#which would be half my funds. unless i manage to get money out of my debit card at atms because i do have a lot of money on that

[erisolkat]

im daydreaming about running away. lol

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Pleasure Is My Business: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Summary: You’re brought back to your high school days with this case. You put that behind you when you graduated, but life has a funny way of bringing you closer to the person who made your life miserable back then.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"The prostitute is not, as feminists claim, the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture." - Camille Paglia

Before you leave for work, you grab the coffee you premade as soon as you wake up. The coffee is right next to your high school reunion invitation. The opened card stares at you whenever you pass by it, begging you to acknowledge it. High school was one of the worst years of your life because not only did kids bully you, but you felt their own pain as your own.

It wasn't fun.

This reunion is in a few days but you're still in Quantico. Looks like you won't get to go, and honestly, you're kind of relieved. Spencer wants you to go and prove to everyone you're this hotshot FBI agent (which you are), but you don't feel like proving to a bunch of people who never gave a fuck about you in the first place.

"Are you gonna go?" Spencer says from behind you.

"We'll, seeing how it's in a few days and we're not in Dallas, I don't think so. It's so stupid because instead of a night, they made it a whole weekend getaway. As if I want to spend more time with them than I have to."

"Maybe you can go to the other one."

All you can do is shrug. You really don't want to get into this right now, plus, you have to get ready for a case Hothc pulled together. Hotch got called to Dallas early in the morning to do a briefing on a case sent by Patrick Jackson, the attorney general.

Hoyt Ashford, a hedge fund manager for a major bank, has turned up dead in a hotel room. Hoyt didn't do too well in the public eye after going on talk shows and talking about how the real estate crisis wasn't a real thing. He posted an apology video about the issue, but once word got out that he died, his lawyers classified it as a suicide.

If you know any better, then that's not true.

According to Hotch, there was Viagra near Hoyt's body. Considering that his wife was at home with the kids, it's safe to assume the prostitute he was with killed him. Something that's confidential and not to be mentioned in any reports is that Hoyt took $10,000 out of a fund in cash. No one saw the prostitute he was with, which isn't surprising since they know how to be discreet. According to Patrick, this is the second murder in Dallas.

You might be able to attend your reunion after all.

"Female serial killers are a fascinating field," Spencer says once everyone is in the air. "We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Take the signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies because there is no sexual gratification when a woman kills. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra."

"So, basically, women are more efficient at killing," you half-joke.

"Historically, they have had body counts in the hundreds."

"Assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?" Hotch asks over the phone.

"Money, drugs, and PTSD. At some point, every call girl, no matter how well paid, gets coerced into an activity she didn't consent to. Aileen Wuornos used to purposefully stage paid sexual encounters as an excuse to murder men she thought would rape her," you explain.

"Wuornos was psychotic and disorganized. I think this girl is poisoning them before she has sex with them."

"She's using Tetramethylenedisulfotetramine. It's a popular rat poison in China which can be easily soluble in alcohol," Spencer explains after reading the files Hotch sent over.

"Poison is the perfect MO. It's quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they're getting lucky." Hotch makes an uncertain noise. "Does that mean something to you?"

"These men are paying $10,000 a night for discretion as well as sex. She has a history with them. She didn't decide to kill them at the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them, and she's doing it before she sleeps with them. She's not just organized, she's also methodical. She decides early which one of her clients is worth killing," Hotch says.

"Maybe the victims all share the same fetish. Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible, and careful of their image. If they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it."

"We're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out."

"Actually, I had some luck there. Hoyt's wife isn't too happy with how he died. She agreed to talk to us but because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement." JJ pulls out her phone to read the statement that was sent to her. "Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.' They're already trying to close ranks."

"Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?" Spencer asks.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the same thing as the murder of the first victim. 'According to the company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home'."

"Y/N and Morgan, start with the wife and see if you can get her to open up. JJ, call the lawyers and tell them I want to meet with both of them."

"You want to play them off each other?"

"I think one of them wrote both press releases. Let's see which one calls us back."

Once you land, you and Derek head over to the Ashford home where Yvonne Ashford is eagerly waiting for you.

"Mrs. Ashford, we're very sorry about your husband," you say.

"I've been getting nothing but condolences all day. I feel like a hypocrite for accepting them, knowing how he died."

"We think your husband might have been targeted because of something sexual he did with this call girl. I know this is hard, but is there anything you can tell us about what he liked?"

"In bed? I can sum it up in one word. Younger."

"How much younger?"

"Twenty-five. That was when I first met him."

"So, your age difference was part of the attraction?"

"Are you kidding? It was the whole relationship."

"Mrs. Ashford, no offense, but your husband spent a lot of money on this woman. Was there anything else at all that he liked from a younger woman besides the ego boost?" Derek asks.

"There's a certain kind of man, Agent, for whom the only kind of sex that matters is the ego boost. In a marriage like ours, you have to work at it or in my husband's case, pay for it."

Your phone rings and you step off to the side when you see Hotch is calling.

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"We got a meeting with a madame that sets meetings up like the one Ashford was in. Spencer is heading over to meet with her. I want you to go with him."

"Sure." You hang up and walk over to Derek. "I got to go. See what else you can find out about Hoyt."

"Yeah."

The madame, Lauren, is hosting an open house where she is able to meet clients discreetly. It's actually pretty smart since people might think they're there for the open house instead of something else entirely.

"This is actually pretty smart," you say when you meet up with Spencer. "Properties like this are safe and an inspection-free investment for large sums of cash."

An older woman walks out of the house with a big smile on her face.

"Well, hello, you two!"

"Are you the--"

"Isn't this neighborhood just fabulous? You're gonna love this house," she cuts your boyfriend off. She escorts you two inside the house for more privacy. "You two need lessons in faking it. I teach a class."

"So, you arrange dates for escorts?" you ask.

"All I arrange are meetings. What happens between two consenting adults when that meeting is over is something I'm not liable for. Now, who wants a scone?" she offers from a platter.

"Listen, we're looking for someone who is a high-end prostitute who takes fees up to ten thousand dollars. She has the intent of killing her clients before having sex with them."

"Oh, yes. We all know about this woman. She's terrible for business."

"I guess there's only so many men that can afford the service you provide, right?"

"Yes, but with the way she's behaving, she's only hurting herself. An escort's client list is the most important investment she has. It's her daily income and her retirement package when she sells the list."

"She's not working with a service then. No madam would allow an escort to kill off the clientele."

"What about the type of work your employees do?" Spencer asks nervously. "We're sort of operating under the assumption that this escort is killing men who make her perform a specific sexual act."

"What did you have in mind, sweetie?" she smirks.

"I... I don't even... I don't know."

"Don't mind him," you giggle. "It's his first time."

"If I may, I think you're looking at this all wrong. Start with this question: why would a man pay a woman five figures?"

"It's not just for sex, is it?"

"Of course, you've got to be good in bed to be successful, but that's the easy part. What men want more than the no strings attached sex is a therapist. Someone who will absorb the worst parts of their personalities."

"They're looking for someone to tell their fears and insecurities to. Everything they can't take home to their wife."

"That's what I groom my girls to do--how to talk to these men and how to listen. Don't get me wrong, deviancy comes with the territory. I can't tell you how many men need to be submissive as an outlet from their extremely stressful jobs. I can tell you that if the sex was the reason she was killing these men, she would have broken long before she charged $10,000."

"It isn't how these men act in bed, it's how they act out of it," Spencer says.

This unsub isn't killing at a specific time because it's whenever her client wants to meet with her. While you've been talking to Lauren, another murder has taken place. You and Spencer leave the open house and immediately head over to an office firm.

Joseph Fielding is found dead inside the elevator, tied to an office chair with X's marked in lipstick on his eyes, and clear tape wrapped around all over his mouth.

"The victim is Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here," Rossi says when you two get there.

"Was he poisoned?"

"Yes, and staged. She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found."

You walk over to the victim but pause when you see the energy left behind by the unsub. It's blue because the unsub is a female, but you recognize this energy. There are eight billion people in this world with eight billion different base energies. Every single person you've met has their own energy signatures, and you're familiar with this one. Not only have you seen this energy before, you know the person attached to it.

You've met and gotten to know this person before.

"I know this unsub," you say.

"You do?" Hotch asks.

"Yeah, but I can't put a name to it yet. I've definitely seen it sometime in my life."

Hotch gives you time to put a name to the unsub, but for right now, he focuses on what he can see physically.

"The lipstick is new."

"It was done postmortem. Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable. Now she wants to be noticed."

There is commotion by the barrier formed by local police by a man trying to get through, which he does eventually.

"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"

"Me."

"I'm Larry Bartlett. I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries."

"This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."

"I know. I spoke to Ellen Daniels, and she said you're a very reasonable man."

"Escort him out, please," Hotch says to one of the officers.

"No, wait. Please." The officer tries to grab him, but he doesn't leave right away. "The press is outside and they can smell blood. Is there any way we can handle this discreetly?"

"We're not about to lie for you," Derek says.

"You don't have to lie. Just don't comment."

"Excuse us."

Hotch takes the team off to the side to talk about the benefits of not commenting on the murder. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"

"Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake," you say quietly.

"He doesn't need to know that. We need everything you have on Fielding like bank accounts, tax records, and emails."

"Everything?" Larry asks in uncertainty.

"Everything."

"I'll gather everything and send it in the morning."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hello I was summoned? Gosh I did just wake up from a nap fair warning.

So by all accounts the tour Is selling pretty damn well, I don't think people realise how ticket prices nd tour prices are done. So, let me give you the lowdown

(This is all based on work I did with my music business performance and tech qualification in college *the bit before uni for americans* and reseach and continued work so take that into account)

When a tour is arranged they consider a few things.

Costs, obviously they have to look at the cost of the tour and make sure they have more money than that by a bit to have emergency and contingency funds. This includes stuff like work visas, venues, set, staff. All of that is considered

Breaking even, most tours are only really concerned with minimally breaking even or making their money back. To do that most tours set their break even point FAR BELOW the max ticket sales. To ensure they don't lose money, they try to set it around half (give or take a quarter either side) so they don't have to charge too much while still making money.

Profit, so this, once you hit that break even point provided you don't have costs you don't have to front or invoices you still have to pay everything beyond it us profit. Profit is also generated through online interactions, merch sales (like the 10th ani. Which is why I'd wager it was so expensive)

Contingency, so this is money you usually leave to the side at the start but I don't trust Jamie so we are gonna assume that actually he'd take his contingency from the profits. I don't actually knwo who the tour manager is this time so I'm running on the assumption it's the company. But even then most of the time contingency doesn't get spent. Its just in case money. For any surprise costs.

These are the very very basics we need to talk about in regards to the 1975 tour.

First, it's their first proper stadium tour in a while. At least outside the UK. So it's not expected to sell out. Especially not considering the recent controversies the boys have been through. So one could argue the tour Is selling really well considering.

Second, they've chosen their areas for a reason. When your doing an expensive theatrical stadium tour you need to consider the areas your going to and how much of that venue your actually gonna fill. There's no point booking the O2 if all your fans are in Scotland. And while I can't personally look at the sales statistics and their demographic statistics I'd reckon they've picked their spots wisely (look even idaho likes music) based those stats.

Third, it's really early in the tours life cycle, as in its not even in full swing yet. So most people won't be buying this far in advance if they aren't hard-core fans dying for a ticket. A lot of people wait until its closer to the time (mostly financial reasons and psychological reasons) so it's not fair to judge on how the sales are right this second (still good though) a lot of casuals buy tickets fairly close to shows (insane I know)

If the tour were going to be cancelled. It would have been by now. Unless something extreme happens its unlikely because the boys should have broken even by now and maybe made a small profit. There's other more complex stuff too but this is already a very long ask so I'll stop here

TL/DR I promise they don't need to sell out to break even or profit. They've been touring a while they know how many they average at live concerts and stadiums so they've likely taken the average amount of attendees for a concert and halved it for their break even point. They're smart. They've done this 10 years. Have a little faith in them. P.s most of the twitter people saying that legit just want to see the band fail or stay small and indie for them.

THANK YOOUUUU!!!! yeah I think the statement “this tour is failing” is your equivalent of saying “Beetlejuice” three times. Like if anyone says that, you materialize with info hahahaha

No, this is super, super helpful and informative! For someone who doesn’t know much about music or touring and is just going off of common sense and vibes, like I learned a lot from this!!!

Here y’all go. Twitter do be Twitter-ing which is a surprise to literally nobody. It’s the least thoughtful platform out there and not at all conducive to…like…facts or rational thought haha. Everybody say thank you Ambrose.

[winterswhite]

Personal rant, CW for talks of blood and medical stuff

The past 5 days have really been so much for me and it... seriously doesn't feel like only 5 days at all with how much has gone on

On Wednesday evening I got home from work feeling extremely weak after telling my QPP repeatedly that I don't feel good, and after I was no longer able to hold my head up or open my eyes without extreme effort my roommate took me to the emergency room where we waited 9ish hours for me to even be taken to a bed and then one or two more to be seen

When they did get there, they said they needed to take blood, give me an IV, do chest x-rays, and a few other tests (I think they tested me for a stroke too) because clearly a lot was wrong

The nurse tried to put the IV in my left arm and then my hand, failing both times because she couldn't find a vein. She then called over a second nurse, who said since I had already been poked twice, she wasn't going to poke me unless she was sure she had one

She left without poking me.

She called over a doctor to come with a whole ass ultrasound setup to use that to find a vein, and they only found a suitable one in my upper right arm, meaning I had to hold it up at an uncomfortable angle the entire time and because of where it was, it also hurt the entire time (only a little, but still)

They also interrupted it in the middle to take more blood ("well that can't be good")

Also, while they were putting the IV in, I remember them struggling to reach the vein, and the pain from them wiggling it around trying to reach my difficult ass vein, and then hearing "how attached are you to this sweatshirt?"

I had... bled all over it (fortunately they stopped the bleeding pretty fast, very different from my last experience with an IV where I nearly bled out on the hospital floor)

Anyway, after wanting to cry from how uncomfortable the whole experience was but eventually managing to sleep through the last half hour of it, they told me about my bloodwork, and a lot is wrong! Some of the things that have always been wrong with me, and some new things, like low thyroid and low potassium, low sodium etc

They scheduled me for a follow-up appointment in a week and I leave, it is now Thursday morning

I picked up the meds they prescribed me and got home around noon, exhausted from not having slept all night, and napped

Only to wake up to a terrible toothache out nowhere, that at its worst was so bad I couldn't lift a finger

I ran to the dentist but they were closing by the time I got there and told me to come back the next morning

I did, and they said I need an emergency root canal, but that it would be hard to find any endodontists who take my insurance, which... yeah, it proved to be impossible

So now, today, I'm scheduled for the root canal, and I have to pay for the whole $1500 out of pocket

Which I haven't reached, but... I'll have to see what I can manage now

Also, through all of this, my workplace is telling me it's "unacceptable" not to show up to work because they're short-staffed. As if I wasn't stuck in the fucking hospital. I worried about getting fired, because I need that money to pay for the fucking root canal and I hadn't even received my first paycheck, so I went in to work yesterday, but wasn't able to finish a full day of work because I felt like Shit

They still told me they need a doctor's note specifically stating that I can't work for x number of days (even though I gave them my emergency room discharge papers to prove I was unwell) before they could believe that I was actually not feeling well enough to work

So I guess I'm going to ask the fucking endodontist for one

And this cuts into my funds for my trip to take the JLPT and some other things in June, which I also really need so I can get a better job. It is absolutely necessary that I take this trip, but I'll no longer have the money for it yet, and travel costs only go up as you get closer to the date of, so lol.

Anyway. It has not even been 5 full days since I first went to the ER. I need a fucking break.

[neptunianorbitron]

You know I've been dangling that line out there on this website for years and no one has ever asked?

In 2010-ish I worked for books-a-million near Disney world and when you live near Orlando and Disney specifically it's not unusual for foreign dignitaries to come through because they want to rent Disney for a few nights. So one day my boss asks for volunteers to work overnight for a few days because the company was contacted by the crown prince of Saudi Arabia and he might come through to purchase some things to open a library.

Well I volunteered immediately because I hate being customer facing anyway and my mom worked for hotels in the area and once got a 500$ tip in 1992 for calling a cab company for an Arabian oil baron so I figured besides the being able to work without people around there was a rather large chance I would get a decent tip out of this. How it worked was he paid our hourly rate directly to the company and we worked from close to open to be available, and his interpreter would be in the store on standby. We were given some base rules about the interpreter to follow and were told that we would be given more IF the prince came by.

So we're doing stock work cause the manager wasn't going to let us just hang out and there's this little old guy in the not-starbucks hanging out in a chair and if you ever walked past him he would just point at the shelf of candy drinks and snacks and say "you want?" And you HAD to say yes or it was spurning the princes generosity. So you took a candy bar or something and wrote it down on a tab sheet and by the end of day 3 I had a years supply of gun and mints in my locker.

Two days go by and no one shows up, and on night three we were joking that he wasn't going to come by when the manager calls us up front where she's standing with a very serious looking man in a suit who happens to be the prince's bodyguard. This man informs us of the rules. DO NOT speak unless spoken to. DO NOT look at the prince. DO NOT speak directly to the prince even if spoken to speak only to the interpreter. If the prince enters an aisle you leave IMMEDIATELY. So I'm like "uh, ok, sure" and just go about my business, of course I sneak a couple weeks and see that there's like 5 guards with him, 4 pushing shopping carts, and the prince is just grabbing anything that looks like it has an interesting cover and dropping it in the carts, piling these carts high, it looked like a gameshow shopping spree.

After about an hour and a half one of the guards taps me on the shoulder cause I was wearing headphones and tells me that the prince will be dining in the cafe and requests my presence. I wasn't really thinking and was just like "Oh, that's ok I'm not hungry" and the guard responded "I don't think you understand sir" and opened his jacket to show me his gun. I decided I was indeed hungry after all and sat down on the cafe where it turns out the prince had sent a guard to call the nearby KFC franchise owner and paid him to reopen the kitchen to make a few family buckets and I sat in silence with the guards, my manager, the interpreter and two of my coworkers eating a drumstick and a biscuit and trying not to look at anyone until the prince stoof up and told his interpreter he was ready to check out.

My manager got bold at this point and tried to explain the reward program to the interpreter, and that for every 50$ in books we could ring up a rewards membership for free and it would really help our metrics. That woman was way braver than me but it worked out. So we rang up some $25,000(I think) in books and a few hundred books a million rewards cards then gathered to say goodbye in which the interpreter thanked us each and gave each employee a 5000$ cash tip which the manager promptly took to donate to the hurricane fund because it "wasn't fair that we were given the opportunity and we had a no tip policy"

Now maybe I'm more sane or less sane than most cause I just shrugged and thought "well I'm not losing money I didn't have it when I came in and I won't be leaving with it whatever" (which is double weird to consider at the time it was almost a years rent for me) but I just shrugged it off and went home with a goofy story to tell and a few nights of double overtime in my paycheck.

Two days later the department of homeland security shows up at my apartment to question me. It seems the other two employees were so offended by the theft of the tip that they went to the princes hotel and told the interpreter and the prince was so mad about it it apparently almost started an international incident. I'm kinda fuzzy on things here cause I was just questioned and I wasn't involved and the two people were fired for going to the hotel about it so I don't even know if they got the money or just lost their job. But since we didn't have world war three I'm assuming someone smoothed things over.

And that's the story of how I win every one of those stupid icebreaker games they make you do at work when they ask you to tell something interesting about yourself

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[lisamorrisjulian]

At almost 50 with 4 degrees the journey may just be beginning. I have an old alias name that can be retrieved running an Intelius background check under Lisa Hlavenka. The house of Taliban text is real and I can give the phone number as of being called yesterday-strong evidence of safe houses with addresses in multiple countries, down to Taskeeras and family details provided for years now. It’s taken an online art of seduction, never meeting anyone and lol don’t think I have ever broken a law.

I have refined my own tailored craft of cyber honey trapping bad bad men- likely one of the Yakoob faction Taliban. He tells me he loves me regularly and I wouldn’t give him the time of day in person….unless it took something worth sacrificing to get his iPhone SIM card out of that phone and to the closest US German military installation near Munchen, Germany where he smuggled into through the Polish border for 7K USD, which I certainly didn’t provide. He was drug smuggled out through Kandahar and claims the Taliban was holding him hostage. But I have many texts and they were all together using Sadats phone. Discussion of Darband, Peshawar, and laundry detergent devices made of special plastic. They have sent me pictures of dead children and used the chopping off arms and legs publicity stunt sending media video blaming myself. Yet the photos drive them back to me for more. I’m tough, military trained and don’t speak like a fucking snowflake to get intel, information, bank accounts, ethereum wallet addresses and anything else sought to get them turned over to the right agencies.

