#Workspace Utilization

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 4, day 12

Okay, so, hahaha, does anyone read my tags? Does anyone remember how I said I fucked up a thing but it's fine now because I fixed it? Yeah I fixed it worse than I started so, um, oops! And I don't feel like trying to figure out how to fix that, so I relegated the first attempt to a backup file and started over from scratch, paying much closer attention to the process this time.

And you know what? I think it's going better than last time :D

We'll find out together :P

[proptranxact]

In the fast-paced business environment of today, AI in office space utilization is of tremendous importance. Hybrid work models and exorbitant prices of real estate have seen organizations deploying AI in office space utilization to facilitate improved efficiency, cost reduction, and employee experience. The traditional office is being transformed into a smart workplace with smart office technology that is inching towards being adaptive, data-driven, and efficient.

[interiorergonomics]

Home Office Layout Ideas: Balancing Ergonomics, Space, and Personalization

Creating an effective home office layout only becomes essentially if it can compensate for productivity, comfort, and work-life balance. It can actually be caused by the rise of remote work where individuals demand for personalized home offices. Moreover, individuals need their workflow to seamlessly blend with their personal small home spaces. Here are some key ideas and considerations for…

[pixelatedollhouse]

Wanted to make a recording studio space, and thought a joint coffee shop would be a cute place for it.

Built on a regular cafe lot, but could easily be switched to a small business venue. The lower floor features a coffee bar with some regular seating, a small lounge, and a workspace area. Upstairs is the recording studio that was mostly built for storytelling/rp purposes, but your sims can use the instruments and music station to write songs or produce tracks.

Both floors have a small bathroom, and there's a closet downstairs for... date purposes.

Utilizes a ridiculous number of packs, but can be found here under my gallery ID, pixeldollhouse.

[erisolsprite]

A Letter to CJ, from Santae Staff

First and foremost, I'd like to establish this as an attempt made in good faith to advocate for the better treatment of all current and future members of the Santae staff and community. I have nothing to gain from this personally--everything that follows is shared only in the interest of transparency, and the choice to do so now is my own.

At the time of the recent walkout on March 4th, 2025, CJ was presented with a letter. This letter was drafted with the assistance of multiple established staff members for two reasons: to address recurring behaviors that were unanimously considered inappropriate and unprofessional, and to provide an exhaustive list of adjustments and changes required to better the team going forward. The intent was always to bring light to these issues, and encourage growth from within by supporting any efforts made to resolve them.

Instead, the few changes that were implemented while I was still an Admin were inconsistent and poorly executed; CJ's behavior remains unchanged, and he has stated outright that he is unwilling to entertain any further negotiations. Without anyone present to hold him accountable, it's likely that this will get brushed aside as unnecessary drama, and the cycle will continue.

Unfortunately, as of writing this, the majority of those aware of the letter are no longer staff. Given CJ's active resistance and overall failure to honor promises made to his own team, making its contents public feels like the most effective way for me to ensure that everyone's effort hasn't been in vain.

As always, I wish Santae and its community all the best.

-- Lacilia

( Full transcript below the cut )

Staff Members of Santae Entertainment LLC.

Dear Management Head CJ, The present letter has the objective of opening communications regarding a series of events within the Santae Workspace. We as members of the Staff Team want to make an official petition to take these statements into consideration and open discussions to improve the workplace environment we have come to appreciate, all in order to continue making possible the growth of Santae.

Recently, we as staff members of Santae Entertainment have witnessed and experienced interactions that have been deemed as inappropriate or unprofessional. These interactions extend to staff members in Front-End and Back-End positions.

In order for us to continue providing service to Santae, we require an immediate acknowledgement and addressal of these eventualities, including a plan of action and the management of our workspace.

Issues of Note

Included are the concerns that Staff Members of diverse roles have reported not being handled in an appropriate manner for a work environment sharing the ideals of kindness, safety and unity as established by Santae. It is our hope that the acknowledgement of said events will open an opportunity to improve relations and foster a safe and professional environment for all Santae Staff Team members.

A. Frequent occasions of speaking ill or inappropriately about current and previous staff, site users and/or situations utilizing the designated Staff Server Voice Calls. As well as distasteful content being displayed in the shared Work Space, despite the vocalization of discomfort from multiple Staff Members.

