past and the stark realities of her present, Amira navigated her complex relationship with Jason, whose own journey had darkened considerably. As she tended to the wounded, her resolve to heal and protect life only strengthened, even in the face of mounting dangers.

The situation escalated when Amira became pregnant with Jason's child, leading to a critical decision to leave Venezuela. She returned to Gotham, only to find herself amidst the chaos of the Arkham Knight incident. In the aftermath, seeking stability for her newborn daughter, Chloé, Amira relocated to Metropolis. Here, she took a position as a receptionist at Wayne Enterprises, a job that, unbeknownst to her, was arranged by Bruce Wayne as a means of providing discreet support and keeping her under subtle surveillance due to her ties with Jason.

Psychological Profile

Amira's career choice as a nurse is a testament to her nurturing nature and her desire to care for others. This empathy is not just limited to her professional life; it extends to her personal interactions, where she often acts as a mediator and a confidante. Her ability to connect with individuals from diverse backgrounds, including Jason Todd, speaks to her strong interpersonal skills and genuine warmth.

Complex Relationship Dynamics:

Amira’s psychological profile is heavily influenced by her relationships, particularly with Jason Todd. Her interactions with Jason are marked by a deep emotional connection tempered by a realistic assessment of his transformation into the Arkham Knight. Her loyalty to Jason is strong but not blind; she struggles with the moral implications of his actions and her own role in his life. This internal conflict suggests a high level of self-awareness and moral reasoning.

Potential Vulnerabilities:

Her strong emotional ties, particularly to her daughter Chloé and Jason, are potential vulnerabilities. These relationships could be leveraged against her, influencing her decisions under duress. Furthermore, her visible position at Wayne Enterprises and her past affiliations with high-profile figures like Jason Todd make her a target for those seeking to exploit or harm her for their own ends.

Strategic Usefulness:

While Amira poses no direct threat, her close connections and insider knowledge of Jason Todd’s operations and psyche make her a valuable source of information. Her influence over Jason could potentially be used to sway his actions, making her a pivotal figure in any strategic operations involving him.

Prepared by: Batman

[ourjobagency]

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[baalzebufo]

watching everyone comment nice things on the plutocrat art with big evil smile

hmm perhaps I will talk about my investor headcanons. under the cut

just my personal reads on em, in speedy note format. sorted from 'oldest' to 'youngest' though theyre probably built around the same time anyway, its more in Vibes-

CHARON - the 'big brother'. protective, cool-headed, the Adult. right hand to the Don. the most mature probably but also takes advantage of being the trusted one to fool the others with dumb stuff. hes the most responsible and generally the one cosmo gripes to the most

KEREBOS - loyal and aggressive. much like the aformentioned dog, he has bark and a decent amount of bite to back it up with. throws his weight around. kind of the 'big dumb thug' of the group, but hes not actually dumb. just the Tough Guy archetype. loves over the top threats

HYDRA - full of himself. the middle investor and middle manager, deals with the financial and accounting side of things mostly. finds himself managing the others a little too often because hes a little neurotic and likes control. keeps trying to push above his station, but he Does go above and beyond with his work.

NIX - handles the shakedowns. a little mood-swingy. i see him as the most melancholic and gloomy, at least in appearance. hes a great worker even if he tends to butt heads a bit because of his attitude. not as sad as he looks but hes got a bit of that 'resting exhausted face' going on.

STYX - a lil goofy, the 'heheh yeah boss!' guy. the newest and youngest. gets delegated to the restaurant side of the business bc hes the newbie. he takes it oddly seriously for what is just meant to be a front (he forgets they arent really a pizza joint)

the actual Mozarella Styx restaurant is signed under his name (so if anyone finds out about his criminal enterprise the don wont take the fall) and hes weirdly passionate about it now. he still does actual mob work too.

thats about it for now but just my quick tldr. its fun seeing what everyone else assigns the investors since theyre quite blank slate characters... i love a dysfunctional group of gangsters. one thing thats important is they fight a lot but they are ridiculously protective of each other and the don

for all his faults, plutocrat genuinely fosters an environment of loyalty within his family. if you are in hia family, you're IN. and he'll protect you as much as he can. the investors all get that too. just this group of mooks against the world

girl help im getting really attached to exceedingly minor characters aaah

[blogsajs2024]