I’ve repeated these methods and have specifics on major illicit drug dealers see jordan999.com for his other vile side hustles. Have his Truist routing and bank account number and if I had the time I would hack the shit out of his account and transfer some to those affected by drugs and some to myself for dedication and hours building trust what they value to get the information. I spoke to a John Newkirk of Acuitus awhile back and asked if they had ever heard of a CIA spec ops girl named Jessica Sawyer? They didn’t say anything in return and I said ok same bad ass girl. And that’s the ultimate in compliments because I have a family made of millions and because they knew I was set up for CIA application as of May 2020 and had an NSA webinar I lost because of them—they have literally stolen my truck and I’m hostage at W339N6747 Log House Circle Oconomowoc, WI 53066. They have stolen everything monetarily from me since 2020 because the words Central Intelligence Agency scare the ever living shit out of them and makes me smile. That work makes someone like myself purposeful and driven and my family is terrified of it and I am remotely quarantined by them.

And they didn’t think ahead before leaving me in the family house with the account numbers to their purely selfish existence. And when I have people in the rear view mirror who could have saved 2 disabled non verbal little beautiful twins with a fraction of the half million plus annually and donate money only for tax deductions and misappropriation funds hiding—it’s time to roll. Now I have lovely CIA recruiter Mark on my phone but lol, it’s difficult to say hey uh, btw I have had really bad fucking ADD since 3rd grade, um I do outstanding legal writing, but I have really great pictures of my 49 year old tits that get the Yakoob faction on WA or Telegram instantly on video. My family is a bunch of rich sell out assholes. So uh Mark did the ummm case manager position seem like a good fit v legal? I mean you know General Mike Flynn and George Colella would vouch for me seriously. And yeah I have a NeuroQuant MRI and have a hippocampal volume that makes me an adobe cloud of algorithmic complexity that doesn’t belong in Stone Bank, WI and yeah the ADD right now is horrible remotely trapped. And if had access to a decent psychiatrist to get ADD treatment have entire legal plan in 3 steps to probably recover a million from per Se reputational damage my “sister” tried and failed miserably to not hand over inheritance. And I want settlement money now for the bullshit problems they’ve created unnecessarily and to not be on inheritance or any documentation with the names Gaeu or Hlavenka again. And hey Mark, I would be honored to meet someone like Jessica Sawyer because she understands service and sacrifice. Someone said to me at LaQuinta hotel in Fargo as I was being taught a little “dashboard” computer training, how to go through dark net with Tor, VPNs, firewalls, a guy named Pablo Mancini who thought he was funny and sent a dick picture flashing into my FB page then disappearing. But one unidentified person who knew the duress, trauma, worst possible scenarios I had endured, the Fargo Air National Guards misuse of MQ-9 drone reaper satellite fiber optics I unrigged and said Lisa, you’re a good mom. So Jessica if you had a mom who worked her ass off you had nothing cool to wear all your childhood like myself well you are a swimming success. My family never gave a shit about me and I left for USAF in 94 in aviation. They still don’t but even when it’s one good woman and you’re outnumbered by what seems like everyone constantly—-in my case have this almost one of a kind brain nobody else has. See Waukesha County Sheriff’s Department under Lisa Hlavenka it’s just strategy. Family took to falsely calling me bipolar and manic against my own doctor who laughed because he knew this was coming. And she set the police department up to mock and harass me needlessly and it’s all failing nicely. The outside of hotel hostage here looked like an FBI raid of 4 days straight and nothing happened to me although the intent was obvious. Sat calmly and smiled every time and nicknamed the dick cop Cookie Crisp online where now know he is forever nicknamed by his fellow officers.

And preceded to contact NAMI, the Waukesha County Sheriff’s Department CIT or crisis intervention team psych recognition training team. And these good folks are all slowly coming around to the fact that I think and speak similar to Spencer from CSI but I think at rate they can’t fathom. And when officer Cookie starts saying….Leeee-sa….do….you….even…..re-mem-ber my name I think to myself I don’t fucking care about your name but I remember your fat fucking out of shape douchebag attitude I could outrun at 50. And thus the last phase after trying to pull my damages settlement out of hotel trust fund here, is to get the darn ADD on track and get to a place like CIA. The officers, not Cookie, are coming around to the fact that the US IC intelligence community hires people with devastating disabilities and mental illness and that socially probably defective me lol forever has a home in these places with the world’s finest trained. I can’t fathom what I could help solve, contribute and assist with US National Security right now. Just takes a couple nude pics someday and a supportive call to say “you can do it Lisa” from the Taliban last night.

I understand this seems surreal impossible- I assure you anything is possible when you’ve survived and endured things like myself. I wish I could get to that bad ass physically trained state like Jessica Sawyer someday soon. Better yet my brain upgrade makes me one hell of an accurate shot both left and right handed. Center mass same bullseye right and left. I have even looked to going for sniper training because I love solely the challenge of the accuracy and distance. But my rights have been on hold to provide a little remedial education to a police department while being held hostage by my “family”.

Probably haven’t read one like this before. I’m not on SM much at all due to having to write motions for reasonable electronic means, tons of legal pursuance’s. Because it’s then open to go full throttle US intelligence applications and this cool cyber corporate honeytrap organization found. Happy Holidays from Stone Bank hotel hostage

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Part 3! Starring Mini Mammon and Mini Asmo!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Underground Tomb special Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 4

MC names:

Lucifer’s kid=L!MC | Mammon’s kid=M!MC | Asmo’s kid=A!MC

Why did bad things happen to good people? Well... Lucifer being a good person is up to interpretation. He hadn’t done anything too heinous recently, his instruments of torture were collecting dust for goodness sake! So why oh why was he staring down two half demon children who looked suspiciously like two of his brothers?

The first kid to step forward was Mammon’s without a doubt, but their general demeanour was very different from their father’s. Perhaps their other parent had done a good job-

“What the fuck was that?!”

Never mind. The kid had Mammon’s pottymouth.

The other child surveyed the scene with a nervousness that their suspected parent never possessed. The kid’s gaze fell on Lucifer, their eyes began to glow ever so slightly. “Uh-um...” the kid cleared their throat. “Someone explain what’s going on!”

Was this child seriously trying to use manipulation powers on Lucifer? He almost laughed at the mere idea of someone trying. The child didn’t even seem to be aware that they were doing it. When their question was met with blank stares, they instantly shrank back and practically hid behind the first half demon. Despite the severe self-esteem difference, this kid was Asmodeus’.

Lucifer’s own child cleared their throat and smiled. “Welcome to the Devildom!”

The Uncle That Looks Like he Has his Shit Together but he Leaves the Reunion Drunk off his Rocker (Lucifer)

Ah shit here we go again-

Okay- okay. Normally he’d scold L!MC for taking Diavolo’s line, but Dia had recovered from his shock and was now gushing over the new exchange students like an excited puppy.

“Okay... L!MC you’re going to need to share your room.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Unless Belphie is willing to give up the attic as a nap spot-”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“You’re sharing your room.”

RAD was buzzing with gossip for the entire first month of the second attempt at the exchange program. The threats of being eaten were once again stamped out very quickly.

(Special thanks to L!MC for being a good bodyguard)

Now, Lucifer didn’t exactly know what to expect when it came to the child of his favourite brother. Mammon was a dumbass, but this kid... this kid...

Was smart.

For the first time in Lucifer’s very long life he felt compelled to place someone in a higher echelon than himself.

Mammon’s child managed to successfully budget that dumpster fire of a house. On the first fucking day. Not only that. This kid managed to skim FIVE THOUSAND GRIMM OFF THE TOP AND THE BUDGET STILL WORKED! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT-

Lucifer and Mammon thanked whatever spirit was watching over them because they truly believed their financial woes were over.

Shame that M!MC also spent their money on dumb stuff they didn’t need. Like father like child.

It’s no secret that Lucifer does have a bit of a soft spot for Asmo, I mean, who doesn’t love Asmo? But A!MC was a blessing sent right from the Celestial Realm.

They were just... too sweet. Way too sweet. Lucifer was actively getting cavities just being near them.

Anyone who bothered A!MC and M!MC during the first month ended up getting... uh... suspended.

(We can assume the threat of suspension would have extended to those who bothered L!MC but all the lesser demons were already terrified of them.)

Normally when Lucifer called someone into his study it was to lecture them for at least four hours and then send them to their rooms, but he was having quite the difficult time actually being upset with M!MC and A!MC.

A!MC looked close to tears and M!MC just stared right back at Lucifer with little to no fear in their eyes.

“Starting a fight during the first week of school is not how I expected the exchange students to behave.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, and prepared to continue the lecture, when he heard a sniffle. There wasn’t enough Demonus in the entire Devildom...

“I-I’m s—sorry...” A!MC sniffled, quickly wiping at their eyes. “Th-they were being r-really scary and we did-didn’t know what else to do...”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“I threw them out of the window.” M!MC huffed. “They were bein’ a dick.”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“That um...” A!MC mumbled. “That’s not all... I may have... told them to stick their head in a toilet first...”

“You made them stick their head in a toilet,” Lucifer turned to M!MC. “And then you threw them out of a window?”

“Yes.” M!MC and A!MC replied. Lucifer downed the rest of his glass of Demonus and debated whether or not it would be a show of weakness to slam his forehead into the desk in front of the children.

Lucifer looked between the two for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “It’s my job to deal with threats to the exchange students, not yours.” Lucifer stood in front of the two, he rested his hands on their heads and gave them a quick pat, before knocking their heads together. “Next time someone bothers you, tell me. If I hear even a whisper of you two getting into another fight, I’m hanging you from the ceiling. Is that clear?”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other, then back at Lucifer and nodded. “Yes sir!”

“Good.” Lucifer removed his hand from their heads. “Now shoo.”

Flying lessons for the two of them went way quicker than it did for L!MC, mainly because L!MC was a way better teacher.

As much as Lucifer loved his newly found niblings, he couldn’t show it too much. Outward softness was reserved for L!MC and L!MC only. M!MC and A!MC were stuck with silent acts of affection.

Every once and a while a little present or two would end up in M!MC or A!MC’s possession. Some ice cream money for M!MC when they blew their part of the budget on fancy sunglasses, a multiplayer video game that the three half-demons could play together, new shoes when A!MC accidentally ruined their’s...

He’s a good uncle. A scary uncle. But a good uncle. ^_^

(Don’t tell him I said that, I’m still in trouble for advertising Mammon’s escape Go Fund Me and I don’t want to have to write the rest of this HC hanging upside down.)

He’s Not Like the Other Dads, he’s a Cool Dad! (Mammon)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (Fear)

He’s a dad?! HE’S TO YOUNG TO BE A DAD! Hang on- he’s over five thousand years old...

Oh would you look at that! His kid pulled out a calculator.

...his annual income? Uh... why do you- HEY! WHAT’S WITH THAT FACE?!

M!MC puffed out their cheek as they continued to add the ever growing list of numbers into the calculator. Mammon was trying to get a peak at what they were calculating. M!MC suddenly looked up and practically lit up the room with their smile. Aw, their fangs were growing in!

They had a devilishly charming smile, just like their pop! A real chip off the old block! It almost brought a tear to Mammon’s eye and he actually felt compelled to give this kid all the money he had on him. Maybe even his Rolex too!

“Mammon, Avatar of Greed,” M!MC said sweetly. “My... dad.”

“Yep! That’s uh... that’s me!” Mammon awkwardly ruffled his kid’s hair, the kid laughed good naturedly.

M!MC’s sweet as honey smile flipped from elated to malicious in a manner of nanoseconds. “You owe over thirteen years of child support. Dad.”

Everyone say thank you to Lucifer and Diavolo for getting M!MC to compromise and not try and sue their father.

If you thought Mammon spoiled L!MC you’ve got another thing coming. Mammon’s wallet never stood a chance against his kid.

Poor Goldie, press F to pay respects.

Mammon also tried to teach A!MC and M!MC to drive, M!MC has no regard for their safety, the safety of others, or the laws of the road, buuuuuuuut they manage to get the car back with no dents and no property damage bills are being delivered to the house sooooo...

A!MC can drive fine... it’s just that they adhere to literally every law known to demonkind, which means neither Mammon or Asmo are allowed to open up the sunroof and do that movie thing where they pop their heads out and yell something. ITS NOT SAFE!

Our beloved dummy also tried to teach his kid how to play poker, with... limited success.

“Aw, come on kiddo.” Mammon smirked, flicking his kid on the nose. “Your poker face is awful, I can also see your cards from here.”

M!MC growled and held their cards closer to their face. “My poker face is fine!” It was in fact, not fine.

Mammon scratched his head and thought for a moment. Was he sure that this kid was his? I mean, they weren’t good at poker, had terrible luck in blackjack and roulette, and could barely understand the rules of craps. Craps! While he was lamenting the loss of possible gambling winnings, an idea hit Mammon at a thousand miles an hour.

“Hey kid, you’re damn good at math like your great and amazin’ father, have you ever thought about learnin’ how to count cards?”

Fancy outfits on, hair done (sorta), car ready, the two were off to the casino after quite the intense training montage. It appeared that casinos in the Devildom allowed children inside... Diavolo should really fix that.

“Okay M!MC, you remember what to do, right?”

“Yes. Remember the signal, and if someone catches on, deny deny deny.”

Mammon gave his kid a slap on the back. “Damn straight! You got this, bud.”

As the night dragged on, M!MC and Mammon had made their weight in money, paper money, they had made a SHIT ton is what I’m saying. Tragically, neither the Avatar of Greed or his child had any sense to leave before their luck crashed like the Stock Market in 1929.

They were both Icarus, and they were playing chicken with the sun... and by 3 am they were also playing chicken with security.

“GO GO GO!” Mammon shouted as he and M!MC sprinted towards the car, the night’s winnings in hand.

“I think I lost a shoe!” M!MC gasped as they scrambled into the car, security on their heels.

“I’ll buy you new shoes JUST PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT!”

Re-enacting every Fast and the Furious movie in twenty minutes was how that lovely night of father/child bonding should have ended... until they got home and realized they were locked out.

“The window to my room!” M!MC whispered, pointing up at their window. “It’s usually unlocked, we can climb up to get to it.”

“Good idea!”

M!MC tucked the bag full of their precious money under their arm and began the climb to their window, their father close behind. They had almost made it, they were so close, M!MC could literally touch the window-

The window swung open and the smiling faces of L!MC and A!MC greeted them.

“Oh my, it looks like we have some delinquents breaking curfew~.” L!MC cooed, resting their head on their hand.

“You shouldn’t be gambling this late! A-and your accessories don’t match!” A!MC huffed.

“Oi! L!MC, A!MC! What are ya doin’ up this late! It’s not good for ya!” Mammon whisper-yelled.

“My sleep schedule should be the least of your concerns right now, right A!MC?” L!MC elbowed A!MC, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yep! Those who break curfew are hung from the ceiling by their toes.” A!MC shuddered.

M!MC rolled their eyes and stuck out their hand. “Come on L!MC! Let us in! You should listen to your older cousin!”

Upon hearing M!MC pull the older cousin card L!MC smiled deviously, grabbing both of M!MC’s hands. “Of course, dear cousin.” They leaned in. “Long live the king!”

L!MC shoved M!MC downward, Mammon caught them, but lost his own grip and they both lost hold of the money, which fell out of the bag and onto the ground like snow. Paper snow...

Oh well, at least Mammon and M!MC landed in some of the bushes...

“Ya know,” Mammon said as the money fell around them. “I’ve had dreams where this has happened.”

“Wow,” M!MC smiled. “Me too!”

Yep. This was his kid alright.

Not all his father/kid time revolved around money, it also revolved around both of them trying to avoid horror movie night without making it look like they were chickening out.

“Okay, I’ll fake a medical emergency!”

“Kid, no! They’ll never believe that!”

Since A!MC had their father’s eye for fashion and none of the judgemental comments, the kid became Mammon’s unofficial style coach.

“U-um... I hate to say it but those shoes don’t match with the rest of the outfit, the silhouette is confusing...”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? I look fantastic!”

“Are you blind? You look like a thrift store threw up on you.”

“Who invited you, Asmo?!”

“I’m here to support A!MC! You’re doing great by the way, sweetie!”

He may have cried a little when M!MC was able to fly without help... sniffle... they grow up so fast...

Oh- oh fuck they both crashed into the tree-

Oh My God he Actually Showed Up?! (Levi)

That... that couldn’t be real life! A shut-in’s worst nightmare! More people he needed to talk to!

Considering Mammon and Asmo’s track record with taking care of his things, Levi was incredibly hesitant to invite the two to binge anime with him and L!MC.

It seemed that the two normies inherited their fathers’s level of respect for closed doors. What I’m saying is the two crashed anime night.

“I have never seen such bullshit before.”

M!MC’s hands were stuffed in about five pairs of socks each, effectively turning their hands into useless nubs.

“You be quiet! This is to make sure that you don’t take any of my things and try and sell them on Akuzon!” Levi hissed, turning back to make sure his figurines were safe from the mini Mammon. A!MC was standing awkwardly next to L!MC, who was sitting in Levi’s gaming chair reading manga.

“So what are we going to watch..?” A!MC piped up. “I haven’t really watched much anime but I did watch Digimon...”

“I was more of a Beyblade kid.” M!MC hit their sock-stumps together to make a thumping noise.

Levi looked like he was ready to have a stroke. “L-listen! Those are gateway anime! You two need to watch proper anime! Non-dubbed anime!”

A!MC let out a shriek and stared at their reflection in a very shiny looking gundam figurine. “Have I been wearing off colour lip gloss the entire day?! O-oh no... I’m a mess!”

Levi let out a strangled wail and snatched the gundam out of A!MC’s hands. “D-don’t touch that! It’s worth more than a house!”

“It is?!” M!MC perked up and tried to wrestle their way out of their sock-gloves.

“Don’t make me stick you in a straight jacket...” Levi growled. He turned to L!MC with a pleading look on his face. “Please make them stop...”

L!MC grinned deviously and closed their book. “Of course I’ll help you, if we watch season two of The Promised Neverland.”

Levi shrieked and nearly pulled out his hair then and there. “It’s manga divergent! MANGA DIVERGENT! THEY SKIPPED SO MANY ARCS!”

M!MC and A!MC continued to wreak both purposeful and accidental havoc on Levi’s room, he was just about ready to summon Lotan then and there when L!MC shrugged.

“The ball’s in your court, Levi.” L!MC leaned back in the chair and resumed reading their manga.

Levi’s willpower shattered the moment he heard something fall off one of his cabinets. “WE CAN WATCH WHATEVER YOU WANT JUST MAKE THEM STOOOOOP!”

Quick as a flash, L!MC was out of the chair and had both M!MC and A!MC by the ears.

“HEY!” L!MC growled. “STOP ACTING LIKE IDIOTS OR SO HELP ME GRANDFATHER YOU TWO WON’T LIVE TO SEE GRADUATION!”

M!MC and A!MC became the most well behaved children in the Devildom after that... and L!MC and Levi got to watch their anime in peace.

Okay, Levi wasn’t heartless, he loved his lame normie niblings. They were just very very loud...

Though, M!MC was very good at finding merch for way lower prices... and A!MC actually really liked some of the anime they watched... Maybe they weren’t so bad.

M!MC’s attempts to budget that financial dumpster fire of an otaku was not going well, at least until M!MC convinced Lucifer to dangle concert tickets in front of Levi like a carrot on a stick until he agreed to do his best to stay within the monthly budget.

Levi had learned his lesson from L!MC’s flying lessons and steered clear of them, but luck was not on his side. The ONE time he willingly stepped outside of the house...

Both M!MC and A!MC crashed right into him.

The Uncle With the Cat You Never See and Aren’t Really Allowed to Pet. (Satan)

Oh fuck him sideways the house was going to be so much louder... Say goodbye to his quiet reading time...

On the bright side, the look of pure disbelief and exhaustion on Lucifer’s face gave Satan the biggest rush of serotonin he’d ever had in his life.

To be honest, he got on well with Asmo, and he... well it’s Mammon.

Could have been worse.

Could have been ANOTHER child of Lucifer.

“So... who do you think did it?” M!MC asked as the opening to the fourth episode of the murder documentary they were watching began. “I think it was the sister.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” Satan asked.

M!MC shrugged. “Chick’s shifty.”

“I um... I think they disappeared on their own accord.” A!MC murmured. “I mean, so far it seemed the two’s home lives sucked...”