Conversations on official Staff communication channels must remain professional and respectful, projecting an image of unity, while being mindful about social and historical backgrounds, ethnicity, race, identity and current sensitive global issues.

B. Concerns not being met with a professional or empathetic response, on the contrary, implying that expressing their uneasiness would foster an unsafe work environment, ultimately leading to members of the Staff feeling unheard. This is accompanied by the relaying of unclear terms, rules and regulations for Staff Team members that contradict or imply previous statements on said rules.

As Santae fosters values such as kindness, empathy and compassion, these same values must be represented within the private Staff spaces in order to create a safe work environment for every individual. Communication is essential for the best performance of their employees and therefore the correct functioning of the Santae Entertainment site both in private and public spaces.

C. Incidences of Staff and Users feeling that Management has previously or is currently utilizing resources, information, status or vulnerabilities in a way that elicits the individual into an emotional or moral disadvantage to argue or discuss issues openly. On a similar note, instances of Management insisting on conducting private conversations with Staff and Users after a discussion has been settled in public.

In order to promote a secure and equitable work environment, external factors to disagreements and conversations should not be taken into account unless specifically relevant to the resolution of said discussion. In a similar manner, private or sensitive information pertaining to any Staff member or User should not under any circumstances be distributed, displayed or relayed to any other Staff member or User without the former individual’s expressed written consent. As for an appropriate usage of the designated Staff communication channels, requesting private dialogue between staff without a mediator cannot be insisted on when it is expressed they are unwilling.

D. An incident involving multiple Staff Team members participating in an unrestricted Voice Call channel being spoken to in a manner that was deemed as disrespectful and severely harsh while in the presence of unrelated Staff Team members that were allowed to join the aforementioned call unimpeded, leading to shame and a posterior fearful environment.

We believe this to be the lead cause of reflection upon the conducts observed in Santae Entertainment’s workplace across an extended period of time, motivating the need to elicit change in order to keep operating in the most efficient, professional and adequate manner moving forward. Ideally, communications must be kept in a tone and volume that conveys respect in an omnidirectional way, benefiting the resolution of misunderstandings, mishaps and misinformation.

Suggestions and Future Improvements

The present Santae Staff cherishes the fellowship within its members, including that of the Management Head, and trusts that there is opportunity in hardship, guiding us in the search for a safer environment in which many of us find home. While changes are needed in order to improve current working conditions, the Santae Staff team is open and willing to collaborate in the proposition, development and implementation of the needed and/or requested measures written on this document or otherwise proposed by the Management Head, thus perpetuating the family values that Santae Entertainment holds as its core tenets.

The introduction of an HR Manager who acts as a mediator and impartial party between Staff and Head Management. Santae Staff will propose an interim HR Manager until a new, completely impartial external individual can be hired as fitting for both the Head Management and Staff requirements. We believe that a neutral ground would facilitate communications in the events of announcements, controversies, changes in reglament, management of Staff and resources, as well as scheduling and planification.

Reduce unnecessary private correspondence with Staff and Users, unless actively and enthusiastically consented to. Personal conflict should be handled through the HR Manager, who will arrange conversations between the appropriate Department Lead, the team Member/User, and Head Management. It is to be respected if any or both parties request a Mediator present in conversations taking place, all in order to ensure a secure, fair and respectful dialogue between both parties. This, at the same time, will foster a feeling of trust between all members of the Santae Staff Team.

Cease all distribution, relaying or display of private or sensitive information of any individual without their explicit written consent. This requirement is specially insisted upon as it is protected under various Data Protection Laws, including Federal US Law. We have trust that is in Santae Entertainment’s best interest to comply with such requirements.

Avoid introducing mentions of actions done magnanimously, status or vulnerabilities in irrelevant conversations on unrelated topics. With the objective of keeping communications clear and leveraged for all Staff members, it is important that the focus is kept on priority issues during conversations and discussions, separating personal and professional relationships in a healthy way.

All Staff and Management members must be addressed and referenced to in a respectful manner in all public channels and in private correspondence with other Staff Members. While we understand the existing trustworthy treatment between Staff members, it is important to remain cordial towards all individuals that are and have formed part of the Santae Staff team.

Staff Members should always operate in the chain of command in relation to official matters, unless there is a conflict with the direct next member of the chain, in which case they should address the next highest member in the chain. Management must allow Department Leads to operate as needed with only the necessary interference. This ensures that only verified and clear information is relayed between Departments and between members, avoiding miscommunication, controversies or escalating problematics.

