#the trouble with interns

[waitineedaname]

Al coming back from his travels: Xing was great! I've learned so much about alkahestry, and I think we're really making progress and getting Jerso and Zampano's bodies back! It was really nice to see Mei, and Ling is doing a great job as emperor, and I even got to visit some of Xing's neighbors to the east! I feel like I'm learning more about alchemy and alkahestry every day

Ed coming back from his travels: I Have Been Banned From Five Countries

[oncamelliastreet]

why are they looking at me like i called them slurs

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[dykedvonte]

I think it’s so ironic that the Pony Express escapes a lot if not all blame in discussion. I can’t even say I am excused from it but it’s just how hard people circle back to the characters alone without considering the environment they were made to be in.

Why would they design a ship where only two of the rooms lock? Not the bathroom? Not the sleeping quarters? We assume that all the companies in the universe are this shallow and careless to their workers but we explicitly know the Pony Express in extra vile. They are fed processed slop pack they can’t even really cook and the ration of those pack is meager at best. They hired and made people with a plethora of conflicting demeanors and beliefs work together on a mission where cohesion is important if not an outright necessity and punish them for not being happy about it. There’s no social protocols, not chain of command other than Captain’s word/choice and the only way to enforce that is with a literal firearm. They don’t allow them to celebrate freely and even took away leisure activities that would make them less stir crazy. They are only allowed a few hours of sleep despite their being no other real responsibilities or work on the ship, no matter the position or its importance. With any crew, with any level of synergy, this was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

I’m not saying characters that made mistakes didn’t make huge ones, but I think part of the horror is that at least for some (this is targeting Jimathan) those mistakes are partly made by a force of the hand. There’s a running theme of lack of choice and being forced into something and the very nature of how The Pony Express expected them to function plays a big part.

[suddenly-stickmin]

When your boss [who just disappeared one day and then randomly reappeared] is the same guy who blew you to smithereens.

[iloveitxwhenaplanxcomestogether]

Peck's warm laughter beheld a buoyant mirthe, the kind notably absent from the office under Eldridge's iron-fisted control, and she contents herself to bask in it for as long as possible. "Me?" Amy sputters, finding herself caught very much off-guard. "Oh no. I'm not a mother." The stubborn reporter can barely get a decent man to glance in her direction much less make romantic overtures. "Though my mother continually holds out hope that someday I'll meet Mr. Right--" Why she's spilling such intimate information with a co-worker confounds her to a degree.

"I just..." Her head dips bashfully as she prepares her lips for her next confession. "I find it really refreshing that there's a man who is good with kids--" Sure. it's a clumsy fumbling, but Allen hopes it will allow her to save face with the handsome intern. "Do you have children of your own? Or are you just collecting all the skills you can because you find them useful?" Amy prompts perhaps a degree indecently. His being married or unmarried, having children or not, has nothing to do with the job being asked of him here. Still, Allen is genuinely curious.

Amy's dark eyes flash back towards Eldridge's office. The breathless levity that had been there drowns, a particularly violent death, and she sucks in a tired breath. That man is so vexing and loathsome!! She doesn't understand why she continues to battle for her place here, other than the fact she felt a duty to relate the truth to the readers whereas it might go unrevealed. "That's not too bad for a starter--" She does finally bring herself to confess with her eyes returning to Mr. Peck.

Her eyes narrow in astonishment as Peck strikes a number remarkably close to what she ought to see in her paycheck. With a simple shrug of her shoulders, she confides, "something like that, when he's not benching me or trashing my stories." In truth he overestimated her wallet. She's making even less per year since she's been gaining nothing but the Editor's ire as of late. A purely satiric laugh escapes her at the thought that she could ever be worth more than her meager salary at the Courier rag.

Her hand sinks easily into his larger. Unlike most of the people she rubs shoulders with, his hands are not velvet from inactivity or over-lotioning. No, they very much boast workman's callouses. She's learned to spot the difference over the years. Her own fingers curl eagerly around his and gift a tight squeeze. One that might have had a degree more affection than intended before the gesture is released.

Peck is a real puzzle, to be sure. His own responses are proving to be quite captivating. It isn't every day that she runs into someone who might be equally lured by a deep enough mystery. Sweet Mahogany orbs rake over him at his intellectual response. He is not nearly as dimwitted as her last intern. "You grow up in this city too? Or did you do your research. Sounds like you know more than most---" He's not wrong.