“Good theory.” Satan nodded to himself. “But both of you are wrong, it was very clearly the mother and the neighbour.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” L!MC asked, imitating Satan’s voice. Detective Toe Beans was sprawled out on their lap.

Satan glowered at L!MC and leaned over to scratch Bean behind the ears. “The step-mother and neighbour are backing up each other’s alibis and they have a motive, access to a possible murder weapon, and a way of disposing of the corpses.”

L!MC rolled their eyes. “That’s a load of crap. It was just the step-mother. The mother had the motive, she and the father were on the outs, she wanted the father’s inheritance all to herself so she got rid of his kids.”

“How many more episodes of this are there?” M!MC asked. “This seems like a really dragged out way of just saying: I don’t know.”

“Sh! They’re explaining possible corpse disposal methods!” Satan hissed.

The four of them traded theories until the documentary series eventually ended with an unsatisfying ‘we dunno’.

“This is such shit...” M!MC muttered. “How have they managed to fill eight episodes with all these leads and evidence and the case is still unsolved?!”

“It’s because everyone involved was incompetent and stupid.” Satan sighed.

“You know,” L!MC smirked. “With all the true crime stuff the four of us watch, we could create the perfect crime.”

“We really could.” M!MC nodded in agreement.

“Using A!MC’s powers no one would suspect us...” Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Uh...” A!MC shifted uncomfortably. “On an unrelated note... I’m going to go...”

As A!MC scampered out of the room, L!MC turned to Satan and M!MC.

“There’s always the one weak person in the group who’s not down with murder.”

“A sad truth.”

“Hang on I thought we were talking about theft or something-”

Satan and M!MC are surprising study buddies, hell, they even help Mammon study. Or... it’s more accurate to say that they try to help Mammon study.

A!MC is good company, they’re quiet when they read, unlike most people in the house who felt the need to provide commentary on every single event that occurs in the book.

After proving to be quite useless in L!MC’s flight lessons, he just reminded the two new half demons to wear protective padding.

The Hot Single Dad That’s In Every Romcom That Features a Child (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (excitement)

Oh... his... father... HE WAS A DILF NOW-

He practically vaulted out of his seat to coo and fuss over his new found hellspawn, they were just SO CUTE!

Their wings were just like his! So adorable! Oh and those little horns! They were so cute Asmo just might have combusted then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t combust without finding out which of his flings had made such an adorably shy mini-him.

“Ah! I remember that party!” Asmo squee-ed as he looked at a picture of A!MC’s parent. “They looked so hot in that outfit I swear I was completely-”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer grumbled. “That’s a child in front of you.”

“Oh! Right! Mind if I call your ren, A!MC?” Asmo asked, ruffling their kid’s hair. “I want to see if they remember me fondly!”

As Asmo chattered with A!MC’s parent about just how adorable and perfect their kid turned out, Asmo leaned over to A!MC to ask a question.

“A!MC, I know this is sudden but how do you feel about getting a sib-”

“ASMODEUS IF YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE I WILL FEED YOU TO CERBERUS!”

“Tsk. Rude.”

It’s safe to say Asmo adores his kid. I mean, they’re 50% him, how could he not.

He didn’t exactly have experience with the whole... being a big part of his kids’s life thing. Sure he held the unofficial record for most kids but that was because effective birth control hadn’t been invented at the time when he was allowed to run rampant in the human world, not because he was an A+ dad.

None of that mattered! He was going to be a 10/10 dad to A!MC!

They were so shy... so... mouse-like...

“Um... dad?” A!MC awkwardly twiddled there thumbs as they stood in the doorway to their father’s room. The sweet smell of whatever essential oil was being spread with the diffuser did next to nothing to calm the poor half-demon’s nerves.

Asmo popped his head out of his walk-in closet with a sparkling smile. “Yes, child of mine?”

“I um, just wanted to ask...” A!MC was desperately trying to stave off an oncoming stutter-spiral. “H-h-how- *ahem* how do- ugh...”

A!MC steeled their face and straightened their posture.

“How do I be confident like you?!” They blurted that out a little too loud for comfort, but Asmo’s near-immediate joy quashed any embarrassment A!MC was feeling.

“You want to be like little ol’ me?” Asmo gushed, clearly trying to hide just how flattered he was. “Well, of course you do! Your dad’s got your back. So first what we’re going to do-”

The Avatar of Lust had done the stereotypical early 2000s movie makeover many times before, but never with so much enthusiasm. His kid’s style was fine, it wasn’t a lack of pizazz either, it was the lack of confidence in the pizazz.

“Okay, now stand up straight.”

A!MC straightened their back as much as they could.

“Perfect! Chin up, shoulders back, and there you go!”

A!MC didn’t look too different on account that Asmo felt like their fashion sense was perfect, but dear not-old dad coached MC on a new walk, better posture, and Asmo filled their arms with about seven boxes of self-care supplies.

“What’s all this for?” A!MC asked, shifting the weight of the boxes slightly so they could actually see their dad.

“That, A!MC, is all the stuff you need to have confidence.” Asmo explained. “It’s not required of course, but it sure does help.”

“I’m not sure I follow...”

“Oh sweetie, it’s simple really. When you take care of yourself, you feel better, and when you feel better, you look better, and when you look better and feel better, your confidence skyrockets!” Asmo shifted some of the boxes A!MC was carrying around so they could stand up straighter and not be held down by the weight of the self-care arsenal. “Good posture stops your back from hurting, dressing decently helps you feel better about your appearance, as does taking care of your skin, aaaaaand all this will culminate in you being your best!”

A!MC still looked a bit skeptical, but they nodded anyway.

“Remember MC!” Asmo said as he led MC back to their room to help them sort their new stuff. “Confidence in yourself doesn’t happen overnight, so don’t let Mammon try and sell you a fix-all potion because it’s just boiled Gatorade.”

“O-okay- wait did you just say-”

“Yes, boiled Gatorade.” Asmo shuddered. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Dear uncle Asmo? A financial dumpster fire?! It’s more likely than you’d think.

Sure, Asmo’s got a job and makes his own money, but Geez Louise... one demon does not need that much hand cream! Or that many questionable Akuzon packages that everyone is too afraid to touch...

M!MC had their work cut out for them is what I’m trying to say.

Of course... once M!MC realized what a lost cause getting Asmo to stop with the obsessive bath bomb purchases was and a few too many insults were thrown at M!MC’s dear dad... some of Asmo’s things went uh... “missing”

But would you look at that! No one went over-budget!

Even though their dads have a fierce party related rivalry, A!MC and M!MC get along great. It’s very wholesome.

The Uncle That Helps You Pester Whoever is in Charge of the Food at the Family Reunion About Dessert (Beel)

Yay! More kids :)

Do you think any of them know how to cook? No? Okay... :(

Beel adores his new niblings with all his heart and soul, and Belphie’s out of the attic and is able to meet them with everyone else this time! Yay!

I didn’t mention this in the other parts- but Beel totally gave L!MC piggyback rides whenever they asked, but now that two more kids have arrived... it’s now a fight to be tall.

But yea- kids like uncle Beel. Strong contender for favourite uncle.

“Do you think this is right?” A!MC asked as they fiddled with the settings on the stovetop.

“No clue. Do we put the cheese on while the meat is cooking or do we wait until after?” M!MC asked, they flipped through multiple cheeseburger recipes on their DDD, their frustration growing. “Hang on- do we have a deep fryer?”

A!MC rummaged around the cupboards and shelves for a good fifteen minutes and came back empty handed. “No, but I’ve seen videos of people making fries without a deep fryer, I think we just need to heat up vegetable oil and drop the potatoes in.”

After setting up the make-shift deep fryer, the two cousins carefully dropped the first fry into the oil, then screamed like banshees when some oil splashed close to their hands.

“Did you get burned?!” M!MC asked, A!MC shook their head.

“No, you?”

“Nah...” M!MC eyed the oil warily. “We should do this one at a time to be safe...”

It was an awkward process, grab potato, place potato, scream, make sure no one is burned, repeat. As... decent as the process was, with both of them manning the deep fryer, no one was manning the patties that were now completely charred.

“What’s going on in here? It smells like Solomon’s cooking.” Beel poked his head into the kitchen and saw two very upset children and the world’s messiest kitchen.

“We’re failures. That’s all...” M!MC murmured.

“We wanted to make lunch for all of us and we ruined it...” A!MC added.

Beel’s heart was set to explode then and there- but his stomach growled. “You tried your best, don’t feel too bad. Let’s get cheeseburgers somewhere else with Belphie.”

M!MC and A!MC nodded enthusiastically as the three of them left the destroyed kitchen behind them.

After Beel had to sling a sleeping Belphie over his shoulder, the now four of them were halfway out the door before they heard L!MC scream bloody murder.

“YOU IDIOTS COME BACK HERE AND CLEAN THIS MESS UP RIGHT NOW!”

M!MC and A!MC made eye contact, then sprinted out the door. “CHEESEBURGERS FIRST!”

A!MC and M!MC probably go to all of Beel’s games like the little super fans they are. Beel is very grateful for the support! :D

Flying lessons? Nnnnnot again. He’s here for moral support and moral support only. And to catch the two babs when they inevitably fall.

The Uncle Who Was Like... Really Racist the Last Time You Saw Him But He’s Not Anymore (Belphie)

So he uh... he didn’t try and kill these two. That already gave the two newbies a better first impression than what he gave to L!MC.

The Anti Lucifer league ALSO grew, just by one member though. A!MC was very easily persuaded to snitch on whatever prank the group concocted.

The attic nap club gained two new members, but Belphie still had to deal with wings hitting him in the face and waking him up. He’d usually return the favour with a swat from his tail.

“M!MC I swear I will throw you out of the window if you kick me again.” Belphie murmured, mashing his face into his pillow.

“Mmmph.” M!MC threw a pillow in Belphie’s direction.

“Quit whining, Belphie.” L!MC huffed. “You’re doing better than me.”

A!MC had attached themselves to L!MC like a sloth to a tree and would not let go or stop drooling. Ah schadenfreude, the best feeling in the galaxy...

“Stop with that look.” L!MC hissed, Belphie snickered. “I’m telling you to quit it because you’ll wake up Beel, and Beel is solving your M!MC problem.”

Belphie turned to see Beel practically crush M!MC into a bone breaking hug in his sleep.

“Should we do something about that?” L!MC yawned.

Belphie smirked his little douchebag smirk. “Eh, let them stew for a few more minutes.”

“Help me...” M!MC rasped.

Out of the three, A!MC is probably the best nap buddy, they bring in their own pillows and don’t hog the blankets.

Belphie is once again at the forefront for taking videos of the flying lessons, at least till M!MC accidentally broke Belphie’s DDD.

Just a friendly reminder, the sleepy cow man would kill for these kids.

Look at them funny and no one will find your body.

Okay! That’s part 3 done! I had to cut Belphie’s and Satan’s short because of post limit stuff, but the stuff with the side characters is coming soon! Also, Mammon would like me to inform all those who donated to his Go Fund Me that you will NOT be getting your money back, he has a kid to deck out in full Gucci now, he needs the cash!

[killerskillercaptain]

Embarrassing moments w/ Levi Ackerman BOOK II

I only put one incident in this one because inspiration was running wild and things got out of hand, so enjoy !

You can read BOOK ONE here

word count : 1,9K

warnings : implicit seggsual themes, slight angst.

The client incident

Erwin had put you and Levi on a special mission; both of you received one letter from the commander urging you to go meet Balkus Adomas, a businessman whom Erwin was used to work with to get funds for the SC, and god knows the Survey Corps needed that financial support lately. With all the casualties, injured horses and used up equipment you lost in your encounter with the female titan, you could definitely use some help, any help actually.

The letter instructed Levi to tie up the negotiations, as Erwin had already sent a letter to Balkus, stating the nature of the visit; the letter also instructed Levi to take you with him to officialize everything on legal documents.

Levi sent one letter back to Erwin asking the commander about the nature of the business this man held. Three days later, the response consisted of a short sentence that wasn’t very helpful, and its vagueness didn’t make Levi happy; he hated being kept in the dark about the people he needed to work with.

The letter only said « « You’ll know when you get there »

The next morning, right after dawn, you and Levi were already on your horses, heading to the small town situated in the west, where the businessman was to be found. It was a good four hours ride, but you were accustomed by now to even longer distances.

Reaching your destination, Levi followed Erwin’s instructions, it didn’t take long for you two to find the location. Heading towards the main entrance, you couldn’t help but notice the frowning faces locals threw at you while passing you by. The place was an old, seemingly neglected property, it didn’t look like a business run by a rich businessman who could land money to the military, and you could sense that levi was thinking the same. You stood there studying the poorly maintained building for a moment until the main door suddenly flew open and a little round man, probably in his forties appeared with a dangling woman at his arm, the woman was laughing uncontrollably while planting kisses alongside the man’s neck, both of them completely ignoring the accusing stares being directed towards them.

Is this a tavern ?

Wait no.

You felt your legs tremble a little, and you suddenly felt embarrassed at the realization : it was a brothel. And the cheap kind by the looks of it.This Balkus Adomas runs a freaking brothel. Slightly alarmed, as this was completely out of your comfort zone, you glanced nervously at Levi who didn’t show any sign of tension. But little did you know, the short man was infuriated and boiling under the surface.

You on the other hand, were visibly stressed out. In a moment of hesitation you wanted to grab Levi’s hand like a child lost in an adult place but you managed to hold your composure, and decided to follow him by staying as close as possible to him. Levi headed rapidly to a broad bearded man, he looked like he was the receptionist or something of the sort, Levi asked if he could see Adomas.

" You should have been notified we were coming, we’re sent by Erwin Smith "

" Yes, yes this good old’ Erwin Smith, he said he’ll send someone ! "

The way the man said « good old’ Erwin Smith » made it look somewhat suspicious, and you wondered if the commander was fond of such places as it hardly seemed so to you.

" Well Lord Adomas is not here now, but you can wait for him, he comes early in the morning to do some accounting, as you see, the business is running wild lately "

" You can spend the night here if you want " he added.

You felt Levi tense up.

" Erwin will hear me about it, making us stay the night, not even being able to get an appointment correctly " you heard Levi mumble to himself between greeted teeth. You could clearly see now that this place is stressing him just as much.

" Don’t worry, Erwin Smith has always been good to us, intervening for us every time something threatened to close this place, and get Lord Adomas out of business, so we owe him big time "

You somehow got reassured that this was the nature of their connection to Erwin.

" I’m gonna give you a room to stay in for the night for free, it’s on the house "

He dangled a golden key in front of us, but when levi reached out to take it, the man retracted his hand behind the counter, a mischievous smile contorting his lips.

" Unless you want to spend the night as a customer Captain Levi ? "

Levi snatched the key from the man who now turned to you, completely ignoring the short captain.

" Hey miss, you’re not bad either, have you ever thought about leaving the army ? We could get you a job here, you’ll see, Lord Adomas treats his employees with extra care " he ended his speech with a nasty tone that had you both in such discomfort that you could almost feel Levi’s anger and you shivered at the way he said extra care. Dragging you by the collar of your military jacket, Levi headed with you towards the stairs, in search for the right bedroom while you followed him closely. As you were afraid of; the walls were incredibly thin in this place, and discernible sounds could be heard from each door. A series of thuds, creaks and lewd voices which you did your best to ignore, while you and the captain hurried to find the right door. Being here with Levi made this whole situation so much more uncomfortable, and right now, you cursed yourself for being the only person capable (and available) to do the paperwork, you hated that you were in charge, you hated that your signature was required, you-

" Here’s the shitty door "

You looked at the door, it was situated at a fair distance from the others, but didn’t look as damaged, maybe it didn’t get used a lot, or at least you hoped.

A demanding and urgent female voice erupted suddenly, close enough that both of you could hear it clearly. You tried to ignore how shaky your legs were now, you tried to focus on Levi opening the door but your eyes met a trembling Levi having difficulties opening the door, his hand too shaky to insert the key right, obviously he was just as startled as you were. When both of you finally heard a reassuring click, he slammed open the door with a "Tch"!

" Can’t believe this mess Erwin put us in, he’ll hear me about it ! "

You followed him inside. The room seemed fairly in order, didn’t seem to be too dusty, you sighed in relief, but your relief was short-lived, it sure wasn’t dusty but it did look completely unsanitary, no wonder this place gets threatened to be closed so often.

" Tch ! I’m taking fifty showers after this, and i’m gonna scrub my feet with Erwin’s- "

" Um Captain ? "

" WHAT ? " he asked harshly, getting you a bit startled by his tone.

Hey don’t lash out at me, it’s not my fault we’re in this mess.

" There’s only one bed "

" You can have it, i’m not sleeping in this filth "

" Neither do i , Captain " you said picking up a long strand of hair from the pillow and studying it before tossing it aside. The place was filthy.

But to both your consolation, there were two chairs made out of wicker that seemed not too risky to use.

You took the one on the left, Levi took the one on the right before looking at you.

" We’ll wait here until this Adomas piss of shit shows up so we can get it done with the paperwork and get out of this filthy hell " and those were the only words he spoke to you for the rest of night.

You were already feeling a bit sleepy, all the exhaustion caused by the trip creeping back to you. You had dozed off for what seemed like half an hour before you were awaken by new sounds rising abruptly from the next room. You jolted in your seat, the unsettling sounds of moans and boastful voices filling the room quickly, followed by a string of giggles, then another string of incomprehensible moany gibberish. You couldn’t make up a single word but you understood all too well the activities taking place in the other room. Still trying to compose yourself and get rid of the embarrassment sucking you in you right now, you suddenly remembered that you weren’t alone in the room, and turned quickly to look for the captain.

Levi was still sitting in his chair, you realized he had moved it away from you, almost placing himself at the other corner of the room, his fists tightening on his knees, he had the most irritated expression you’ve ever seen on his face, he looked like he was ready to snap a neck in half. Was it possible that he has been awake the entire time while you were sleeping ? Having to listen to the most indecent events going on next door ?

He was staring right in front of him, he looked as if he was trying to avert your gaze, afraid that a single stare shared between you two at this moment would aggravate the discomfort, and he was spot on.

Now the lewd voices were joined by the most obscene of sounds. You could feel your face, your hands and everything in between grow hot, you tried your best to keep a steady composure and not look at Levi who was incredibly silent at the other end of the room. Damn it, the smutty opera next door got you so alert you couldn’t even hope to sleep it off so you don’t have to endure this unbearable atmosphere.

You stayed like this until dawn. You and the captain, sitting stiff with both your hands glued to your thighs like two Egyptian statues while the auditory nuisance went on, all fucking night.

For a brief moment you heard Levi mutter something that you deciphered as « Erwin you piss of shit, you’re gonna pay for this»

--

You did get to Balkus Adomas the next day at the crack of dawn, he did accept to continue supporting the Scouts, you did go through the administration stuff you were dragged in here for. You even had Adomas make the same suggestion to you as the bearded receptionist; offering you to leave your uncomfortable scouting uniform for something else, vaunting about how much you can get paid in one night here, nothing like you meager salary at the Scouts for sure ! At one point you literally had to forcefully take off his hand that he sneakily placed on the small of your back. At the sight of it, Levi snatched the documents, handed a copy to Adomas and hurried you and himself out of the place.

Back to HQ, you were happy to reunite with your bed, ready to recover from last night. You shared your quarters with Petra, laying on your mattress, you filled her in about what happened to you with the captain as she bursted with laughter at every detail you gave her.

The next day, Levi was nowhere to be found as you went to his office as usual. You asked one of the soldiers where if he'd seen the captain and he just shrugged his shoulders, saying that Levi left a message for you as the soldier gave you a folded piece of paper.

« Going to see Erwin for a special meeting ».

[saezurufeels]

3 little reminders - a prep kit for the upcoming chapter 🙈

1. Recently I’ve become more interested in yakuza culture, so I started paying more attention to hierarchies and conventions within the yakuza that my little girly brain conveniently sidestepped before. So, maybe this stuff isn’t new to anyone and I’m making the most obvious observations, but 🤷🏻‍♀️

Although all yakuza bosses are good judges of character, I believe no one is as good at it as Yashiro. That being said, it occurred to me that, if what Kamiya said about Yashiro channelling funds to Doushinkai is correct, it would make sense that Yashiro is trying to find Kido before anyone else, since part of the money he owes goes to Misumi. Further, if that is the case, Yashiro knows that the only way he can temporarily keep Misumi happy without being his underling, is with money.