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[flamingpassicns]

﹟𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙑 — hightower d, marina moschen, 30, cis woman, she / her. welcome darliessa hightower to king’s landing. the knight of oldtown is known to all as a dedicated, responsible individual. however, amidst the chaos of the realm, they find themselves becoming more blunt and judgmental. visions of exhilaration and magic tingling through their veins as one wields a magnificent sword, ; desperately biting back ones tongue ; holding steadfast to morals and honor, hiding a hurt by disguising it as hatred haunt the dreams of dragons, who emerge murmuring of their support for the heir. we do hope that whatever happens, they play the game wisely.

♛   BASIC.

↳ FULL NAME; darliessa hightower ↳ GENDER / PRONOUNS; cis woman , she/her ↳ AGE; twenty eight ↳ ORIENTATION; heterosexual. ↳ MARITAL STATUS / CHILDREN; single ↳ RELIGION; faith of the seven ↳ TITLE; ser of oldtown ↳ LOYALTY; house hightower

♛   PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

↳ HEIGHT; 168cm ↳ EYE COLOR; midnight black ↳ HAIR COLOR; dark brown. ↳ DISTINGUISHING MARKS; a burnt white scar on her left forearm ↳ FACE CLAIM;  marina moschen ↳ FUN PHYSICAL FACT; she's ambidextrous

♛   PERSONALITY

↳ ALIGNMENT; tba. ↳ STAR SIGN; tba. ↳ POSITIVES; dedicated, responsible, enterprising, resourceful, resilient, loving, pragmatic ↳ NEGATIVES; over-protective, secretive, extremely blunt, judgmental, strong-willed, adventurous ↳ INSPO; “Black Alys” , Mulan, Jo March, Wylla Manderly, Elizabeth from the Swiss Family Robinson, Poppy Bridgerton, Brienne of Tarth, Arya Stark

♛   ABOUT

TL;DR she’s a warrior-esque sort of girl, tomboy mulan vibes but extremely responsible older sister, straighforward but also warm and can be down for jolly fun times with friends & family every now and then. very morally upright & can hold grudges for a long time .

she grew intrigued with the art of sword-fighting as a little girl when she witnessed a friendly sword fighting competition at a family event. her intrigue then grew to one of fascination when she watched her brother and older male cousins being trained by their master-at-arms on a daily basis. it culminated with her begging her father to let her train to fight as well. it took a bit of time, but finally her amused father relented to the apple of his eye, thinking that she would grow tired of it soon enough and return to her embroidery and baking lessons, both of which were also of her hobbies and main interests at that time.

darliessa didn’t grow weary of it. in fact, her fascination expanded to learning about all sorts of weaponry, their history, their tricks, and how to best use them in battle as well as self-defense. learning archery, sword-fighting, axe-swinging, dagger art-play, she swallowed everything the master-at-arms had to teach her as well until in the end, the student became the master, even besting her own father at the age of 15. all thanks to her relentless spirit in training hard, an innate talent and open-minded to making mistakes & learning new things every single day in order to nurture her passion to the fullest. her father growing increasingly proud of his daughter, also had early on taught her the art of horse-riding and jousting as soon as she declared that her ambition was to be a knight.

when one of her closest male cousins came of age, she pleaded to be allowed to tag along with him in his touring and travels to dorne and essos . her request was eventually granted. it was during this time & at this places, where darliessa further enhanced her combative skills by learning new forms of fighting from different cultures, bringing her to further revere the art of fighting. it was also at this period of time where her dream goal was finally realized when Darliessa finally got knighted after she managed to demonstrate her exceptional skills and prowness in a battle and saving the life of an old but legendary Westerosi knight ( adventurous event to be futher detailed soon )

after finally returning home from her travels, she took about her other duties seriously due to the fact that she was next in line of succession after her father who is the current heir.

[latifurlimon]

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