Advances or bonus on Staff payment should be written and agreed to, signed by Santae Entertainment LCC and the next participating party. A signed agreement will ensure the safety of both parties and establish a reference point for future transactions.

Management is encouraged to allow an open, public conversation for Staff Members to discuss and suggest improvements to the structure and culture of the Santae Staff Team, with no fear of retaliation or punishment. We believe that great things are built in collaboration, and the unity Santae has projected in past occasions can shine again in the face of adversity.

We, as Santae Entertainment LCC Staff members, officially and formally request that these terms are met and that a betterment of the work environment is progressed upon in order to continue providing services by Front-End, Back-End, and other diverse Staff, some of which have preferred to remain anonymous. While we have trust that Management Head will take these claims into consideration as it is representative of Santae Entertainment’s core values, failure to hold this agreement on course would constitute a relapse of the previously stated consequences. We believe that the most appropriate way of addressing the present in order to keep transparency and trust is through a public written statement or action of similar fashion, avoiding the usage of unrecorded Voice Calls or private, unmediated channels.

We extend a sincere thanks while we work together to sort this issue.

Thank you beforehand for your involvement in the matter.

Sincerely,

Whixy ErmineLeader Gutshot Marceline Morrie Caligulas Endo LatteDragon Bastet Fritz Lacilia Treat Nymph

[discursiverecursion]

Psst... Queer American fam...

A lot of us are in survival mode right now, and who knows how long that is going to last. An onslaught could begin the first day, or it could be relatively quiet until a storm breaks, so our background stress/anxiety levels are going to be high, and some of the effects of excess circulating cortisol include anxiety, depression, trouble sleeping, headaches, digestive problems, and problems with memory and focus.

It’s normal to be struggling right now.

It means you’re human.

I know this sounds bad, but I’m restating a thing I think many people already know, because the thing is, a common tactic of the Right is to put people in a stressful situation and then blame them for their response to it (I’ve seen this referred to in other contexts as “reactive trauma”). As queer folks and people being targeted, we might think we are immune to this, but it works more insidiously than that. It can tear us apart, and it plays out like the following:

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As violence towards our community escalates, they will start publically pointing at things “we are doing” that are “causing” the escalation. 

They will use this term “we”, because they don’t understand that we are not homogeneous.

Sometimes we ourselves, as individuals, will not be part of that “we”. 

It will be terrifying, in that moment, to have rights stripped away (or worse) without having any perceived control, and that lack of control will feel like it is due to the actions of another being blamed on you. 

DON’T FALL FOR IT THOUGH!

This is misdirection. They do not have to hurt us, even if we are loudly gay, even if we protest the ways they are hurting us already.

Please, please don’t let yourself get to a safe place and wonder why others aren’t hiding. You are allowed to keep yourself safe. In fact, I encourage it, but please remember that those of us fighting this thing publicly are not the enemy. We need your support and solidarity.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

We are a big family with many different survival strategies:

We don't all have to utilize the same one

We don't have to stick with our original choice over time

We are not bound to only using one at a time

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m going to end this with a list of some survival strategies found in nature, because I'm definitely rambling and this was the thought I actually started typing this post with:

Do you recognize any of your own strategies in the list below?

Do you recognize any that are the opposite?

Can you hold that we are all in this together coping in our own ways, that we are not each others’ enemies?

Can you remember that "health" is a social construct, and that a strategy doesn't have to be the "best" one for it to be functional for the time being to keep someone alive?

I hope you can, because we will need each other to get through the coming years.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

STRATEGIES:

Becoming a spore (more info) - Shutting down completely for a bit - Sleeping more - Building mental walls

Playing dead (more info) - Retreating from social life  - Retreating from social media - Missing work

Camouflage (more info) - Going back in the closet - Codeswitching - Becoming extremely quiet

Mimicry of a more dangerous creature (more info) - Being argumentative/loud - Being assertive - Presenting even more queerly

Nocturnality (more info) - Nocturnality - Avoiding people - Staying in a social bubble

Distraction (more info) - Drag - Hacking - Certain forms of protest

Pursuit-Deterrent Signals (more info) - Making oneself needed - Feigning compliance - Presenting in “stealth” mode

Mobbing (more info) - Protests - Taking down websites - Coworker solidarity to create workspace change

Staying in the middle of a group (more info) - Being in community support networks - Going to therapy - Getting to know your neighbors

Sounding an alarm (more info) - Being loud on social media - Being loud in the workplace - Naming the quiet parts out loud

[kittychicha7]

[glitching…] MY FAVOURITE NOTION TEMPLATE MAKERS for shifting scripts

“reality’s bending, might as well make it pretty.”