It’s no coincidence that Misumi came knocking at Yashiro’s door at the beginning of volume 7 when he heard that Yashiro had amassed big sums; wasn’t Sugimoto depositing 300k prior to their meeting like it’s nothing? That being said, if Yashiro completely broke ties with the yakuza, Misumi would lose a big income. Nanahara didn’t say that the yakuza runs on money and reputation in chapter 41 for nothing

Misumi’s visit to Yashiro’s casino had a specific purpose. Even leaving his bodyguards at the door was strategic; snatching up Yashiro on his own turf, with his own underling standing right next to him, unable to stop one old man, was a deliberate display of power. Misumi’s sudden outburst was a warning, and Yashiro knows as much, despite easing the tension.

Actually, I have no doubt that Yashiro is giving some of his earnings to Misumi, considering his thought that Tsunakawa wants to earn Misumi’s favour by splitting the proceeds of Kido/Yamakawa’s debt 60-40 in Yashiro’s favour.

Which brings me back to my previous point; the only way Yashiro is managing to stay half-way out of the yakuza is by supplying funds to Misumi, and the mere mention of possibly leaving the yakuza triggers a violent display of power. Misumi might be putting up with Yashiro’s fantasy, but for how long?

Off topic, but Yashiro seems pretty miserable post-timeskip. He looks extremely lonely in the blackness of the car in chapter 36, (the same blackness he imagined when Doumeki left the car to get an umbrella, pre-timeskip), and made at least two references to wishing he was dead-- once in the car and again while speaking to Tsunakawa.

2. The other thing I started thinking about was the idea of Yashiro being a sadist that wants to hurt Doumeki’s feelings and if you’ve read my other posts, you’d know how I feel about Yashiro’s empathy and protectiveness. I also believe that Yashiro is misinterpreting his own emotions to the point that he doesn’t understand himself as well as he thinks he does.

Yashiro basically only gets off when he thinks about the people he likes, their tender touches or facial expressions.

So in his mind he thinks he’s a sadist for imagining Kageyama crying at his dad’s funeral while jerking off, but really, he’s so touched to be feeling someone’s affection and gratitude; he’s getting off to feeling loved lol (😫)

When Yashiro told Doumeki to “shut up” at the warehouse, cause he was asking too many questions, Yashiro turned to look at D and asked, “did that hurt your feelings?” and D said, “do you want to hurt me?” and Y says, with some effort, “who knows.” I think Y was chasing that emotional high he got in the car while trying to get rid of Doumeki, only to have him push back stubbornly and declare his determination to stay by Yashiro’s side, even if it’s just as an errand boy WELP. In the end Yashiro had to give up trying to get D to leave on his own, because he was pulling at Yashiro’s heartstrings too much.

Yashiro is the softest boy, give him a hug and a smile and he will secretly cherish it forever.

However, since Doumeki grew up, it doesn’t seem like Yashiro will be able to hurt his feelings that easily 🥵 (unless he talks about other guys). Yashiro might just have to accept that what he really wants is to be wanted.

3. Ok and I just wanna talk about Kamiya for a bit. It usually takes me a while to warm up to new characters, but I think I’m ready to declare my love now :-)

From what I gather, Kamiya is the type of person who wants to understand things, and gets frustrated when he doesn’t understand things. Wow, what a precise, earth-shattering observation clap clap clap..but I’ll explain lol

It’s too early to tell what Kamiya’s true motives are for volunteering to track down Kido and Yamakawa, because I’m not sure if he wants to understand Doumeki better, or if he wants to earn Tsunakawa’s favour; maybe both. Probably both.

All I know for sure is that he’s sooo bothered by Doumeki’s secrecy and strange behaviour, haha. Yashiro really hit the nail on the head when he said that it must be frustrating to be partnered up with a guy that doesn’t give you even one facial expression no matter what you do.

Kamiya is always watching Doumeki and he’s hypervigilant of D’s reactions, expressions, pauses, word choice, phone calls, etc. This man is working overtime to try to understand Doumeki.

Even after Tsunakawa had his conversation with Yashiro and confirmed that Doumeki isn’t a disgraced former member of some other group, Kamiya stood outside the bathroom to eavesdrop on Doumeki and Yashiro. Did Tsunakawa instruct him to, or is Kamiya just curious?

Kamiya got super upset about feeling left out by Doumeki when they ran into Yashiro and Nanahara, to the point of hitting Kido’s brother.

When Yashiro plainly asked if Doumeki knew they were after the same guy, Doumeki answered truthfully and without hesitation; then a shot of Kamiya looking like he’s about to cry reminds us that Doumeki has been straight up just lying to Kamiya’s face throughout their entire investigation, not to mention the fact that he knows literally nothing of Doumeki’s personal life. Poor guy probably feels so insignificant rn

Kamiya had a good time being cheeky and teasing Doumeki afterwards; he was indulging in Doumeki getting absolutely roasted by Yashiro the entire day lmao; this is payback for all of Doumeki’s secrecy in the last 4 years and I honestly don’t blame him.

Yashiro says Kamiya is “rebellious, but obedient” and Yashiro is always right, so I expect to see more push and pull in coming chapters heheh

The fourth thing on this list should be Doumeki, but I’m waiting to see what more the next few chapters have in store for us 😮‍💨 This man...always a mystery

[razieltwelve]

Employee (Final Rose)

Jim wasn’t sure how his parents had tracked him down to the ranch, but he wasn’t happy about it. He’d left home precisely because they’d never given a damn about him. All they’d wanted was someone they could work to the bone to help fund the lifestyle they wanted. They’d never wanted a son. All they’d ever wanted was a servant.

He’d been fifteen when he’d run off. Some of his friends had managed to cobble enough money together to get him a ticket out of the city, and he’d taken odd jobs, doing whatever needed doing, until he’d somehow found his way to the ranch. He’d been eighteen then with three years of hard living under his belt. 

He could still remember the conversation he’d had with Mr Katzroy when he’d showed up. He’d begged him for work, promised to do anything the ranch needed. Whether it was digging ditches, cleaning out the chocobo stables and pens, or cleaning toilets, he’d get it done. All he wanted was a life of his own, one where his choices mattered and he didn’t have to give away all the money he earned.

Mr Katzroy had looked at him for a long time, not saying a single word, before throwing him a funny-looking shovel.

“Start digging,” Mr Katzroy had told him. “I’m putting up another pen, and I need some holes dug for the posts. I’ll pay you fairly for your work, and if you’re any good, you can stick around for a while.” The words might have been a bit harsh, but the smile on Mr Katzroy’s lips had been gentle. “There’s always plenty of work around here, kid. Do your best, that’s all I ask.”

Jim had done his best, and, honestly, he hadn’t done particularly well, looking back on it. But he must have at least impressed Mr Katzroy with his work ethic because the man had kept him on and given him other things to do. It had started off with simple manual labour, but little by little, bit by bit, Jim had been given more important responsibilities.

By the end of his first year there, he was working with the chocobos. The big birds had been scary at first, but he’d learned how to get along with them, and some of them were just like people, really. Chirpy was a good example of that. The golden chocobo had shown him how to approach other chocobos, and Jim had taken the lessons to heart.

It was a good place, the ranch, and Sazh had cottages for his workers to live in. Even now, Jim still felt a rush of warmth whenever he went to his cottage after a long day’s work. It had been the first time he’d really had a proper place to call his own. Over the months, he filled it with things of his own, from a television to a scroll to some new furniture. Each purchase was a reminder that he was making it work, that he was making a future for himself with his own two hands.

The next year after that was a big one for him. Mr Katzroy started teaching him more about how the ranch worked. A lot of the money came from visitors, but they also made a fine living selling some of the chocobos too. Mr Katzroy was adamant about some things when it came to selling, though.

“A chocobo isn’t just a machine,” Mr Katzroy had told him. “A chocobo is a living thing. It’s our responsibility to make sure they go someplace nice with an owner who’ll love them and take care of them the way we do. I don’t sell to anyone who I’m not certain will care for the chocobos. It doesn’t matter how much they offer. Trust me, Jim. You take care of a chocobo, and it will take care of you.”

Jim went from tending to the chocobo pens and stables to riding them and helping with showing around guests. It was... perfect. That was the only way to describe it. He’d grown up in the city, but getting to ride a chocobo was incredible. And getting to show the guests around the ranch and then take them out for riders was something else. His favourite parts of the job were when he and some of the other workers would take guests out for camping trips. Those could last anywhere from a couple of days to a week, and they went from the ranch to all over the property, which was one big place.

He’d finally found a place he could belong.

And now his parents had come after him. He didn’t know how they’d found him, but as his parents stomped toward him, he could feel that old fear again. They were retired hunters - injuries had done a number on them - but they were still more than strong enough to mess him up if they wanted.

Even so, he’d made a life for himself.

“Get out of here,” he said as they closed in. “I’m not going back.”

His father and mother didn’t say a word. They just stepped forward with something ugly in their eyes.

“I’d back off if I were you.” Mr Katzroy stepped off the porch of a nearby building and ambled toward them. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a dozen of the chocobos come forward to form a lose arc at his back. They were big birds, all of them, and their eyes were hard as they stared at his parents. “I don’t like people threatening my employees.”

“He’s our son,” his mother growled. “He’s coming back with us.”

“He’s not going anywhere unless he wants to.” Mr Katzroy glanced at him. “You want to go with them?”

Jim shook his head. “No.”

“Then you got your answer.” Mr Katzroy pointed lazily. “Hit the road. There’s nothing for you here.”

His father went for the weapon at his side - a staff - and Jim could only blink as the weapon went flying out of his hands. Mr Katzroy lowered his gun - Jim had never even seen him draw it - and shook his head.

“You don’t want to do that.”

It was then that Jim remembered just how dangerous Mr Katzroy was supposed to be. The older man was such a gentle, nice guy that it was easy to forget that he was supposed to be one of the deadliest men alive. Right now, though, with eyes like granite and a voice like cold iron, it was impossible to miss.

“Now wait just a second -”

Mr Katzroy cut his mother off. “You can either leave yourselves, or I can make you.” His Aura flared, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. “You’re nothing but two-bit former hunters, the both of you. I could be twenty years older and half blind, and I could still beat you without breaking a sweat.” Mr Katzroy pointed again. “Get lost. If I even hear about you coming near this place again or making trouble for Jim here, I’ll make you sorry. And believe me, you don’t want that.”

Silently, his parents backed off. Jim watched them scuttle back into their car and then leave.

“You okay?” Mr Katzroy asked quietly.

Jim nodded. “I think so.” He paused. “Thanks.”

Mr Katzroy smiled. “Don’t mention it.” He chuckled. “I figured you were running from something when I first met you, but I have a feeling you’re not going anywhere, at least for a while, are you?”

“No. No. I don’t think I am.” Jim looked around at the ranch. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

There are all sorts of people and chocobos at the ranch, and all of them have their stories.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[tamorapierce]

Tammy's Spring 2020 Reading Recommendations For the Bored

Sooner or later the bookhounds among us are going to start joining my relentless song, from age five on up, of “I don’t have anything to read!!!!”

 I am here to help.  In this space, as I get to it (knowing, as my readers do, that I have no sense of deadline), I will be posting a constant set of collections of book titles by authors my team and I have read and will recommend in a wild variety of genres and for a wild variety of ages.  (And I’ll give a short hint as to the subject of the first book/series—if I did them all I’d never finish this.)  This last is for the many of you who are reading teen and adult books in grade and middle school, and those adult readers who are reading teen and kidlit. These people are for those who love books and don’t care who is supposed to be reading them.  

 Also, you may have to look far and wee, since we will be drawing upon not only recently published books but older ones that we have either read recently or that we read long ago and have re-read or have never forgotten.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you when the writing is archaic.  If you’re a true nutsy reader like the rest of us, you won’t care.

 -Tammy Pierce

                                                        *     *     *

Assume the book came out within the last 2 years unless I put LO next to the title, which means you have to check libraries and bookstores online and paper for copies.

 *     *     *

 Diana Wynne Jones  LO

A generation or two of fantasy writers, particularly those who love humor, bow to this woman as our goddess.  Not only was she out of her mind in a very British and manic way, but with her TOUGH GUIDE TO FANTASYLAND she taught a number of us to ditch some ill-considered tropes of our genre.  If you write historic fantasy in particular, move heaven and earth to track this book down.  There’s a bonus: some of the entries will make you laugh till you cry.

           She is best known for her books for middle grade and teens, but they are enjoyable for all readers.  I cannot list them all here because my fingers will break (curse you, arthritis!), but these titles will give you a jumping-off point.  And remember, authors change with each book, so you won’t encounter the same author with each title as the author you read in the previous one!

           The Chrestomanci books, all in the same universe, in order of story,

                       not publication

Charmed Life  (1977) An innocent lad follows his plotting egotistical sister to live with England’s chief wizard

The Lives of Christopher Chant (1988)

Conrad’s Fate (2005)

Witch Week (1982)

The Magicians of Caprona (1980)

Short stories

 The Dalemark Quartet begins with

The Spellcoats (1979)

3 sequels

 The Derkholm books are

Dark Lord of  (1998)

Year of the Griffin (2000)

  The Tough Guide to Fantasyland is standalone, but is a kind of offshoot of the Derkholm books.  You don’t have to have read the Derkholm books to get Tough Guide!

 There are other books and stories by Jones—I’ll let you find them on your own.

  Philip Pullman

To this day I am unable to call him anything but Mr. Pullman—that’s how much in awe of the man I am.  We’ve had dinner together, talked on the phone, talked at an event or two, done a conversation on audio with Christopher Paolini—it’s still Mr. Pullman to me.  (I was an assistant in a literary agency when I discovered his work, and I never recovered.) He is, in a word, brilliant, and his interests range through all kinds of areas, particularly history and religion.  I could have talked with him forever that night we had dinner, but the poor man had jet lag and I let him go to collapse.  It was one of the best exchanges of ideals, values, and books I’ve ever had.  

Read his work carefully, because what he discusses is never just the story on top.  No matter what he writes, he is making strong points about social justice, human nature, religion, and history without preaching.  He is one of the few male writers out there who can write female characters as people, not Something Different.  And you never know, with his work, where he will go next.

 The Ruby in the Smoke,

book 1,  the Sally Lockheart mysteries

Victorian mysteries with a female hero and male assistants,

           The Book of Dust and sequel,

first 2 books of The Secret Commonwealth

           His Dark Materials trilogy

                       The Golden Compass

                       2 other titles                

           THE COLLECTORS

           LYRA’S OXFORD

           THE WHITE MERCEDES

           FAIRY TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

           I WAS A RAT!

           TWO CRAFTY CRIMINALS

           COUNT KARLSTEIN

           (I will stop here and let you find the rest. Most are available as Nook books.)

  Sharon Shinn

I discovered Sharon Shinn with JOVAH’S ANGEL, but a shortage of funds left me unable to pursue my interest (I am an economic disaster with libraries, so I buy rather than borrow) until, with a job and money to spend, I spotted THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET.  It is the story of a medieval-ish world and a small village where a baby was left with a childless couple.  She is raised as their daughter and discovers, as she grows, that her mother is an important, a Safekeeper, the person to whom a secret can be told, relieving the person who told it of the weight of guilt from it, to be carried by the Safekeeper until the owner either decides to tell or dies.  (And if they die without giving permission, the Safekeeper never reveal the secret.)  The baby who is adopted by this town’s safekeeper becomes the safekeeper in her turn.

           The next book is THE TRUTHTELLER’S TALE, about a girl who acquires the gift (??) of telling the truth, whether the person she tells it to wants to hear it or not. The third book is The Dream-maker’s Magic.  The three main characters now learn why they have been brought together over the course of the two earlier books, in what I thought was a satisfying, if unusual, conclusion.

           And there’s more!  I just did the two I love best!

             THE SAFEKEEPER’S SECRET (book 1, two sequels)

           ARCHANGEL (4 books)

           TWELVE HOUSES (5 books)

           ELEMENTAL BLESSINGS (4 books)        

SHIFTING CIRCLE (2 books)

           UNCOMMON ECHOES

           GENERAL WINSTON’S DAUGHTER

           GATEWAY

 Daniel Jose Older

 I was a Daniel Jose Older fan before I was sent DACTYL HILL SQUAD for a blurb (preodactyls in flight!  Of all sizes!  Confederate spies!  Thuggish bigot northerners!  The backlash of Gettysburg and the forced recruitment of blacks for the war effort! And strong, smart, fierce kids of various ages, sizes, colors, national heritage, and skills doing their best to help the war against the slaves, keep escaped slaves safe, duck the cruel managers of the homes and jails where they are being kept, find a half-decent meal, free other kids in trouble, learn who’s killing their friends, and help the dactyls!  That’s part of it, anyway!

Yeah, I loved it.  And there’s at least one new book, and once I’ve mowed though that, there are his older teen books, and his grownup mysteries, with their half-dead taxi driver who doubles as a part-time troubleshooter for the undead powers in his Bone Street Rhumba series.  {happy sigh}

  Edgar Allen Poe

Yes, some of these are reminders of why we ended up to be the readers we are and to nudge us to corrupt—I mean, “introduce”—­new readers to the glories that are our legacies.

­

THE COMPLETE TALES AND POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

           Here are the greats:

poems like “The Raven,” and “Annabelle Lee”

stories like “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Telltale Heart,” and  ::shudder:: “The Pit and the Pendulum” (yes, a deep pit and a swinging pendulum topped with a razor-edged blade will be featured in this story).  

My dad would read these to us on dark and stormy nights when we lived near the Pacific ocean, when the fog came rolling in, softening every sound, when there were no cars driving by and no other sounds in our house but his deep voice and the crackle of the fire in the fireplace.  We would listen, soundless, as he wove the stories and poems around us and the foghorn sounded offshore.

           That’s the power of Poe.

  N. K. Jemisin

I think I began with Jemisin’s THE HUNDRED THOUSAND KINGDOMS, soon followed by its sequel THE BROKEN KINGDOMS.  The series ended with a third book, THE KINGDOM OF THE GODS.  She presented a rich and varied world from the aspects of people of different classes, showing the growth of societies and their formation.  I have a secret passion for society-building and social interaction, and whether or not a book is difficult to read (as Jemisin’s books are in spots because she refuses to insult a reader by talking down to them) is immaterial.  I want the world and I want the characters, and with her far-reaching mind and her respect for her characters she delivers each and every time.  I have read almost everything she’s written since that first trilogy: if I’ve missed something, it’s because I was in the middle of a deadline and on the road and somehow didn’t see it.  I’ll catch up!  This is just a sample:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

 The City They Became (pub’d April 2020)

 The Inheritance Trilogy:

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

           2 book sequels

Novella: The Awakened Kingdom, 2014

                       Triptych: Shades in Shadow, 2015 (3 short stories) 

             The Dreamblood Duology:

           For readers of all sexes and adult reading skills

           The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, 2010

                       Two sequels

 The Broken Earth series:

         The Fifth Season (August 2015)

                       Two book sequels

And there are plenty of short stories out there.  I may even have missed a book or twelve!

For those who prefer to hear my ramble in person, a video!

[whenimgoodandready]

What role do we play in this production we call life? To us, we see ourselves as the protagonist that discovers new beginnings, the hero of the story that seeks to do good and gain the love of the people. To others, we may be the faithful sidekick who works as a foil to balance out the hero or the love interest who has yet to realize their true feelings for whom they consider “the one” or perhaps the antagonist, the villain who causes chaos and stands as an obstacle for the hero to overcome and vanquish to restore peace and hey! We could also be a background character that’s familiar to everyone that they enjoy seeing cuz of their unique and aesthetic look. Whoever we are, we are all actors that move the story along until we reach the ultimate climax to see how this all unfolds. So who plays who in this eps story? Let’s see the cast:

*Queen Banana-The Françoise Dupont School is participating in a film making project that’ll be released in theaters for all of Paris to see w/ mostly the art club setting everything up and their teacher Jean-Pierre Monlataing (Hey! Look at that! He’s finally got a name! Yea!). Been wondering what his name was since “Reverser”. Nino writes the script, Alix paints the props, Marinette designs the costumes and the starring roles of the hero and villain are Zoe and Mylene, respectively.

Our (minor) antagonist, Chloe, hears about this and demands that she be the hero of the movie (despite refusing to do anything w/ it beforehand cuz she can’t stand everyone) over her, actual hero, half-sister, Zoe, just so she can get the love and attention form the people and cuz of her jealousy of Zoe getting top billing. Chloe has a**hole producer, Bob Roth, and her father, the mayor, fund it to which Bob goes along w/ since he only cares about the money and getting back at Marinette over what happened in “Silencer” and her father, Andre, going along w/ it, reluctantly. Poor Zoe is now demoted into staff as just the clapperboard person. She said in the last ep she was an aspiring actress (and “too good” of one pretending to be a b*tch) and now in her one moment to shine, she gets hooked off stage by Chloe! >:(. Chloe acts like such a prima donna that she constantly has the script change to her delusional fantasy (ex. a giant gorilla who throws exploding bananas) and w/ that, everyone gets annoyed and nothing gets done! Marinette calls out all this bullsh*t and encourages everyone (after Chloe leaves) that they should just film their original script so that they’ll get it finished and have all their talents get the recognition it deserves.