"I intend to do just that," she confesses about the grounds of her one woman crusade. Then her eyes turn from bright to doleful and the smile her lips boasted moments prior diminishes completely. "Sounds like you either have personal experience or know someone who does with how harsh this city can be." Amy's extending to him an invitation to speak, if he should like it.

Peck's next remarks earn him a nod of agreement. "They've already been operating far too long. I don't want people having to worry about this creep- or creeps. Even a homeless person has to deserve some semblance of safety." Amy expresses. She sighs. "Yeah well, as I've heard from the LAPD, their allocated resources are constantly being stretched too thin. Apparently they were some hundred-and-forty grand over-budget last February?" Though Amy does not approve of their easy dismissal, she can understand how much more pressing matters were getting the devotion of the resources- financial and other.

"Why not? Most of the people are going missing there. It's the one place all these cases have in common," Amy replies not skipping a beat. "Why? are you too scared? I mean, you're not technically obligated to come along..." Even as he locks step with her, she is offering him yet another way out.

Amy nods. "Most of them do see the country. But -- something in my gut tells me that isn't the case here. I can't explain it-" Okay. Maybe she could as feminine intuition. The last time she used that as an excuse Markham had turned her into Eldridge who explained at length that "woman's touchy feely feelings are simply NOT enough" before docking two grand and benching her for a week. She doesn't want to see the same thing happening here. "I sincerely hope that it doesn't come to finding a body, but if it must- and it'll give the police enough evidence--" her shoulders sag.

His inquiry gives her pause. "Other than the encampment, I haven't noticed any relation other than the possibly victims are all young and on their own. They have no one to look for them. Or at least, no one with enough weight to bear any consequence," Amy relates swallowing hard. She wished she had more to go on. Every time she tired to get a good grasp on this case, she was hit with those stupid cease and desists. And she, in all honesty, had no desire to stop until the truth of the matter was discovered.

A blush stains her cheeks as he parts open the door to the parking garage for her. "You can't just drop something of that nature on me and not explain." Now, she is intensely curious. Eldridge mentioned something about him spending time in Miami. That's hardly enough grounds to acquaint oneself with lunatics. Or had she missed something in the interoffice memo she casually dipped into the trash the day before his arrival.

She roars with laughter despite her best efforts to contain it. "Oh no. Naming shoes?" The brunette pauses. "You're being quite serious, aren't you?"A discerning gaze levies upon him while sobering a few degrees.

Amy's not used to such enthusiastically kind observations being made about her or her work. Any animosity she sheltered towards Mr. Peck for potentially being a minion of Eldridge's is long forgotten. "A--admirable?" She muses. "It's just the right and decent thing to do, don't you think?" Amy's brow quirks a little at his intended compliment, but it only makes her bristle just a touch. "Any woman would have to be ignorant not to care. We're all sometimes one bad day, one bad job, one bad choice away from poverty. Aren't we?" She queries softly.

Then exhaling a sigh, she supposed she could trust him with the real reason she is so deeply dedicated to this story. However, opening up like this made her feel extremely vulnerable. Vulnerable in a way that was not enjoyable. "Had my father not returned from a Prisoner of War camp, my mother and I very well could have ended up in one of the camps. One of my friends wasn't so lucky. She was one of the first people to go missing. I know, because I was taking her my lunches for months. Then suddenly, I couldn't find her. Everyone said she moved, but Clarissa wouldn't. She has-- habits. No, firm routines. She sticks to them for her own sanity. She doesn't depart from them much when it can be afforded--" She can feel a sense of urgency rushing like a wild, rabid river beneath the expertly annunciated words.

"I'm going to start with talking to Jane Erstin again. She's the unofficial matriarch of the camp. Not much goes on without her knowing, I think." Amy remarks as she unlocks her car and chambers in behind the seat. "You know anyone in the homeless camp, Mr. Peck?" She prods, almost hoping he too has connections he can speak to about this.