> archive.log_047 // chicha.exe

hello shifters, dreamwalkers, reality-hoppers & timeline drifters —

i’m dropping my fave Notion template creators who serve aesthetic, utility, and that extra something for scripting your DRs :3

and before everything, of course: my own templates (https://chichastemplates.notion.site/Chicha-s-templates-1e641babe4b4803ca1a4e3136036c896?pvs=73

[01] @renoscripts

why i love: organised, script ur WHOLE life from ur birth certificate to ur setup’s wallpaper

[02] @jellydaey

why i love: serves cunt for K-pop drs, either creating your own group or shifting to an existing (?) one. a template for a 3 member group to a 12 member one, she slays every time with minimal themes

[03] @chaeribow

why i love: slay. just slay. her scripts are so pretty, detailed for k-pop drs and others, literally love her

[bonus round]

@yourstrulyareum

why i love: GIRL. HOMIE. this girl makes the most beautiful poosay-clenching templates. plz give her more attention, she deserves it!!

tag ur fave creators, share the love, and keep shifting babes.

[end transmission]

reality.shifting // chicha.log

“we’re all just pixels in the multiverse”

[letsheresy]

⟡ · notion template · ⟡

hop, je mets à disposition un template pour personnages & suivi des rp 💖 il est conçu pour mon forum mais peut être entièrement adapté à vos besoins. j'ai laissé les réglages afin de donner une idée de ce qui est possible (et pour vous faciliter la tâche si jamais vous craquez pour MGV évidemment 👀 nb : tw HP) et mis des commentaires un peu partout pour faciliter la prise en main — tant en page d'accueil qu'à l'intérieur des fiches des personnages.

contenu :

— fiches de personnages à l'aes complète, plus qu'à remplir les infos  — tableau de suivi des rp simplifié par des boutons ✓ et ✕ permettant respectivement de maj et démaj un topic en un clic (changement du statut, de la date du dernier post, ajout ou retrait de la view "TO DO") — tableau de suivi de recensement (case à cocher une fois le personnage recensé pour le mois)

bonus :

j'ai testé l'extension Save to Notion qui permet de créer facilement un petit formulaire lié à une database, afin d'ajouter une page à son notion, et c'est un autre petit gain de temps 🔥 ci-dessous un aperçu de mes réglages (1) et du rendu (2, 3), si jamais ça peut vous intéresser.

nb : faudra veiller à ne pas laisser d'ancre à la fin des liens "Lien-data", afin que le lien de rp affiché par le template vous envoie bien au dernier post et non en tout début de topic. expl, dans : https://lala.forumactif.com/t2-titre#10767 il s'agirait d'enlever #10767

———

n'hésitez pas à jouer avec et à l'agencer à votre convenance ! vous pouvez me dm en cas de questions, suggestions d'améliorations ou juste pour me dire s'il vous est utile, ça a été long donc les potentiels retours me feraient plus que plaisir 😌

[float-offofme]

New Swansea centric fic dropped two days ago apologies for being late on here me oh my

Dour

Rated T, 3287 words

Swansea reflects on the past when Anya discovers what he’s been hiding.

Or…

He was still staring at the photo when he heard the utility door suddenly slide open. He jerked up, placing the photo back down on his workspace and grappling the axe.

Only to see Anya staring wide eyed in the doorway.

(Aka the buildup to Swansea and Anya's conversation during Chapter 7)

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

Previous Prompts

Here is post you can find all of the previous prompts for the entire year!