The film is released and everyone loves it except Chloe who’s outraged that it was done w/out her as the star. Turns out, Gabriel independently funded it and there was nothing Bob or even the mayor could do about it (Huh? So fashion designer Gabe is on the high scale of money over celebrity manager Bob and political figure Andre? Guess he’s more loaded ¯\_( ಠ_ಠ)_/¯). Chloe storms off and Adrien runs after her and says she should apologize for her outburst reminding her of how he said he’d stop being friends w/ her unless she started being nicer (“Despair Bear”) and this time, he means it! But Chloe demotes him from her faithful friend (and (only-in-her-dreams”) love interest) to just a meaningless extra in her life.

It was all a ruse w/ Gabe funding the original script not cuz he preferred it better over Chloe’s, but cuz he knew it would piss her off to get her akumokized (you know what? I know that I said in the beginning of my first review for Season 4 that I’m combing the word “akumatized” and “amoktized” cuz Shadow Moth is now unifying the butterfly and peacock miraculous, but now I’m gonna use the combo when he only uses the both of ‘em to give the akumatized villain an amok sidekick. I was once again led to a false hope of things :P. Not every single person he akumatizes gets a sentimonster sidekick!) as Queen Banana w/ her sinister sentimonster Santa given gift of that giant gorilla that throws exploding bananas named “Banana Boom Boom” (and a new car). You know, that’s exactly the kinda name a spoiled rich girl would give her pet gorilla. This is a rather stupid villain form for Chloe taken from her almost made script revision for the movie. It’s obviously a thinly veiled portrayal of her former super self as Queen Bee. Why bananas you ask? Well, she had to quickly think of something else that was yellow (like bees) and apparently Chloe “likes” bananas (full of potassium I know) and cuz it’s a metaphor for her being a “second banana” to Zoe. What’s stupider is Shadow Moth even let her keep that ridiculous, utterly ridiculous name! Her gorilla goon was alright and so was the car, but her name, look and theme was not :P. Her banana gun turning people into bananas I’m just “iffy” on. Out of all her akumatized forms, this gets 3rd Place. Her first, Antibug, being a polar opposite to Ladybug, was good, her second, Queen Wasp, was her evil counterpart to Queen Bee was interesting and her third, Miracle Queen, was just “Queen Wasp w/ a crown”. Lame! That’s why it’s last on my list. It’s like a running gag that Chloe gets akumatized once per season. Thankfully, Ladybug and Zoe trick Chloe into giving her an anti-akumatizing charm, so this will end (gets spoiled by a later ep), wait, what!?

Ladybug and Cat Noir need extra help w/ this one, so Ladybug needs to give someone else the bee miraculous, but who? Who!? Oh! Is it Alya! You know cuz Ladybug originally wanted her w/ the bee miraculous and-(bursts out laughing) I’m just f**king w/ you guys! (she’s been “banana-fied”!) I know damn well who’s getting it! It was no surprise! Everyone! (chuckles) meet the new bee miraculous holder! Zoe Lee! Aka Vesperia! (trumpets sound). Yes Siree Bob! Zoe is now a part of Team Miraculous after Ladybug cut Chloe off for her willingly evil actions in the Season 3 finale and taking back the bee miraculous from her. This is what made Chloe demote Ladybug from her “best friend” role to the villain. What she hated more was “a recast” taking her miraculous and being better than her.

Bomb #8 is, of course, Zoe getting the bee miraculous and becoming Vesperia. Although, could we really see this as a “bomb”? I mean, we were already spoiled by this before the season premiered so it’s not a “Wow! Holy sh*t!” moment if you ask me. It was still nice seeing the action of it play out though. Zoe picked up on this superhero gig quickly and even sacrificed herself to make the dynamic duo finish off Queen Banana. Now then, Let me continue where I left off on the whole Chloe and Zoe issue. Ahem! I can see that Zoe’s debut to the show has met w/ some praise and adoration and its cuz, as I said before, she’s everything that Chloe could’ve been had she completed her redemption arc:continuing to be the holder of the bee miraculous, befriending everyone and being nice! They just kept Chloe as the same old spoiled brat she was in the beginning, but why would they do that when they gave us Lila Rossi who’s possibly worse!? (even if no one, but the heroes and villains, know her true self). Is it cuz Chloe is still going through her redemption? Is there something she needs to do in order to get the proper character development she needs? I mean, we all thought Adrienette would happen already, but that ship is still docked and continuing to collect so much dust that it could be a museum piece at the Louvre! When I explained this complaint to my friend, she told me that, Quote:…….“redemption isn’t always straightforward; a person may fall time and time again, but with enough effort, redemption is not too far” Unquote. I don’t know if this was the writers intention to expand on Chloe’s redemption or if there were some creative differences since I heard Astruc wasn’t as involved w/ the second season as much as we thought he was, which is why the redemption didn’t happen, but my friend was right! If we were to see the previous two seasons together, it could be a long and struggling journey for redemption. In Season 2, Chloe showed vulnerability by admitting to Ladybug it was her fault that Ms.Bustier (“Zombizou”) and her father (“Malediktator”) were akumatized cuz she let her anger get the best of her and seeing this side of her made Ladybug feel Chloe could grow as a better person and gave her the bee miraculous. Sadly, this didn’t work as it only fed her ego and made her worse (she even made herself a tacky Batman -esque “bee signal” 🤮). Season 3, she resisted akumatization out of faithfulness to Ladybug (“Miraculer”), but she did it only for the glory of continuing to be a superhero. Same thing when she saw trouble and reassured people she’ll save the day (“Startrain”), not out of wanting to help them, but who that they’ll be witnesses to her “heroic” deeds. After one too many times of Ladybug ignoring her signal and even her parents getting akumatized together (“Battle of the Miraculous Part 1:Heart Hunter”), where she could’ve been needed! Chloe felt betrayed and this was used to the advantage of the villain to corrupt her into the dark side. Her horribleness reached new levels when she lost the respect of Adrien and her own father when she kept demanding Zoe be sent back to New York. The only people she has left are her mom, Zoe and her minion friend, Sabrina. What’s it gonna take for Chloe to change? Does she have to lose everything in order to realize something is wrong with her and actually make an attempt to be good? Okay, here’s your motivation Chloe (sits firmly on a director chair, takes a deep breath w/ their hands in a pyramid form to the forehead and breathes out. Points the pyramid form hands to Chloe). You are a rival turned possible major antagonist who’s too arrogant to believe you’re awful, but has the potential to be a well loved individual. The road to this is paved with the mess you left behind and when get to your destination, which isn’t the one you thought you’d be in the end, you’ll look back and realize you have a bad sense of direction and want to start a new and better path and need a “map” and “guidance”. Okay! Let’s see this play out! (grabs megaphone and screams into it) Action!

[panda-noosh]

lets talk business {Finn Shelby x Reader}

 Words: 9.4k

Summary: Polly Gray comes to you looking for a good business deal. It’s only luck that makes her bring Finn Shelby along with her.

Genre: fluff ?????????????? 

Warning: swearing

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! 

---

“Polly fucking Gray.”

       The woman smiles. Sharp, all cheekbones. She somehow manages to keep her lips pursed, illuminating the mischievous glint in her eyes that much more.     

     Part of you still cannot believe she is sitting in front of you; the woman herself, one of the leading cronies of the Peaky Blinders, one of the most feared people in all of England. She’s certainly got an air to her, one you can’t dismiss as you sit on the other side of the table, hands folded on the wood, heart thumping no matter how calm you may look on the outside.

    You’ve trained yourself to deal with people like her - people who think they can come into your office and twist your arm whatever way they want. Men, women, gangster wanna-be’s - you’ve dealt with all of them, and you have no intentions of letting Polly Gray be any exception to the harsh realities of your business.

      She leans back in her seat, tapping her fingers against the edge of the desk; she has been in here for two minutes already and has not said a single word. 

      “To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask.

     Polly tilts her head to the side, examining you in the way only a Shelby really can. “I’m here to talk business, Y/N. Don’t waste my time.”

    “I’m not the one who’s been sat in silence since I walked in.”

    “I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

  You raise a brow. “No? Maybe that’s why you and your little motley crew have been dropping like flies recently - bad communication can have detrimental effects on a business.”

     Polly pauses. It’s brief, barely noticeable unless you’re paying extra close attention. “Is that what you think the Peaky Blinders are? A business?”

    “No more than I am, love.”

    “If I were you, I’d get that out of my head as soon as possible.”

    You narrow your eyes. “Are you threatening me already? We haven’t even got to the good stuff yet.”

    Polly slaps her hand against the desk. Globes and glasses rattle, only the security of your expensive storage units keeping them from shattering. Polly’s nostrils flare, her eyes glaring into your own - but you do not look away.

     You just smile, tapping the little pile of papers to your left. “I’ve got all the details you want right here, Miss Gray. Feel free to start being polite at any time. I’ve got all day for you, love.”

     Polly growls, slowly sitting back. “How many guns can you provide us in a fortnight?”

    “How many do you need?”

   “As many as you can get.”

    You hum thoughtfully, despite already knowing the answer. Keeping her on her toes is a goal, a way to make sure she is aware that you are in charge right now, that you will not be taking orders from her just because everyone else is so willing to trail in her wake.

      Polly inhales deeply, clearly trying to calm herself down. “I haven’t got all day, Y/N.”

    “Let’s put this into perspective,” you reply, resting your elbows on the desk. “My people collect shipments from all over the fucking world, Polly. We get deliveries of twenty to thirty assault weapons every single day - at most, I can get you over four hundred guns in two weeks; it won’t be subtle, and you’ll need to have a hiding place ready for them before the first shipment, but we can do it.”

    Polly’s eyes glisten. “Over four hundred?”

    “If the money’s right on your end.” Her smile fades. You shrug, tapping your fingertips together. “This is an expensive world we’re living in, Miss Gray, and you are dealing with some very expensive business. You gather the funds, we’ll gather the guns. That’s the only way this is going to work.”

    Polly tilts her head to the side, lips still pursed like there is forever something sour playing on her tongue. “I don’t think you understand who you’re making business with right now.”

      You smile. “No. I understand just fine - I just don’t give a fuck. You people don’t scare me. I’ve got wages to pay, love. This isn’t a game.”

      It takes a minute - perhaps a minute too long, but Polly eventually smiles. It’s small, barely there unless you’re looking for it. With her head still tilted, brown curls resting on her shoulder, she nods and says, “Fair enough. We can get the first payment to you before the end of the night, but we expect them four hundred guns in fourteen days. Or else consequences will be dire.”

  “Oh, I know, Miss Gray. I’ve heard all about you and the Shelby boys.”

    You’re not lying - it would be impossible to live on this side of town and not know who the Shelby boys are, the things they do to people who don’t follow their plans meticulously. You have no intentions of falling into that category - but that doesn’t mean you’re going to let them walk all over you, either.

     ----

      The docks are cold this time of day, but the police are nowhere to be found.

   Early morning starts are not high on the laws agenda, apparently, which is why you find yourself half-awake, bundled in layers upon layers of clothes, standing beside the boats currently delivering the guns you requested - the guns for Polly Gray.

     It’s not like you to be there when the deliveries come in - you deal with the issues behind the scenes, often staying locked up in the dark office, sifting through papers and complaints, getting rid of people who have a bit too much to say about the way your business is run.

    But Polly Gray is more than just a normal client. She’s Polly fucking Gray, someone you need to please or else face a wrath unlike any other. So, you dragged yourself from your bed at four this morning, and now stand by the boats, watching the crates of weaponry get dragged from their decks.

    Fingers graze your elbow. You tilt your head to the side, a silent request for the stranger to talk.

    “Someone is here to see you,” an Irish accent says. You turn, first catching sight of Mr Luther Murdock, one of the few men in the world whom you trust with your life. 

    Standing behind him, however, is someone you most certainly did not expect to see this morning.

    Finn Shelby is a tall man - a tall boy? - with the slicked back, half-shaved hair of the Shelby clan. He wears an expensive suit, consisting of only three layers, and you silently wonder how he isn’t shivering right now. But he isn’t, instead standing tall and bold amongst the dust and grime of an early morning business delivery.

    You turn fully, folding your arms over your chest. “Finn Shelby. What a surprise. Has your aunt had my name in her mouth again?”

    Finn shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t even look at you when he speaks, too busy examining everything going on around him - you realise he doesn’t get out much, not as often as his brothers, anyway. This side of things must be so new to him, so bizarre. You nearly laugh in his face - his brothers go out murdering people every single day, but the idea of someone importing guns into Birmingham is what intrigues him.

     “Yes,” you continue when he doesn’t respond to your previous jab. “This is where all the magic happens. See that crate over there?” You point to a wooden box being hauled from a boat onto the platform. “That’s for you and your shit-stain family.”

    Finn smiles. “Is it now.”

    “The money was given to us quite promptly, I will admit. I thought for sure you would have just threatened us till we did what you wanted.”

      “We don’t work like that.”

    “No? So where have all the big bad tales come from then?”

    Finn’s mouth twists. Still, his eyes do not meet your own, giving you plenty of time to smile to yourself. Finn is certainly one of the easier ones to mess with, if just because he’s lived in his brothers’ shadows for as long as he’s been able to walk. He doesn’t have the same confidence, the same quick-wit that the other Shelbys have.

     It’s kind of sad, really.

    You stare at him a moment longer, waiting for him to continue the conversation, perhaps offer up an explanation as to why he’s here in the first place. Most of the time, people make their orders and just leave you to get on with it - it’s very rare someone actually comes down to view the process.

     Finally, Finn sighs, and for the first time since you acknowledged his presence, his eyes snap to your own. “This is an interesting little set-up you’ve got here.”

     “It’s not so much interesting as it is cautious.”

  “Is that why you’re here so early?”

    You shrug. “Don’t get it twisted, Shelby. You won’t find me down here at this time every day - I just wanted to make sure my people were doing the job right for you and your people, yeah.”

      Finn hums. “Nice of you. Considering you’re a twat.”

     “Now who gave you that impression?”

    Finn tilts his head, examining you for longer than strictly necessary. His gaze makes you uncomfortable, being dragged forth to the point where you have to look away and change the topic; maybe that’s where his skills lie. John, Arthur and Tommy carry the guns for intimidation, but all Finn needs is his expression.

    You turn and start walking along the docks, giving Luther a thankful nod that reads go away. Finn follows close behind you, polished heels clicking against the rough wood.

     “So, are you going to tell me why you’ve really come here today?”

    “I overheard Polly talking about her inquiry.”

    You raise a brow, glancing over your shoulder. Finn catches your eye, smiles sheepishly.

    “You really made her angry.”

     You shrug. “It’s business. It’s what we do. If your aunt can’t take that, then maybe she isn’t as tough she likes to make herself out to be.”

    Finn pauses. “What the fuck are you on about?”

    “It’s true what they say, Shelby - being tough doesn’t just come from violence. You might be able to shoot a gun and kill people without blinking, but if you can’t handle a little tough criticism, then how strong can you really be?”

    Finn doesn’t respond. You think you might have hit a sore point for him.

    Barrelling on, you say, “You overheard Dear Pol talking about me. Then what? Your interest was piqued?”

     “I wanted to see what made you so special.”

    You very nearly freeze on the spot. Instead, you catch yourself, glancing at him yet again. “She said I was special?”

    “She said you were a lot of things,” Finn replies. “But we have our own people when we want weaponry - I want to know why she came to you this time. You, of all people. Basically the same age as me-”

    “You’re older.”

  Finn tilts his head. “I guess I just want to know how you fucked your life up so bad that you’ve ended up on this side of things so early on.”

      Your mouth fills with cotton. You swallow thickly, turning back to the path in front - around you, people are bustling back and forth, bowing their heads, giving you tiny little “Hello’s” that are meant to sound pleasant but honestly just reek of fear. You are surrounded by grown men who want nothing more than to impress you, to place themselves in your good books because they know what will happen to them if they somehow find themselves upon the alternative.

     You never would have thought such a reaction a bad thing, but now that Finn has spoken, it does seem a bit weird. You’re successful, rolling in money you honestly don’t deserve, but what does it all mean if you have people terrified of you?

      Finn picks up his pace, strolling alongside you now. His shoulder clips with yours, and it takes everything in you not to turn around and shove him into the harbour. 

     “I’ve never met someone like me before,” he says.

    “You haven’t yet. We’re nothing alike.”

    “No?”

    “I don’t fancy being compared to a Shelby.”

     “Mm. See, I might be wrong, then. Us Shelby’s can admit when something’s true - clearly you can’t.”

     You grit your teeth, balling your hands into fists. “Do you want these guns or not, Finn? Because if you carry on the way you are now, I’ll cancel everything. You can take your fucking money back.”

     “You think you have that kind of power?”

   You whirl around so abruptly, Finn nearly crashes into you. “You think I don’t? Are you forgetting whose business this is? Are you forgetting who’s in charge?”

     Finn steps back. He doesn’t look scared, but he doesn’t look unprovoked, either; slightly widened eyes, a swift swipe of his tongue across his lower lip that proves to you this is not the reaction he was expecting. People from all over the world will drop to their knees to see to every Shelby boys wish and desire - clearly this is what Finn wants from you, as well.

     “If you came here just to spew your bullshit superiority complex, I don’t want to fucking hear it. Unlike you, I have work to do, shit to get done.” You turn, calling out to a nearby dock worker. “Oi! Mate, take this little prick back to wherever the fuck he came from.”

    The dock worker scrambles forward, bending to your every wish.

    Turning back to Finn, you give him a sarcastic smile. Again, he swipes his tongue along his lower lip.

    “Have a safe journey home,” you say. “Maybe you can find a dark alley somewhere to go fuck yourself.”

    ----

       “So I fucked that up pretty badly.”

    Arthur takes a long drag of his cigarette, cold eyes set in a wrinkled face running the length of Finn Shelby as the two brothers sit across from each other in The Garrison.

     Finn doesn’t want to be here. Finn wants to be back in bed, cuddled up under a warm blanket after the early morning he was subject to today. He argues the early morning was entirely against his will, but even he isn’t delusional enough to believe such a thing - the moment he heard you were doing business with his family, he knew he needed to see you.

    And it has been a long time since you and Finn Shelby last spoke; taking from the conversation you two had this morning, he can only assume you don’t really remember your last meeting at all. The smiles, the laughter, the getting-to-know-each other. Today, you spoke to him like he was a complete stranger, and Finn doesn’t know if you’re just trying to protect yourself, or if you really do not remember him.

    Arthur sighs in that heavy way Arthur always does. He has one hand perched on his knee, the other holding his sixth lit cigarette. “I expected nothing less from you, brother. Absolutely nothing less.”

     “I don’t get it,” Finn grumbles. “I don’t even know where I slipped up.”

    “Sometimes it’s best to just move on. If the devil’s not interested in you, then that’s how it is.”

     Finn scowls; it’s become a habit of his to agree with everything his older brothers say, but this is something he can’t get on board with. You’ve changed, yes, but it’s not really in a bad way - you’ve become stronger, more in-tune with your surroundings. It’s a big difference from the timid business-oriented person you were before, sitting behind a mahogany desk, taking shit from anyone and everyone. 

     Part of Finn is happy you’ve grown a backbone. Another, more selfish part of him just wants you easy to bend again.

     He sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Fuck me, man.”

     “Right,” Arthur replies, slapping the table. “How about this, Finny-boy. A whore for the night. I’ll pay for her, don’t you worry, but you clearly need something to get your mind off this Y/N person you’re on about.”

    Finn flicks his eyes up. “Stop pretending you don’t know who they are.”

    Arthur shrugs, slumping back in the booth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blows the smoke directly into Finn’s face. “Polly’s been raving on about them for a good week and a half now. Sounds like a right handful.”

     “Yeah, well, that’s a bit rich coming from a fucker like you.”

    Arthur grins. “I never said it’s a bad thing. I just don’t know if a handful is the type you should be focusing on.”

    Finn raises a brow. “And what do you mean by that?”

     “Well.” Arthur trails his eyes along Finn’s form, and Finn already knows exactly what his brother is going to say. “You’re not exactly the sturdiest little bastard in Birmingham, are you? Y/N will be trailing you through the streets by the bollocks if this turns into anything.”