It seems under all her grumpiness; Miss Allen has a sense of humor after all. His quip about babysitting finally prompts a smile that softens the worry lines etching into the creases around her mouth. He chuckles, and tilts his head. “Don’t tell me—you have a precocious five-year-old at home, and you’re looking for a babysitter. Is that why your eyes lit up when I said that?” Her second question is a bit more serious, but hardly brings him pause. He is used to talking about money, and has no qualms with sharing such information. “Oh… around $8500 a year. A little below average for my position, I gather… but not terribly bad.” Once he starts having money come in regularly, he can very easily double or even triple his income with careful investments. He already has a few going, like Efrain’s club down in San Diego, or the Golden Pagoda in Chinatown, but a man really needs money to make money. Besides, this venture has less to do with being completely destitute and more to do with staying busy. Idleness does not suit his mental health well, and while conning war profiteers is amusing, it is also a speedy way to land himself in prison. He does not need to make a fortune here—he just needs a current job to ensure his landlord that he is not a deadbeat, and he needs something engaging enough that his mind will dwell on that instead of the war. If Miss Allen keeps staring into his eyes like that, he has a feeling this job will be more than interesting enough to keep his mind occupied. Turnabout is fair play, however. Narrowing his eyes sightly, he tilts his head. “Now, on the other hand, I would guess that you’re making around $15,500 a year? Somewhere in that neighborhood?” He smiles a bit. “Am I close, Miss Allen? Or have I grossly underestimated your worth to the Courier, and you make a good deal more?” When she extends her hand to him, intending to shake on her concession to his presence, he accepts the offer. Holding her hand firm enough that she knows he is sincere, but loose enough that he does not hurt her, he lets the handshake last precisely five seconds. Then he lets go of her hand. In retrospect, he wonders if he should have held onto it. Miss Allen’s sheer surprise at his question is almost enough to floor her before she even tries to answer him. Face supposes it is a good thing she is still in her chair… else he might be picking her up off the threadbare carpet, and setting her back on her feet.

“Well… ‘intrigued’ might be a strong word, Miss Allen since I don’t really know what is going on, but I am certainly interested.” He admits. “Besides, someone has to find out what is going on. Los Angeles has always been a hotbed for serial killers and other predators. Despite the movies putting all those degenerates out in the middle of rural Nowheres-ville, most of them are here in the cities. There’s no prey for them out there, but in LA? We’re loaded with homeless people, would-be starlets, bright-eyed innocents fresh off the bus from Kansas…” He pauses, realizing that his words are a bit too jaded for the persona he has been presenting thus far. Face backs off from his speech rather quicky, seeking to smooth it over with a few words. “The last thing Los Angeles needs is someone like that operating freely—and our police officers are far too busy to chase after every person who turns up missing. If they were so inclined, they would have to dedicate an entire building to that task alone.” He watches Miss Allen hurriedly collect some writing instruments and her keys. His answer to her suggestion is to fall in step beside her, folding his hands behind his back as he walks. “I assume you mean that we’re heading to the camp then.” His tone is a bit too casual for a wet-behind-the-ears rookie, but he does not catch it. Miss Allen starts talking before they even exit the office, outlining everything that she has learned so far. He stifles an oath when she mentions that the two orphans are officially on the list of missing people in this case. He owes Father O’Malley an apology, then. “Unfortunately, the police are right.” He grimaces. “The homeless… runaways… they’re considered a transient population. They get bored in an area, or it gets too hot for them, and they move onto another one. Sometimes they just decide to see the country, and they never stay anywhere long. Until there’s a body or evidence of a crime, the police can do precious little.” He blinks but walks through the door when his new boss opens it. “It could be an organized situation,” He agrees. “Is there any uniformity on the people missing? Are they in the same age range? Or are they all the same gender?” He knows that the orphans are a boy and a girl, a fifteen-year-old boy and a fourteen-year-old girl who fancied themselves in love, and ready to take on the world. In the infinite wisdom of youth, they assumed they already knew everything there was to know. Father O’s insistence that they stay in school, then establish a living before they committed to each other completely fell on deaf ears. If they ran off to seek their fortunes, they could be easy prey for any number of villains. Miss Allen’s passion for these missing strangers touches something warm in Face’s heart that is rarely stirred. Too few people fight endlessly for the unwanted and forgettable… to see her taking such a firm stand is intriguing. He has a soft spot for orphans and society’s other rejects because he has either walked the road himself, or knows other people who struggle with it. But why does she care so much? What prompts her to devote so much of her heart and soul to these kinds of stories, when he is sure her editor would prefer she pursue less controversial topics? She offers him an escape hatch as they reach the door for the parking garage. Instead of taking it, he pulls the door open for her. “Hardly, Miss Allen. I’ve known raving lunatics, and you’re hardly one of them. Why, I won’t even count you as ‘nutty’ until you start naming your shoes, and giving them distinct personalities. I think you’re just passionate, and you’re frustrated that no one else seems to care about this case so you’ve decided you’re going to take it on yourself. That’s rather admirable, honestly… though I do have to wonder why a woman of your education and breeding would care so much about runaways, and homeless drug addicts in the first place.” He phrases his question as a casual observation, an invitation that she can answer if she wants too. There is no pressure behind his words though—she does not hold any information he vitally needs right now, so he sees no reason to wiggle his way past her boundaries and into her confidence too quickly. Especially when it comes to women, the fast route may be an amusing challenge, but the slow road tends to be more intriguing and enjoyable.