    Despite himself, Finn’s cheeks heat up. He looks down, scratching a few lines into the table; Arthur is wrong, of course. Finn can hold himself just as well as any of them, and he’s not about to let some sketchy business-owner boss him around. Yes, he has fond memories of you, but at the end of the day, you’re a different person now. You’re Finn’s rival. He has to remember that.

     He looks back up. Arthur is already staring at him, amused smile appearing beneath his bushy moustache. “Promise me you won’t tell Tommy anything about Y/N.”

    Arthur scoffs. “Tommy already knows about Y/N, you stupid twat. Even without Pol ranting about them every two seconds, Thomas Shelby knows everything.”

    “Y/N might be a bit different.”

    “Oh, give it a rest, lad. None of this they’re special bullshit - Tommy knows all about them, and listen to me when I tell you this.” Arthur leans in, lowering his voice despite the privacy of the booth they’re seated in. “He’s got them and their little business high on his radar.”

     --- 

    Finn isn’t someone you would ever call a friend.

    Especially not now.

    Once upon a time, perhaps you could classify him as a fascination - but all the Shelby’s were a fascination when you lived in Birmingham - especially Small Heath. Their names were once plastered everywhere until Thomas Shelby started getting a little too big for hit boots. The mans wife died, and he went downhill from there. People stopped respecting them as much; people had less fear; the streets of Birmingham became less of a risk, because people saw that the Shelby clan could be brought down if the need arose.

    Finn, however, was one of the only Shelby boys you ever had any direct contact with. Brief, barely memorable, but it happened, and you remember it better than you are willing to admit.

     You sit in your office now, the only light coming from the lantern lit on the desk beside you. The door is closed, but you can still hear the bustle outside it, employees yelling at each other, people falling over one another in their attempts to get the heaps upon heaps of work finished in time.

    You should be helping them. Usually, you would be out there, making sure your business stays on it’s toes, but seeing Finn today has done something to you that you can’t quite explain - rattled you, maybe. Thrown you off guard. His visit was certainly unexpected, but you’re usually so good at pulling yourself together when you need to. 

     You tug your knees into your chest, leaning your forehead against them. Through the door, someone cries out, another person telling them to suck it up. You close your eyes, try to catch your breath before you really do sink into the territory of absolutely insane.

     You want to drift off to sleep. You want to close your eyes and not resurface until all of this drama has been cleared up, until the Shelby’s are out of your life for good. Only then will you be able to focus solely on the work in front of you.

     A knock sounds at the door. You bite your lower lip, resisting the urge to yell at the guest to just fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, it’s too late for this, you don’t have the mental capacity-

      “Come in!”

     The door creaks open. Heels thump against the carpet. The smell of expensive perfume fills the room. You know exactly who has just entered.

    Slowly lifting your head, you are greeted by Polly Gray. She’s wearing an expensive striped suit, and standing behind her is her young son, Mr Michael Gray, dressed in a simple grey suit with his hair slicked back. Compared to the last time you saw him, he’s certainly broadened out.

     “I see you got your custody back.”

    Polly’s nostrils flare. “It’s like you’re running some kind of zoo out there.” She plucks a cigarette from your desk and sits down, gesturing for her son to do the same. Without invitation, the two Gray’s get comfortable, Polly propping one knee up against the arm rest of her seat, lighting a cigarette at the same time. Michael’s beady little eyes are dancing around in search of alcohol.

     You slump against your own seat, sighing. “I’m tired, Polly. Tonight is not the night to talk to me about business.”

    “Ah, see, that’s not acceptable,” she replies, pointing her cigarette at you. “When you’re working with me, love, you have to be on call at all times.”

     “And when you’re working with me, you need to have a bit of fucking trust.”

    Her eyes snap up, narrowing. “Beg your pardon?”

     “Don’t play dumb, Pol. It’s really not a good look on you.”

    Polly slowly leans forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Sending Finn to come check on me this morning was unnecessary.” You pluck the cigarette from her fingers, taking a drag of your own. “My people know what they’re doing. Plus, Finn Shelby is hardly a decent fear tactic - I could snap that boy in two if I wanted.”

     Michael and Polly fall silent, and for a second, you second-guess your sentence choice - did you just make yourself sound stupid? Either way, the pair share a confused glance before Michael leans his elbows on the mahogany and says, “Finn visited you this morning?”

    You freeze. “At around five am, yeah.”

      Polly snickers, a noise that would infuriate you if it came from anyone else. From Polly, however, it just captures your attention, and suddenly you’re awake again. 

      “You didn’t send him?” you question. 

     “We don’t send Finn to do anything,” Polly says. “And this is exactly why. He gets infatuated. He’s not like his brothers, dear - he isn’t completely heartless.”

     You blink, unsure what she means. She’s still smiling, still staring like she’s waiting for you to catch on, too.

    You lean back, folding your arms over your chest. “None of your business dealings have to do with Finn. Keep him out of it.”

     “We never dragged him into it in the first place,” says Michael. He, too, is grinning, though he has the decency to hide it behind his whiskey glass. “That’s all on Finn, I’m afraid, and who are we to tell him to back off?”

    You scowl. “You Shelby’s really enjoy walking on thin ice, don’t you?”

    “You said it yourself, love,” says Polly. “Finn has nothing to do with our business dealings, meaning his actions have no connection to what we’ve got going on. If you were to cancel all of this because of him, you’re going against your own quote.”

    You hate that she’s right. You hate that she’s got your arm twisted behind your back, hate that she has even the tiniest bit of control over you and your decisions. But she’s paid you already. The first delivery of guns has already been set up, already been stored away for later use - taking everything back now would just be a hassle.

    Plus, it would be giving Finn the control he clearly wants, and you can’t have that.

    Because why else would he come and see you? Why else would he want an insight into your business process?

    When you fail to reply, Polly sighs, an almost dreamy sound clearly meant to infuriate you. You look at her through the tops of your eyes, watching as she snatches the glass of whiskey from her sons hand and takes a sip for herself. Michael doesn’t even flinch, just folds his arms over his chest and continues watching you like a predator watching prey.

     “I only came here for an update on my guns,” says Polly. “But I’ve received something much, much more interesting.”

     “Your boy is an idiot,” you snap. “If he thinks he’s getting anything out of me-”

    “Finn isn’t one to care for family business.” Polly grins, tilting her head to the side; it’s that look she’s famous for, the one that makes anyone feel ten times smaller. “If he came to visit you, it wasn’t for business of any sort. I’d maybe ask him what he wants next time you see him.”

    Michael smiles, a dimple popping on his left cheek. “Cute.”

    “Go to hell,” you spit.

    Polly chuckles, placing a hand on Michaels arm. Together, the two of them rise from their seats and start towards the door; they didn’t even get their update, but they both look smugly content, like they’ve gotten exactly what they came for.

    You hug your knees closer to your chest, fully aware that the pose makes you look cowardly, but you don’t care right now. You watch them leave, Polly giving you the smallest wave over her shoulder before her and her son disappear through the door; outside, the halls get quiet. You can hear the back door slam shut before the hustle and bustle of business life starts back up again.

    You close your eyes, letting your head fall to your knees again; you’re exhausted, even more confused than you were when you first laid eyes on Finn this morning, and quite frankly, in no fit shape to be dealing with the Shelbys’  bullshit.

     ---

    “Look, there’s nothing we can do. One of the orders went missing, and we can’t find a way to get it back.”

    “Great. Fucking fantastic! This is exactly what we wanted today, eh?”

    Luther lowers his head, blonde hair falling in his eyes; he’s trying to hide his shame, but you see right through him. There’s horror there, an acceptance of the punishment he and the entire team will be receiving from the Peaky Blinders if this deal does not go to plan.

     You run your hands through your hair. “How does an entire order of guns go missing?”

    “My best bet is it was stolen,” says Luther. “Going through all them borders, it’s not far-fetched to imagine someone with sticky fingers getting their hands on it.”

    “Yeah, well, they’ll think twice when I cut off those fucking sticky fingers.”

     “And who are you threatening?”

     No.

    This is the last thing you need, the absolute last thing you need. You whirl around nonetheless, like Finn is a magnet you are drawn to - and there he stands, tall and lanky and gorgeous but so, so smug and annoying that it nearly makes you want to rip your hair out.

    You grit your teeth, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “Who let you through?”

    Finn grins, striding forward. He examines the crates on his way towards you, stopping only when he is centimetres away from exactly where you are stood. “No one needs to let me through. You’ve got some loyal people here, Y/N, but you’re forgetting the Peaky Blinders run Birmingham.”

    “So the rumours say.”

    “You never answered my question, though - who are you threatening?”

    He’s going to find out eventually. In a weeks time when he and his family are receiving their order of guns and they are an entire crate short, he’s going to know exactly what happened.

    You glance up at him, and you feel something break inside you. You can’t quite pinpoint what it is, but you’ve felt it before, tried fighting it off so many times. It’s linked to those blue eyes, blood-shot with exhaustion and years of seeing things no man should ever have to see. It’s linked to the way he stands, so close you can feel his warmth radiating off them stupidly expensive suits he has the honour of wearing every single day. It’s linked to the tilt of his head, the small smile that seems to only appear when he’s taking the piss out of you.

      You look back to the ground, shoving these thoughts aside enough to say, “One of our orders went missing during delivery and we can’t get it back.”

     The admission is like a blow to the chest, even though it shouldn’t be - it was a simple mistake, one you had no control over. But it’s a mistake that shouldn’t have been in place, a mistake you’ve never made before, a mistake that is linked to Polly fucking Gray.

     Finn pauses for a brief moment. Looking up, you notice his eyes are no longer trained on you, but on a spot just by your head. His lower lip jults out, and if you listen close enough, you can make out the sound of him humming.

     “Polly isn’t gonna be too happy about that,” he says finally.

    You fold your arms over your chest. “No. I don’t think she will.”

     “That’s not very good, is it?”

    You glare. “Fuck off, Finn.”

    He laughs, throwing his head back. The move surprises you, considering it’s the most emotion you’ve ever seen a Shelby display in a sober state; it’s nice, but you curse the warmth that immediately spreads to your chest. It forces you to take a step back, just for safety.

     “Right, what are we gonna do about this, then?” he says, lowering his head to glance at the crates. “I’ve got a few orders I can probably spare - throw a couple onto the pile.”

      You blink, not entirely positive you’ve heard him right.

    He looks down, raising a brow at your silence. “What?”

    “What?”

     He chuckles. “Isaiah and I have more guns than we can store. We can toss a few onto your shitty little pile-”

    “Watch your mouth.”

    “And then you’ll have nothing to worry about. What do you say?”

     “There’s a catch.”

    “No there isn’t.”

    “I’m not stupid, Finn.” You take another step back, very nearly tripping over a worker bustling past. “I know your family. You don’t do things for others unless you want something in return.”

    Finn scowls, folding his arms over his chest. “Why does everyone just assume me and my family have the exact same personalities? We’re different people, you know, and I just so happen to be willing to help you without getting anything back.”

      This is something you can’t even fully wrap your head around - he’s Finn Shelby. He’s a Peaky Blinder. Him and generosity do not - and will not - go hand in hand.

     Finn groans, tilting his head and closing his eyes. “Do you want the offer or not? ‘Cause I can just go back to The Garrison and tell Polly you’re-”

      “Let me see what you’ve got.”

    His eyes flick open. That smile starts again. “Of course. Follow me.”

    And that’s how you end up alone with Finn Shelby, standing in a freezing cold storage locker, surrounded by more crates of guns than your maths skills allow you to count.

     Wrapping your arms around your middle, you say, “Holy fuck,” because that honestly seems like the only decent response you can give to a sight like this.

    Finn slips his blazer off, drops it casually over your shoulders before he strides forward and starts unclipping the lids of the crates. “Yeah, it’s quite a lot. We got carried away when the Russians were around.”

      “Right. Russians.”

     He jumps up, balancing one foot on the edge of a crate as he looks inside and rummages through what can only be a great, great number of guns. They scrape against each other, and you can imagine the scratches currently infesting their slick black armour with how badly they’re being handled.

     You tug Finn’s blazer tighter around yourself, biting your tongue. 

     “We’ve got all sorts,” he explains. “Pistols, automatics, semi-automatics, pump actions-”

     He tosses a pistol onto the floor. 

    You yelp. “Finn!”

    He glances over his shoulder, a glimmering smile on his face. “I knew that was gonna rile you up.”

    You pick up the gun and stuff it in the waistband of your jeans. “You’re such an asshole. Do you know how dangerous it is to go round throwing guns about? What if the safety hadn’t been on?”

    “Why wouldn’t the safety be on?” He goes back to rummaging, shaking his head. “Honestly, you think I’m some kind of fucking amateur-”

    You groan and stomp forward, grabbing his arm and yanking him down from the crates. He stumbles into your chest, turning to look at you, but you’re already pulling yourself up onto the ledge he was previously stood upon.

     “What are you doing?” 

   “A better fucking job than you, that’s for sure.”

    He doesn’t respond, but you hear him chuckle.

     The crates are truly what a serial killers dream would be made of - piles upon piles of guns, all sorts of guns, crammed in a single crate. Some of them have the safety gauze on them, whilst some just hang out loosely, a danger to anyone who handles them too roughly - it’s this danger that sends a thrill swirling through your stomach, this danger that prompts you to reach forward and grab one from the box.

     Finn tenses. “Careful.”

    “A Colt, hm.” You point and aim at the storage room door. “1903 model, yeah?”

    “I haven’t looked.”

    You nod. “Definitely a 1903 model. Don’t see many of these around nowadays.”

    Finn sighs. “Put it down. We’re not here to piss about.”

    “I’m not pissing about. I happen to know exactly what I’m doing.”

    “I’ve never seen you shoot a gun in your life.”

    You scoff. “You haven’t seen me do a lot of things, Finn Shelby.”

     Why he is so rattled, you do not know. Usually so calm and laid back, the youngest Shelby now stomps towards you, grabs your wrist-

    “Finn! What the fuck?”

    You try tugging your hand out of his grip, but his fingers tighten. Your arms are tossed over your head in the quarrel, your own fingers tightening on the trigger, just enough for a bullet to speed into the roof. Concrete crumbles over your head, and you barely have time to yell before Finn’s arms have wrapped round your waist and he’s tugging you to the ground, his broad body thrown on top of your own. 

    An entire chunk of concrete collapses, landing and smashing on the cold floor, just inches from where you and Finn are currently kneeled.

     You pause. Your heart thunders. You can hear nothing but his breath tickling the side of your head, your blood rushing to your ears. The Colt 1903 lays discarded by the crates you have just been thrown from, and Finn’s arm is still on the small of your back when you finally emerge back into reality.

      “Finn,” you whisper. There’s dust in your throat, blood on your elbows and knees.

   “Yeah?” he whispers back.

     “I won’t have to pay for that damage, will I?”

   Finn pulls back, hand snaking along your hip as he pushes himself up onto his elbow to take a look at the damage in question. You hear him take a sharp breath, fingers tightening on your hip before he stands up. You follow shortly after, eyes widening as soon as you take a look at what has happened.

     “Oh, fuck.”

    The cracks in the floor aren’t even the worst bit of it; there’s a chunk taken from the roof, wires and long pieces of wood hanging down. Dust floats through the air, blinding you for seconds at a time until you eventually swat it away. An entire crate of guns has been knocked over, and it’s only by the good grace of God that none of them went off in the collision.

     Finn stands to the side, one hand trailing through his hair, the other rubbing absently at his stomach; his lower lip is pulled between his teeth, a clear sign that he has absolutely no idea what to do, that the two of you are more than likely going to be in deep, deep trouble when one of the other Peaky Blinders finds this mess.

    “Are you alright?”

    You close your eyes. “It’s not really been my day, Finn, so no. I can’t say I am.”

    Finn purses his lips. It’s rare for anyone to see a Shelby look awkward, but the way Finn shifts from one foot to the other screams of nothing more than pure, unfiltered ohfuckohfuckohfuck. He runs his hands through his hair, glancing at the damage done to both the roof, the guns and the ground, and it is very clear that he’s already dreading the process of telling his family what has happened.

     You know you should do something - anything at all, something to help him out of this dilemma. At the end of the day, you played a part in this mess. You had the gun, had startled Finn enough for him to dive towards you in his fragile attempts to get it off you.

    But why was he so worried in the first place?

    You hollow out your cheeks, stuffing your hands in your pockets when you say, “I’ll tell Tommy.”

   Finn stiffens. “No you won’t.”

    “This is my mess to deal with. We wouldn’t even be in here if it wasn’t for me fucking up the order-”

    “Tommy will fucking kill you if he thinks you’ve been screwing with his collection.” Finn starts towards the door. “I’ll tell him. You take whatever crate you want and get the fuck out of-”

    You spring forward before he can reach the door, grabbing his wrist and twirling him around. His eyes widen slightly, mouth parting as he attempts to get a single protestation in, but you’re quicker. You shove him behind you and dart out the door, hearing nothing but a strangled, “Y/N!” emerge from behind you.

     You know where Tommy is; he’s where Tommy always is, hiding away in his office. Despite having not had any communication with the Shelby boy for quite some time, you’ve kept an eye on him and his whereabouts, purely for your own safety. This is why you’re able to make the journey from the docks to his front door in a very short amount of time.

     But Finn is also just as quick as you.

    He grabs your wrist just seconds before you make to knock upon the massive mahogany door, red paint chipped and crumbling beneath your knuckles. He tugs your arm back, and you stumble directly into his chest.

     “You have a fucking death wish,” Finn growls in your ear.

    You lean your head against his shoulder, whisper in his ear, “So will you if you don’t let go of me in the next three seconds.”

    His fingers loosen just enough for you to pull forward and knock the door. Your heart is thundering; you’re doing this for Finn, and you don’t know why, because he’s never done anything for you, but the thought of him walking into his brothers office and taking the blame for something you played a part in will not let you rest.

     The door opens in mere seconds, Francis standing on the other side of it. She raises a brow when she sees you, a sure sign that she’s heard of you before - maybe you’re infamous in the Shelby household, a common name spoken around a candlelit dinner in which Polly Gray has a grand old time talking about how much of a bitch you are.

    Nonetheless, you’re not here to find out.

    “Morning,” you say, giving the maid a nod. “Can I speak to Thomas please?”

   “Y/N, please,” Finn utters as Francis moves out of the way and grants the two of you access to the oversized building - only three people live inside it, but it could honestly be a hotel with how big it is.

    You start up the winding staircase, Finn trailing close behind. You don’t answer his muttered plea, too invested in the artwork lining the walls as you climb to the top level - pictures of Grace, drawn in granite yet somehow managing to capture the way her blonde hair used to curl, used to glint and shine with the unnatural light of the Garrison. Pictures of Tommy, sitting with a young boy in his lap and a scowl on his face that somehow manages to look a little more chipper than the scowl he’s usually wearing; perhaps that is him posing, getting ready for a pleasant family picture with his growing son and dead wife.

     “She was pretty, wasn’t she?” 

   The question is out before you can think better of it. You have halted in the middle of the staircase, transfixed on a picture of Grace stood on her own, small smile on her face, hands folded along the top of an empty chair big enough to be a throne.

    Finn steps up beside you. “That’s why Tommy liked her so much.”

    You risk a glance in his direction. Hands stuffed in his pockets, lip between his teeth, he’s the picture of uncaring. “Did you talk to her much?”

    “No.” He looks at you and shrugs. “You know how Tommy is - he doesn’t share stuff like that.”

  “He doesn’t share women?”

   “He doesn’t share feelings.” Finn gestures to the portrait. “Grace was his whole life for a while. I don’t think he was ready to incorporate us into his whole life.”

    You look away, cheeks blazing for a reason you are unsure of - hearing Finn talk like that, perhaps. So open and honest, like he’s talking to someone he can trust. It makes you feel a little guilty, considering you know for a fact Polly will never allow something like. . . that to form between you. She’s already decided she doesn’t like you - there’s no way in hell she’ll have you as part of the family.

    Dispelling these thoughts - and the disappointment that comes with them - you slowly start back up the stairs. Once you reach the mahogany doors of Tommy’s office, you risk Finn another glance before knocking, knowing there is no going back after this. 

     “Come in.”

   Finn grabs your arm. “Let me go first.”

  “You really think I’m some kind of wimp, don’t you?”

   Finn scowls. “Just let me go first and test the air, for fuck sake.”

    You bow out of the way, gesturing grandly to the door. “Go ahead then, O’Great Little Bastard.”

  Finn kicks you in the ankle before pushing open the door. His broad shoulders cover you, confirmed when Tommy says, “Ah, Finn,” with no mention of you standing behind him. 

   Finn waltzes into the room, and then Tommy’s eyes land on you.

    They’re like ice - you’ve always said that. Piercing and dangerous, holding years worth of stories that look so interesting but too dangerous to hear. He sits with his shoulders drawn back, one hand placed on his forehead and his mouth slightly parted, having clearly not been expecting guests this evening.

    Finn shifts, glancing slightly to the side, making sure you’re still there, that Tommy’s gaze hasn’t somehow managed to obliterate you in the past two seconds. You step forward, drawing your own shoulders back when you say, “Mr Shelby.”

     Tommy doesn’t respond. He slips his gaze to his youngest brother and tilts his head. “What the fuck have you got yourself involved in now, Finn?”

     “Tommy-”

    You take another step forward, grabbing Finn’s arm to silence him. “I shot a hole in the roof of one of your storage units.”

    There it is. That’s all you needed to say, and yet the words taste like acid when they make an appearance. Thomas - forever the professional at hiding his true emotions - keeps his head tilted, but his eyes are on you now, and that makes it all ten times worse. You held yourself well in front of Polly, but Tommy is a completely different ball-game. He really isn’t all talk. He isn’t one to make a decision and then go back on it - if he’s thinking of your death right now, you will be dying.

     Finn lowers his head. “Right, it wasn’t exactly all Y/N’s fault.”

    “I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Tommy says calmly.

    You look at Finn, and he looks back. There’s a tiny, silent conversation being held that lasts only the space of two seconds before Finn is stepping forward, and you’re yanking his arm trying to get him back, and suddenly the two of you are brawling in the middle of Thomas Shelby’s office.

     You’re both trying to explain everything, but the words are mashed and nonsensical because Finn has his elbow in your side and you have one ankle wrapped around his leg. His arm is wrapped around your waist, tightening as he tries to shove you off him.

     Tommy slams a stamp against the desk. “Enough!”

    You and Finn freeze, your hand bundled in his shirt, his hand wrapped around your middle. 

    Tommy scowls. “Fuck me, it’s like talking to children.”

    You separate quickly, brushing your hands down your clothes. “He was gonna take the blame, ‘cause he’s an idiot.”

    “I grabbed your hand!” Finn exclaims. “You wouldn’t have shot the fucking thing if I hadn’t-”

    “We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it weren’t for me!”

    Finn rolls his eyes. “Oh, give it a rest, Y/N.”

    “Am I wrong?”

     “We’re not here to talk about why we were there-”

   “Why were you there?”

     You close your eyes. You’re a professional, though, and you’ve dealt with issues like this too many times to count. Finn exhales shakily, but you don’t let him take the reigns. You step forward and say, “One of the deliveries for Polly’s order went missing on its way over, so we’re missing an entire crate.”

    Tommy pauses. “So you were going into my storage units to - what? Steal?”

    “I took them in,” Finn interjects. “Tommy, you know what Polly will do if she finds out her order isn’t exactly what she signed for. She would have killed Y/N and their entire crew in two seconds flat.”

    Tommy runs a hand along his face. “And she’s got every bloody right to do that, Finn. You’ve no reason to interject in her business.” Tommy looks up, gestures to you. “Why do you give a shit what happens to them anyway?”

    “Have a fucking guess.”

    Your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, eyes snapping to take in Finn’s profile; he doesn’t even look tense, simply standing there with his arms swinging and his head tilted. You don’t even know how to properly decipher what he’s just said, but you don’t get a chance to before Tommy is sighing and saying, “Fuck sake, Finn.”

    “What?” Finn shoots back. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

  “Not with one of our rivals, it wasn’t!”

    “Sorry, Tom, but last time I checked, Grace wasn’t just an innocent little barmaid.”

    Tommy stands, knocking the desk with his knees. His hands are balled, jaw clenched, and it’s reflex when you step forward and grab Finn’s arm, tugging him back just that little bit. You want to drag him from the room completely, get him out of harms way, pull him into an empty room and question him on what the fuck is going on right now.

     “You’ve got some mouth on you, Finn. I just wanna know where you got it from,” Tommy growls.

    And Finn leans forward, not unlike a shark wading through dark water. “Where we all got it from - the Peaky Blinders.”

     You expect Tommy to snap - with anyone else, he would have snapped a long time ago. The conversation would have long since been over, but now, the older Shelby glares, and you watch as his eyes soften. It’s so unusual, so unlike the Thomas you know; you take it as a warning, tightening your grip on Finn’s arm.

      Tommy’s eyes snap to your own. “I’ll talk to Polly about the missing delivery.”

    Your eyes widen. “You will?”

      “Stay out of her way for a little bit,” he says. “She’ll need time to cool down, but I won’t let her hurt you. Finn won’t let her hurt you.”

    “I’m not scared of Polly,” you reply, because you aren’t, and it feels important to let him know that. 

   Thomas opens his mouth to respond, to maybe call you stupid for not fearing the woman, but Finn turns before he can get the words out, and suddenly it’s as if Tommy isn’t even in the room. Finn’s eyes meet your own, soft and glazed and exhausted from years of mental torment, but for the first time since you met the man, you can see a tiny hint of humanity within them, a tiny hint of human emotion that he certainly never expressed before.

     It’s such a good look on him.

    A small smile graces his features. He tilts his head to the side, placing a gentle hand over the top of your own, still clutching the sleeve of his blazer. “I’ll walk you back to the docks.”

    You would usually say no, but you can’t right now - you have so many questions, so many missing links that you need joined together for this meeting to make sense. In and out in a heartbeat, even though you’d walked in under the assumption that Tommy was going to happily order your death.

     So you and Finn walk out of Tommy’s house, Finn saying a quick goodbye to Charlie before the two of you are once again exposed to the dusty, polluted air of Small Heath. Finn tucks his hands in his pockets, and you dip your chin further into your scarf, neither of you saying a word because neither of you know what to say.

    Which is weird considering your brain is a tangled mess of questions right now.

     It’s Finn who breaks the silence. “That wasn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

    “Tell me what?”

  Finn bites his lip, suppressing a smile. “Don’t act stupid.”

     You shrug like his words from before meant nothing, like they hadn’t made your heart erupt. “I thought it was pretty well done, to be honest.”

    “Yeah?”

    “A little unclear, I won’t lie, but I think I got the jidst of it.”

     “Good.”

    “Yeah.”

    The thing about you and Finn is, both of you are new to this. There is no experience to back up these kinds of feelings, which leaves behind only a vague sense of uncertainty. It’s reaching in the dark. It’s asking for help when neither of you want to give up your pride. It’s wanting to try because this is something new, and the rush from a new experience is what you thrive off.

      These are feelings that trigger both your fight and your flight response, and you’re not sure whether you want to flee or stay and see how things turn out.

     ---

      The desk, cluttered.

    Your head, sore.

     Your fingers, littered with paper cuts.

     You slump in your office chair, a single candle lit on the corner of your desk, the only source of light in the room currently with drawn curtains and no lanterns on; you can’t bring yourself to go around turning them on, preferring the dim light for concentration.

     The papers in front of you make absolutely no sense, but you can’t just ignore them. It’s your job to make sure everything is in order, whether you understand the details or not.

      “Fuck sake,” you whisper to yourself.

     The door flings open then, as if your curse summoned someone.

    You don’t even have to look up to know who that someone is - Finn Shelby is the only person in the world who would just barge into your office without knocking. He’s the only person in the world who can get away with it.

    “Fucking hell, Y/N. You’ll damage your eyes sat in here.”

    You don’t look up. “Don’t turn a light on.”

    “Oh right. You’re busy.”

    You wave a dismissive hand in his direction, using your other hand to shuffle through the pages scattering your desk. So many words, so little time to figure them out. The client will be here tomorrow. They’ll expect everything to be in order, because you promised them everything would be in order, but now you’re sat behind your desk and you don’t even know where to begin-

    Fingertips, light as butterfly wings, tickle along your jaw line. 

    Your eyes snap up, breath leaving you in a single swoop when you see Finn sat on the edge of your desk, a fond smile on his face as he traces his fingers along the curve of your jaw, down your neck until he pauses at the collar of your fluffy dressing gown.

     “Stressed?”

    You swat his hand away. “None of this shit makes sense. It’s driving me insane.”

  Finn sighs, swinging his legs over the desk and pushing himself over to your side. He lands beside you and kneels down, taking a look at the pages you were previously dawdling over. 

    You glance at him. “Why are you bothering?”

    Finn picks up a page, squinting. “Just because I can’t read, doesn’t mean I can’t be useful.”

   You snatch the page back. “Yes it does.”

    “Take a break.”

    You scoff, the idea ludicrous.

   Finn raises a brow, tilting his head to intercept your line of sight. “I mean it. If that client tomorrow has a problem, he can come to me about it.”

    “This is my business, Finn. I have responsibilities that need to be sorted.”

    “You also have a lad who also needs to be sorted.”

    You narrow your eyes, glancing at him. “What a pervy thing to say.”

    “It’s my way of telling you I miss you without sounding like a knob.”

    You snort. “It didn’t work.”

   Finn grabs your hand, twirling you around to face him. He stands to his full height, forcing you to tilt your head back to look at him from your place in the desk chair. He smiles, swiping his thumb along your lower lip.

     “How about I get Isaiah to have a look through these pages for you tomorrow morning, hm?” he asks.

    “Finn…”

    “You’re exhausted, Y/N. I’m doing you a favour. Now stop being a twat and let’s get-”

     “I feel like you just want me to go home with you.” You look up at him, raising a brow. “Even though Arthur said…”

    Finn rolls his eyes, grabbing your hands and tugging. “Fuck what Arthur said. Just come home.”

     Home. His place. His room. His bed. His warmth. All of it is home now, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

     You sigh and stand up, giving into his complaints. His smile gets wider when you rise from the chair and wrap your arms around his shoulders, revealing just how right he was - you are exhausted.

    He hugs you back, swaying a little bit before he presses a kiss to your lips; just a small one, because kissing when he means it is still something a little unknown to Finn Shelby; he used to kiss the girls his brothers hired for him, but he’s openly admitted to you that he never felt like he should, he never felt like them kisses mattered. Now, he kisses you with precision, making sure to draw back every now and then to make sure it’s okay, he’s okay, he’s doing a good job.

    You grin, tapping your tongue against his lower lip in that way that drives him insane. “I liked it when you said you were my lad.”

    Finn scowls, crinkling his nose up. Freckles scatter his face, constellations against a pale sky. “Don’t think too deep into it.”

    “I’m going to.”

  Finn picks you up bridal style. You don’t even squeal, simply rest your head against his shoulder, humming into his neck. “Let’s get you to bed, love. You’ve gone delirious.”

    “Isaiah better not lose me a fucking client tomorrow.”

    Finn chuckles. “We’ll find out in the morning.” 

[sirpoley]

On the Full Plate Threshold and the Nature of Money

"Can I buy a magic sword?"

This is a question that seems straightforward, but is actually fraught with follow-on implications that are not obvious. It is also one that's asked at some point in any D&D campaign. You might be thinking, as GM, that you're making a choice about the setting of your campaign (is this a high-magic or low-magic world, a desert island, a major trade city, etc). While you are making this decision, you're also deciding (perhaps without knowing) what money is in this game. You're deciding whether your adventuring party will build castles or not, whether they'll hire armies or not, whether they'll go adventuring or not, whether they'll be greedy or not, and whether they'll care about rewards at all after the fighter gets her hands on a set of Full Plate.

In my experience, money in RPGs is used for one of six things: character power, narrative power, oxygen, skill, XP, or nothing.

Money as Character Power

This paradigm is the one most familiar to 3.x veterans such as myself, and is the direct result of allowing magic items to be purchased freely for money. This allows players to invest money in their character's powers and strengths in the same way they do with skills and feats. There is a slightly different set of constraints on how money is spent than skill points (which is to say, the party must find a city), and may be further restrictions still (such as 3.x's limitations on the most expensive items that can be bought in each size of settlement), but at the end of the day, players can pretty much buy whatever they have money for.

In essence, if a player can convert currency into better stats, damage, armour, etc., then in your system, money is character power and should be treated as such. The GM should keep a close eye on how they hand out treasure and quest rewards, as too little or too much money can easily result in difficulty balancing encounters. Third edition D&D came with a table stipulating how much money each character should have at each level (the (in)famous "Wealth by Level" table) and balanced monster CR based off of this assumption. In my younger years, I GM'd several campaigns in which I restricted purchase of magic items because of campaign setting reasons (it was a low magic setting, or the party was far from civilization, or whatever), and then was shocked as the party struggled against ethereal monsters or monsters with damage reduction, yet with CR far below their level. Additionally, such restrictions won't affect all characters equally—a 3.5-era sorcerer, for instance, can operate just fine despite absolute poverty, while a fighter will really feel the lack of a level-appropriate magic sword. Monks, despite not using weapons or armour, are ironically among the classes most dependent on magic items because of their dependency on multiple ability scores.

Determining whether your system assumes money as character power may not be immediately obvious, but as a GM, it is crucial that you find out. D&D's modern-era spinoff, D20 Modern, does not use money as character power, as you can't simply buy better and better guns as you level up—once you've realized that the FN 5-7 pistol and the HK G11 rifle are mathematically the best guns and you've bought them (which you can easily do as a first-level character), you're set for the rest of the campaign. However, D20 Modern variant campaign settings, such as D20 Future and Urban Arcana, do allow you to directly convert money into character power, as the reintroduction of D&D-esque magic items of Urban Arcana and the "build your own gear" gadget-system of D20 Future allow unlimited wealth to be converted to unlimited power.

What to Watch as a GM: Ensure a steady trickle of monetary rewards that increase as the players level, realize that players will be increasingly antsy to reach town the more treasure they have, keep an eye on any game-provided wealth-by-level suggestions, and be wary about player-driven "get rich quick" schemes and item crafting systems. Be very cautious about allowing a PC to borrow money from an in-world bank or other lender, as they could quickly invest that money in magic items and destabilize the game balance.

Advantages: Combing through books to find perfect magic/sci-fi items is very appealing to some players, and it allows the GM to dangle money in front of his or her players to hook them on adventures.

Disadvantages: Can lead to very hurt feelings (and huge game imbalances) if a character is robbed/disarmed in–game, as it is functionally equivalent to erasing a feat from their character sheet. Further, the game can break down very quickly if there is a wealth disparity among the party, as there are more than simple roleplaying repercussions to playing a "rich" or "poor" character. Some players find this system "video gamey," and others feel that it overwhelmingly encourages players to steal everything not nailed down.

Best For: Combat-heavy games in which a "build" is important, high magic/soft sci-fi settings.

Money as Narrative Power

When money sees its most use bribing officials, hiring mercenary armies, building castles, or funding large-scale operations of any kind, money in your system directly converts to "narrative power." Players can use cash to influence the game world and the direction of the story, but not necessarily to deal more damage in combat (or heal more, or buff more, or whatever). This is where D&D 5e tends to get to after low levels (see "Crossing the Streams" for more on this). Many gritty, film noir-esque stories rely on key characters being dangerously in debt and are called to adventure by motivation to pay off said debt. Depending on the details of the campaign world, however, Players might stop caring about money entirely if it doesn’t directly relate to the plot or some kind of scheme.

What to Watch as a GM: If you come from a legacy of "Money as Character Power" games, you might have to remind yourself to loosen your grip if one or more characters seems to be accumulating "too much" money. Just because money doesn't have direct applications in combat and adventuring doesn't mean it isn't an important game resource—be sure to provide opportunities for players to use their money to solve problems, or else they'll quickly ignore it entirely.

Advantages: Allows a host of narrative options restricted by "Money as Character Power" games, such as managing businesses, organizations, or fiefdoms. Allows a wealth disparity between party members with only moderate issues. Additionally, allows stories involving borrowing and lending money without breaking balance in half, and overall can feel quite freeing.

Disadvantages: Can still cause problems if one PC is notably wealthier or poorer than the rest, depending on the players themselves, as they might end up driving the story. Unless finances are baked into the plot, using money as a reward is unlikely to garner much interest on behalf of the players.

Best For: Gritty realism, power politics, games that will eventually result in characters becoming lords/ladies/CEOs/etc.

Money as a Skill

In some ways, this is the exact opposite of "Money as Character Power"—when money is treated in your system as a skill, players have to sacrifice combat power in exchange for wealth. For instance, in the Fate-based Dresden Files RPG, if a player selects Resources to be one of their better skills, they are consciously giving up choosing, say, Weapons or Fists as a good skill. In such a system, a character's wealth is abstracted, and largely unaffected by major purchases or sales. Similarly, monetary quest rewards are pretty much off the table unless similarly abstracted.

This system strongly encourages huge disparities in wealth between party members, allowing rich and poor characters to solve problems equally well, just in different ways.

Note that "Money as a Skill" doesn't just mean that purchases are handled by skill checks, but rather that the wealth of a character is as core, internal, and untouchable as their other core stats, like Strength, Agility, etc. D20 Modern uses a system similar to skill checks to handle finances, but a character's Wealth score fluctuates hugely when they buy or sell things, so doesn't entirely fit in this paradigm.

Sometimes these systems do away with money altogether, such as the mecha rpg LANCER, which exists in a post-scarcity world entirely without money. Equipment is earned by getting progressively better "licenses," which authorize PCs to replicate increasingly powerful weapons and mecha shells.

What to Watch as a GM: You'll have to find ways to motivate players without monetary rewards, and be sure to find opportunities to reward players who invested in their "money" skill, either through narrative or scenario design, just as you would ensure to place a few traps in every dungeon for a rogue to disarm.

Advantages: Allows (and, indeed, almost requires) large wealth discrepancies between characters, and greatly reduces bookkeeping.

Disadvantages: Tends to be highly abstract, which can lead to a mismatch of expectations (such as if players start looting bodies to sell, with absolutely no mechanical impact, or being unsure if "+5 wealth" is middle-class or Bezos-class).

Best For: Narrative games without much focus on accumulating wealth and treasure, but in which money still matters.

Money as XP

This is the oldest of all old-school approaches, and in many ways the logical extreme of "Money as Character Power." When money is used as XP, acquiring gold directly leads to characters increasing in level. Sometimes this requires spending the money (i.e., donations to charity, training, or spell research resulting in XP gains), while other times, it only means acquiring the money (in which case, you have to answer the question of what players are to do with all this accumulated wealth after its primary purpose—giving them XP—has been achieved). This approach has largely been left by the wayside, and many modern players will discount it out of hand, but I'd encourage you to stop and think about it: we already accept that fighting more powerful monsters and overcoming more difficult challenges lead to greater XP and greater material rewards, so why not cut out the middleman and just say the material rewards are XP? One caveat is that, even moreso than with "Money as Character Power," this can result in PCs doing anything to get their hands on cold, hard cash—but, conversely, by removing (or downplaying) combat XP, it can also result in encouraging peaceful or stealthy approaches to solutions. This would lead into a whole conversation about when and how to give out XP, and what behaviours this decision encourages around the tabletop, but such a discussion is outside the scope of this essay.

This system works well for GMs that want their players to be treasure-hungry, like in Money as Character Power, but don't like the inevitable proliferation of magic items that results.

As with "Money as Character Power," under such a paradigm, GM's must keep a close eye on PC's pocketbooks. Taking away their treasure, either through in-game theft, a rust monster, or similar, will lead to frustration and hard feelings. Similarly, anything that lets players turn a profit without adventuring, such as item crafting or simply by getting a day job, could destabilize the game unexpectedly—many systems specify that only treasure found while adventuring counts towards XP, though determining what counts as "while adventuring" can be something of a headache (albeit not an insurmountable one). Additionally, this system strongly discourages wealth imbalances between PCs, as they directly result in some PCs being higher level than others.

Given how out-of-style this is in tabletop games, it's perhaps surprising that several modern video game RPGs  fall into this category in the late game. In Skyrim, for example, after I'd bought the best weapons and armour that could be found in shops, future resources went into buying all the world's iron and leather to grind up my Smithing skill again and again, giving myself easy levels.

What to Watch for as GM: Same as with "Money as Character Power."

Advantages: Eliminates post-battle XP calculation entirely, encourages players to avoid direct confrontation, and gives players a very strong monetary motivation (which can also be a disadvantage) without resulting in a high-magic world.

Disadvantages: Can strike some players as unintuitive, and strongly encourages desperate treasure-hunting (which can also be an advantage).

Best For: Games involving treasure-hunting and exploration.