[ips-northstar-official]

Hello!

We apologize for the lapse in official communication. Due to a rights concern called in by a concerned pilot, we have had attention called to less-than-favorable conditions that one of our employees was working under, and have been taking steps to right.

Our beloved intern chose the opportunity to take some time off, without telling anyone, and unfortunately is also the only one who knows how to log in here.

[unlawfulchaos]

The new bartender at the Hard Deck: That'll be $20.

Mav: I don't have the money.

Bartender: ...Then I'm sorry but I can't sell this to you.

Mav, sliding a $20 bill across the counter sneakily, like it's a bribe: How about now?

Bartender:

Ice, from the other side of the bar: Mav, stop fucking with the poor dude.

[awkward-sultana]

"More shocking was Ibrahim's elevation in June 1523 from personal service in the inner court directly to the grand vizierate, the highest office in public service. Suleyman's other viziers had worked their way up the ranks, gaining years of experience in government. They had earned their status; Ibrahim was given his. Suleyman's decision so alienated Ahmed Pasha, who believed himself next in line for the office, that he used the consolation prize of the Cairo governorship to stage a rebellion, thereby entering historical memory as "Traitor Ahmed." - Empress of the East: How a European Slave Girl Became Queen of the Ottoman Empire, Leslie Peirce 

"Mahidevran had nothing left to lose but her rank once Suleyman focused his favors so lavishly on Roxelana. The sultan was upsetting the careful balance among consorts that the politics of reproduction demanded, and Mahidevran apparently took it on herself to right it. She was a product of the old world of separate but equal family constellations, a system that imbued the role of mother to a prince with considerable honor and dignity. The monopoly by a favorite with multiple sons inevitably stole a portion of that stature." - Empress of the East: How a European Slave Girl Became Queen of the Ottoman Empire, Leslie Peirce 

[coolnonsenseworld]

Sampai's prompt for beach Klance - but colored!

I can imagine Hunk asking Keith if he wants a big tail too, and Keith, after seeing Lance fuss about how many details his fins should have would just snicker "Nah, I don't compensate".

[bearotonin-international]

You're just posting big dogs!!!

You're scamming us >:(

pretty sure there's a huge difference here, friend. you might want to get your eyes checked.

bears, no matter how adorable and huggable-looking are not dogs

[kurokrisps]

THIS FUCKINDSBJSMSMSM

[majimasleftasscheek]

I barely covered this awhile ago but thought I'd do it again since I'mma cover more merch shit in the future so I hope this informs someone 🙏

preorders are still up for the 2nd round of plushies featuring these bad boys here. preorders also receive a can badge of the character. listings for the previous batch have since closed. Saeko, Joon-gi, and Masato are still available.

also up are keychains for characters from the previous batch. Mine and Daigo are also available. the keychain art is basically what the can badges look like

there's also new acrylic standees of Kiryu and Ichiban. I imagine more will come as the games release

and finally there's a bunch of shirts along with mufflers cuz if I see more towel merch it would be too soon. I think the Ono one is pretty cute tho

[dead-twink-storage]

Taking bets on whether it was a legit shot missed or a stagged blood squib propaganda stunt that will kill his campaign dead in it's tracks.

[qprpbj]

wait ok i used to listen to this song called “star tripping” by kevin atwater all the time a few summers ago but completely forgot about it and the peril breakup fic dragged it out of my subconscious

it’s very much giving Paul’s thought process in the fic imo !!

- movie star anon

oh you HATE ME?? EXCUSEEEEE ME????

edit also you should check out boys in the street by calum scott and think about paul 🙏🙏

[raayllum]

While Callum has absolutely matured in a lot of ways and generally looks more before he leaps now, it's nice to see that his "guess I'll fuck around and find out" approach with magic (everything with the damn primal stone, tossing himself off the Pinnacle and the high mage tower window, etc) hasn't completely left him, either