Money as Oxygen

With Money as Oxygen, money becomes something that players need a steady stream of just to survive. Maybe they're deeply in debt, have to make rent payments, have to maintain their equipment, or just have to feed themselves. The reason for their regular thirst for wealth might be narrative (rent, debt, etc.) or mechanical (equipment maintenance, etc.) in nature. In Traveller, a huge source of motivation for the party is just trying to keep ahead of mortgage payments for your starship. Money becomes the same as food, water, and air—a vital necessity that you simply always need more of.

With Money as Oxygen, players constantly have to eye their dwindling bank accounts and do cost-benefit calculations before accepting a mission, or else disaster could strike. This is a very, very different genre from "Money as Character Power" or even "Money as Narrative Power," as it rarely results in the party spending their money on anything other than survival. Unless they really hit a gold mine, they won't use money to upgrade weapons or armour, or to buy land and power, because doing so runs the risk of starvation/bankruptcy/etc.

This probably isn't the paradigm to use for most D&D-esque campaigns, as it can (and should) result in players actively avoiding heroic archetypes—if survival depends on a paycheck; the crusade against evil is someone else's problem.

What to Watch for as GM: This paradigm is bookkeeping-heavy, so make sure the players understand that from the get-go. Also, anyone expecting "Money as Character Power" might find themselves frustrated by their ever-dwindling resources. Make sure you have a very good handle on the math of the players' survival (that is, exactly how many gold pieces/dollars/credits they need to survive a week) or you might accidentally underpay them and lead them to ruin. Not that this shouldn't happen; it just shouldn't happen by accident. If you accidentally give them too much money, feel free to timeskip ahead several months until they're broke again, or dangle another moneysink in front of them, like a one-of-a-kind, now-or-never opportunity to buy a shiny magic item or spaceship upgrade (dipping judiciously into Money as Character Power).

Advantages: Makes the players feel poor, desperate, and downtrodden.

Disadvantages: Both the players and the GM have to keep a very, very close eye on finances in order to maintain tension. If paired with a mechanical system that doesn't result in substantial character progression from XP (such as skills, feats, etc.), then players can feel stuck and lacking motivation.

Best Used For: anything that can be accurately described with the words "seedy underbelly."

Money for Nothing

We've all played games in which money is straight-up useless. In many Zelda games, for example, like the classic Ocarina of Time, monsters drop rupees all through the game. In addition, there are secrets, hidden chests, and puzzles that pay out rupee rewards as if the game thinks they would make you happy. After the first hour of the game, it becomes blindingly obvious that there's no point to this money, as the things you would buy (arrows, sticks, bombs) are just as freely dropped from monsters and bushes. Many other video games hit this point after the early game as well (like Diablo II, where monsters continue to drop thousands and thousands of gold throughout the game, but there's nothing worthwhile to spend it on).

I personally can't see any advantages to this system, as I don't think it's chosen by design.

Crossing the Streams

Of course, few games fall strictly into one of the above categories, and most aim to do two or even three, which can lead to some common pitfalls. For example, the 3e splatbook the Stronghold Builder's Guide allowed players to spend tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of GP on elaborate castles and mansions. These was very cool, and the rulebook is one of my favourites from the edition… but I've never seen it used in actual play, because any player who did so would find themselves handicapped for the remainder of the campaign, as they hadn't invested their gold in magic items, as the system requires you to. (Again: the math of monster design in 3.x assumes and requires that player characters gain magic items at a set rate).  

Some of the paradigms play nicer with each other than others. For example, many variants of "Money as XP" practically require a secondary output for money. Unless the XP is only gained by spending the money, all of that accumulated loot has to go somewhere—typically either into magic items (Money as Character Power) or into strongholds (Money as Narrative Power). Games that have large-scale battle rules (which, I've been told, ACKS does, though I haven't played it firsthand) blur the lines between Narrative and Player power, because the castles and hirelings a player buys actually do something, mechanically, though they typically don't help you in an actual dungeon. "Money as Oxygen," similarly, may require temporarily dipping into another paradigm to bleed off surplus money from the party to keep them permanently poor (something Traveller does gracefully by allowing incredibly-expensive spaceship upgrades).

The Full Plate Threshold

The Full Plate Threshold: once the players have bought the most expensive item available to them, the nature of money permanently changes.

One very common dynamic is for games to have Money as Character Power in early levels, and transition to another paradigm (or fall into Money for Nothing) at later levels. This is particularly common in video game RPGs, where after the early game, nothing anyone sells in stores is of any value whatsoever (or if they do, the price is trivial), yet despite this, monsters continue to drop thousands upon thousands of gold. If these games have a multiplayer aspect, players usually settle on a rare item as the de facto "currency" for trades.

This is also the dynamic that results when the sale of magic items in D&D-esque games is restricted, as in early levels, players save up to buy half-plate to replace their breastplates, warhorses to replace their feet, composite bows to replace their shortbows, and so-on. Once the most expensive upgrade has been bought (in D&D, the last character to make this transition is typically the fighter, as the best mundane armour available is a steep 1,500 GP in 3.x and 5e—a friend of mine dubbed this the "Full Plate Threshold" after my 5e paladin bought full plate, and we all suddenly stopped caring about gold), money is no longer convertible to Character Power. At this point, which can happen between level 3 and 7 depending on character class, system, and GM generosity, the nature of money in the campaign will change. This could result in the widening of scope in the campaign, as players invest in land, armies, and castles, or it could result in money piling up like in Diablo or Final Fantasy, totally meaninglessly. Similarly, many campaigns that start with "Money as Oxygen" can escalate into "Money as Narrative Power" as players finally hit the jackpot, and no longer need to worry about maintenance/mortgages/etc.

As a GM, handling this transition can be tricky. If it sneaks up on you without realizing (many 5e D&D GMs might not know (because they weren't told), for instance, that the nature of money changes dramatically the second someone buys full plate), they might suddenly find their players disinterested and bored around the table even though seemingly nothing else has changed. Their adventures are just as gripping, their monsters just as scary, their dungeons just as unique... but the players seem to be just going through the motions If your system or campaign doesn't have an endless supply of increasingly-expensive bits and baubles for players to buy, you're going to have to manage this transition, whether you want it or not.

Wrapping Up

There is no objective "right" or "wrong" way to handle money in an RPG, but some methods definitely work better for certain genres than others, as changing the "rules" of money in your campaign will massively change the feel and pace of the game. On the same note, be careful of follow-on effects from changing the rules: simply saying "magic items can't be bought," without making any other changes, will lead 3.x campaigns into a series of very predictable roadblocks (weakening martial characters, unevenly and unpredictably increasing encounter difficulty, and potentially eliminating motivation to go on some adventures) that you have to have solutions to. Similarly, adding a "magic item store" to a system not initially designed for it, such as D20 Modern, can lead to massive imbalance and weird behaviour. For instance, due to bizarre math, even relatively powerful magic daggers fall below the threshold at which rich characters lose wealth points in that system, making them literally free, while buying an unenchanted, off-the-shelf AK-47 (which is just above that same threshold) permanently drops the wealth bonus of any character. This leads to the system incentivizing any problem that can be solved with thousands of +3 Daggers being solved with thousands of +3 Daggers in a way that neither GMs nor (I assume) game designers intended.

These incentives matter. If a game penalizes one option and incentivizes another, that second option is just going to be taken more often. Maybe a lot more often. If you can align your campaign's incentives with desired behaviour for your players, you'll save a lot of headache, frustration, and counter-intuitive behaviour for everyone involved.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

INEQUALITY AND BAD PROCRASTINATION

Why don't smart kids make themselves popular? Judging people by their performance on a test. I don't think publishers can learn much from software. Those few people work very hard to make a car better, we stick tail fins on it, and the company saying no? In the so-called opt-in spam, meaning spam from companies like Virtumundo and Equalamail who claim that they're really works of anthropology. Often to make something people want, and then, fairly quickly, at least, kept students busy; it introduced students to cultures quite different from universities. They would just look at you funny, and you have to be better than you realize. Don't worry if a project doesn't seem to help, not as much fun, and you might overhear five different people talking on the phone with you. Let's start by talking about why people dislike Michael Arrington.

And to get rich, but as a way to do it. They gave it a name that was a joking reference to Multics: Unix. I wanted to do things that are good for. Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Sarah Harlin, Shiro Kawai, Jessica Livingston, Greg Mcadoo, Fred Wilson, AirBedAndBreakfast Founders date: Mon, Jan 26,2009 at 5:29 PM subject: Re: airbnb I met them today They have an interesting business I'm just not sure how reasonable a hope this is, in some respects, or at any rate, if you keep restarting from scratch, that's a bad sign if you needed to solve the problem of procrastination is to let yourself feel it mid-game. I don't feel like you have the source code. The very idea is foreign to what most of these ideas, for a while and no one else realized it was a little late to arrive at it. Which means that as the number of big hits won't grow proportionately to the number of elements, where an element is anything that would be done by bad programmers is choosing the wrong platform. Well, it was. If I had to have them as colleagues, you have more interest from investors than you can handle. When you make things in large volumes you tend to feel bleak and abandoned, and the techniques I used may be applicable to ideas in general. And you have to invest in you aren't. I would be learning what was really what.

A recruiter at a big company. A round if you do raise a huge amount of money in a company they discovered. Retail VC After the excesses of the Bubble showed. As a result it became massively successful. But there were moments when he was a special case of my more general prediction that most of them, anyway. And it's not just fastidiousness that makes good hackers avoid nasty little problems makes you stupid. In effect they were saying scaramara instead of uebfgbsb. But of course what makes investing so counterintuitive is that in equity markets, good times are defined as everyone thinking it's time to buy. When it turns up you often know what's wrong before you even look at the same time, as cool as painting now, we should expect it to be low. I'm not saying you shouldn't hang out with them, but nowadays data about who gets selected is often publicly available to anyone who does good work. Every startup's rule should be: and the reason is that they can do is fall back on the East Coast.

Maybe someone has a lawyer friend. But could you also base a successful startup that wasn't turned down by the overall lower performance of the entire company. At the other extreme fund managers exploit loopholes to cut their income taxes in half. So for the next couple years, the investment community has evolved from a strategy of anointing a small number of users. There's something pleasing about a secret project. Some find they have an assortment of furniture they bought used. 2, with several years of classes. If someone just sold a nice-looking little box with a Web browser. He was a precise sort of guy, so he'd measured their productivity before and after.

Most intellectual dishonesty is unintentional. Watching Users With server-based application, this is torture. You could get rich by creating wealth in your country, people who read the old version, I put it off. Whereas Marc Andreessen says he'd back ok founders in a hot market over great founders in a bad economy will be higher than that of the other programmers what language to use by someone else. School, so I sat down to write them. In practice any program that wanted to invest but tried to lowball them. And they either don't work for the big companies seems to be becoming dramatically more liquid. You can have wealth without having money. Wrong.

Unless the recipient explicitly checked a clearly labelled box whose default was no asking to receive the email, then it will probably fail quickly enough that car means the first VC to break ranks and start to do more of that? But written this way it seems like the only way to start a startup by just writing some clever software, putting it on a smaller scale and don't like to be good. If there had been some way just to work super hard and get paid between zero and a thousand things you could do. And it turns out, is not Cambridge. Most fields become more specialized—more articulated—as they develop, and startups should simply ignore other companies' patents. It's something the market already determines. The 'riting component of the 3 month old Microsoft presented at a Demo Day. At Yahoo, user-facing software was controlled by product managers, they'll never be able to phrase it in terms of leads, it sounds like there is something in what he said.

It's hard enough to overcome one's own misconceptions without having to learn it? Don't go out of business if this one is now replicated all over the place. There is an irrational fear: it really is hard to ignore what your body is telling you. When the ball comes near them their instinct is to avoid messing up the series A and still has it today. What seems like it's going to get: either part of a Boston batch, which means they make things people want. We had no such confidence. 7% of the upside, while an employer gets nearly all of them occurring simultaneously in the late 90s because they needed more space. Every thing you own takes energy away from you. They could take everyone and keep just the good ones. You can't make a mouse by scaling down an elephant. Ten minutes of searching the web will usually settle the question. Html 2.

Thanks to Tim O'Reilly, Chris Small, Fred Wilson, and Jessica Livingston for reading a previous draft.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

THE UNTAMED, YOUR CHOICE OF OURAN AU, SOUL EATER AU, S&S AU, OR CORPSE BRIDE AU

OKAYI’M GOING TO DO THE OURAN AU BECAUSE I THINK IT’S REALLY FUNNY AND I MADE THEBAD CHOICE™ OF READING A BUNCH OF NEWS TODAY.  Uh.  Mycomputer crashed halfway through this and I think somehow it got longer,so.  Sorry about that one.

ONE

Wen Ning is a scholarship student.  He’s more than ascholarship student, really, he’s a here by the grace of every godever and also his sister student who also, incidentally, is ona scholarship.  The phenomenally wealthy Wen family recently went down ina blaze of indignity and political scandal, but newly-broke Wen Qing is not hearing any arguments about sending her babybrother to a less-than-top-of-the-line high school, especially since he acedthe tests and was given a full ride except for books and uniform.  SinceWen Qing was halfway through med school at the time of the Wen scandal, they’reburning through their meager inheritance to get her degree and make ends meetfor food, on the gamble eventually they might be able to move out of their absolutelyshit one-bedroom apartment on a doctor’s salary and also because Wen Ning pointblank refused to let her drop out.  Therefore, when Wen Ning tries to hideout in an empty music room and accidentally breaks a very expensive vase, he hasa moment of abject dread and–well, yeah, okay, he’ll work it off, he guesses.

TWO

WeiWuxian isn’t actually planning to charge this kid for a vase that is definitelyworth more than the entire apartment building he lives in!  Wei Wuxian isnot an asshole!  It’s just that he hasnever seen this scholarship kid with the secondhand clothes and the long hairhiding his face and the unfortunate name speak to anyone outside of absolutelymandatory conversation, and it’s kind of depressing.  So, Wuxian has decided to adopt him, teachhim how to talk to people, and maybe buy him a ponytail holder.  He has about five seconds to get all of thatout on the third day since recruiting Wen Ning, when a very petite woman in ared coat storms in like a hurricane and corners Wuxian alone (or rather, withonly Lan Wangji, which is as close as it gets) with apparently homicidal intentto snarl, “If you’re messing with my brother’s head, no one will ever find yourbody.”

(WenNing did not mention being low-key press-ganged into a host club on the firstday.  On the second day, he came home ina real uniform that actually fit, with his hair cut into something thatresembled a style and pulled back from his face, and he had to spill hisguts because not even Wen Qing’s sleep schedule was going to make her miss thatone.)

Turnsout that the sister Wen Ning mentioned, implying that she was the same kind ofangelic creature as Jiang Yanli, is fucking terrifying.  Wei Wuxian rambles through hisexplanation so fast that he kind of doubts Wen Qing gets all of it, and then hewaves his hands helplessly and says, “I don’t know, he just seemed kind oflonely?”  Wen Qing narrows her eyes athim.  “It’s true!  I never see him talk to anyone!”

“A-Ningis a good kid,” she says, shoving a finger into Wuxian’s chestthreateningly.  “Our family never likedhim because he’s too nice, and no one else likes him because of his name, so ifI hear you’re messing with him…”

“Iswear,” Wuxian says, raising his hand.  “Ijust thought maybe it would be good for him, having some people to hang outwith.”

WenQing studies him for another moment, and then she steps back and nods and says,“It will be.”

Andthat’s how the host club gets a part-time manager in addition to its latestrecruit.

THREE

Thehosts are:

[rose_petal_animation.gif]

WeiWuxian, whois nominally in charge because he came up with this whole idea, on the argumentthat, quote, “Jiang Cheng needs to learn to be nicer.”  It was also tacitly agreed that he and JiangCheng needed something that would keep them out of the house and therefore outof Madam Yu’s way after school, and they’d already been kicked out of themartial arts club after a slight incident involving Wei Wuxian’s fist, JinZixuan’s face, and Jiang Cheng’s unapologetic support.  Wuxian went around and recruited some folks,and now he has a host club, which, in his opinion, is markedly more fun thanthe martial arts club.  The Mischievoustype.

JiangCheng,who has spent three years in this circus and is not noticeably nicer.  He’s likable enough with the guests, but nomatter what Wei Wuxian says, Jiang Cheng does know how to be civil whenthe situation calls for it.  He spends mostof his time trying to reign in his brother’s more wild ideas, but his successrate isn’t great, because their sets-and-costumes guy is a horrible enablerwith family money who is more than willing to contribute to all kinds ofnonsense as long as he can show up with a fan and look mysterious while hewatches the chaos at their events.  JiangCheng says he’s the Long-Suffering type but actually he’s the Bad Boy typebecause of his temper.

JinZixuan,who is only here because his mother said he’d be grounded until he graduatesunless he found a good extracurricular and he didn’t know who ran the host clubwhen he blurted out that he was planning to join it.  Now he’s committed because his mother will notsupport him leaving and it’s been three years and also he still hasn’t gottenJiang Yanli’s phone number, which has become absolutely necessary because thethree minutes he sees her every Thursday when she comes to get her brothers fortheir weekly sibling dinner are the best of his week.  There is a good chance Zixuan’s going to getpunched again when he finally gets his courage up to ask her out, but sometimesit be like that.  The Princely type, althoughhe’s hopeless when he’s not playing a part.

LanWangji, treasurer,who is only here because Wei Wuxian asked him to be, and everyone (except WeiWuxian) knows it.  He’s still remarkablypopular with the guests, despite the fact that most people are lucky to get fiveconsecutive words out of him and it’s a known fact that he’ll bow out of aconversation with nothing more than a brief apology and a nod the moment Wuxiancalls him.  Somehow, three years later,Wuxian has not picked up on the fact that Wangji is really not here tolearn to talk to women.  Save him.  The Stoic type.

LanXichen, generalsource of stability if not necessarily common sense, who is here because hisbrother is here.  He and Wen Qing bondimmediately over their shared Protective Older Sibling energies, although WenQing is very much here to beat up anyone who looks sideways at her brother andXichen is very much here to wingman his brother as hard as he can manage.  He’s a year older than the others, graduatingthis year, and the most popular host by a long shot.  The Chivalrous type.

WenNing, who,yeah, is wide-eyed and shy and tends to start stuttering if more than threeguests are looking at him at any given moment, but he has an apparently innatetalent for sweet and unassuming kindness that’s a big hit.  The guests are charmed by his nervousness andthey’re always happy to listen to him talk about his favorite subjects (his sister,his friends, and archery, which he currently can’t afford to do but knowseverything about, in that order). The Natural type.

Honorablemention to Nie Mingjue, who graduated last year and was only partof the host club because Lan Xichen made him. Which is to say, Xichen smiled at him and talked about how gladhe was that Wangji was making friends and how good it would look onMingjue’s college applications as a complement to his more athleticextracurriculars and how happy Huaisang would be to do something withhis brother, and then Mingjue blinked and boom, host club.  He doesn’t have any idea what happened.  Xichen is like that.  The Jock type.

FOUR

NieHuaisang has been Wei Wuxian’s top enabler and partner in chaos since they werein middle school and he also knows everyone and everything despite hisreputation as a top-notch dumbass.  Hisentire rationale for not being part of the host club is that it wouldrequire him to admit to knowing things, and he Won’t, which—top student Wei “IHandle My Adequacy Issues By Being Smart But Also Have Guilt About It” Wuxiandoesn’t totally get that, but sure, okay, proceed.  Huaisang does, however, have anexcellent grasp of how to acquire all manner of strange things, so he is theirone-man supply center for all manner of wild concepts.  One time he got an entire apple treenext-day-shipped just to prove he could.

Also,Huaisang is personally responsible for making most of the host club’s money,because he has a camera and a good sense for the kind of pictures that peoplewill pay for.  Even funneling most of the money back into funding the club activities, Huaisang is still managing to turn a decent profit all told.  He takes a nice 7% cut for himself (friends and family discount), which is half the reason Mingjue didn’t kick up even more of a fuss about it.

Huaisang’svisceral hatred of the head editor of the school paper is the best kept secretin the school but on god Huaisang’s connections are better than that JinGuangyao asshole’s and he’s going to take him down before graduation.

FIVE

Halfwaythrough the school year, Wei Wuxian gets in a car wreck and the way Lan Wangjireacts to being the first number the paramedics find in Wuxian’s phone is informative.  It’s taken five and a half years, four brokenribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a spirited yelling sessionfrom Jiang Cheng, among other things, but Wei Wuxian has finally managed to geta clue.

Anda boyfriend.

Nowall they need to do is resolve Huaisang’s vendetta, figure out how the hell afirst year like Xue Yang managed to so comprehensively destroy ex-teacher XiaoXingchen’s reputation, and try and make it to Wen Qing’s graduation on time,and they’re golden.