January Week 1 - Intorduction

January Week 2 - Definitions

January Week 3 - Energy Sources in Witchcraft

January Week 4 - Deeper into the Elements

January Week 5 - Rules, Morals, Philosophies

-

February Week 1 - Energy Work

February Week 2 - Types of Magic

February Week 3 - Types of Magic 2

February Week 4 - Types of Magic 3

-

March Week 1 - Symbolism and Traditions

March Week 2 - Spell and Ritual Outline

March Week 3 - Traditions, Associations, Tools and Symbols

March Week 4 - Deeper Ancestry

-

April Week 1 - Astrology

April Week 2 - Planetary Magic

April Week 3 -Other Celestial Stuff

April Week 4 - More Star Stuff

April Week 5 - Cosmic Wrap Up

-

May Week 1 - Diving into Divination

May Week 2 - Divining Deeper

May Week 3 - Divination Wrap Up

May Week 4 - Changing it Up

-

June Week 1 - The Wheel

June Week 2 - Transitional Periods, Energies, Entities and Places

June Week 3 - Circles and Other Shapes

June Week 4 - Grand Ideas

-

July Week 1 - Dreams, Astal Work, Life and Death Philosophies

July Week 2 - Various Magics

July Week 3 - The Magic of Metals

July Week 4 - Different Types of Magic

July Week 5 - Magical Hodgepodge

-

August Week 1 - Looking Inward

August Week 2 - Magic In the Mundane

August Week 3 -Using Your Senses

August Week 4 - Sixth Senses

-

September Week 1 - Bubble Bubble, Toil and Trouble

September Week 2 - Alchemy

September Week 3 - Crystal Grids

September Week 4 - Altars and Workspaces

-

October Week 1 - Laws of Magic

October Week 2 - The Fae, Cyrptids and Mythological Creatures

October Week 3 - Science and Magic

October Week 4 - Witchy Things

October Week 5 - Gettin' Crafty

-

November Week 1 - A Hodgepodge

November Week 2 - Family, Politics, Privacy and Storage

November 3 - Banishing, Glamours, Color Magic

November 4 - Turning Magic Back

-

December Week 1 - Shadow Work, Discernment, Synchronism, Seasonal Depression

December Week 2 - Utilizing What You Have

December Week 3 - Revisiting Traditions, Magical Timing, Magic with Medicine

December Week 4 - Looking Back

December Week 5 - Looking Ahead

Final Prompt

Bonus Prompts

Seasonal Magic

Other Perspectives

Eclipse Magic

Magic in the Mundane

Kitchen Witchery

Book Design Ideas

Drying Herbs

Superstitions

Crossroads and Liminal Spaces

Magical Salts and Waters

Witchy Calendar

Relationship Magic

Utilizing Technology

Associations

Holiday Prompt

Imbolc

Ostara

Beltane

Litha

Lughnasadh

Mabon

Samhain

Yule

Witchy Vibes Playlist

[gripefroot]

Cross-eyed and Tongue-tied

Follow up to this piece. Or rather, a prequel.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Only years of practice not being startled by Law’s habitual reappearances and disappearances keep you from jolting in surprise. That, and the sixth sense you’d learned, noting how the air changes right before he does his little tricks. 

Hunched over the pottery wheel that dominates your living space, you don’t flinch when he looms over to take a look at what you’re doing. The delicate work of slicing the tool through clay makes a pattern around the bowl sitting on the wheel, which took most of the afternoon. Only a few more minutes of decent sunlight remain, and they must be utilized. Your back hurts from strain, but that’s outweighed by satisfaction. Nearly done, but he can see that for himself. 

“I’m hungry,” Law adds, like that will finish your process faster. 

Teeth gnawing on your bottom lip, you don’t speed up at all. He knows how you work. His fussing is purely meant to set you on edge, you don’t doubt. 

“You can leave without me,” you offer. “I’ll catch up.” Only a few more times around the rim. With a deep breath you pull away, spinning the wheel to the next side of the pot. 

“Ha!” Law says. “If I leave without you, you’ll never come. You’ll probably find another pot to trim and get distracted making that.”

He has a point. The tool slices through the earthy-red clay, swirls for decoration that litter tiny shavings around the pot. Law leans closer, close enough for you to smell soap on his skin and hear his even breathing. He doesn’t put his hands on the wheel to brace himself, which is a mercy for both of you, because last time he’d done that, he’d been stabbed by the knife you’d been using and the platter had been sprayed with blood. 

“Looks good.” His voice is a rumble that sends awareness up your spine. 

“Thank you.” As far as you can go again. You turn the wheel. One more section and it’ll be done. Before you put the tool back against the rim, a sudden kiss on your cheek has you blinking, startled out of focus. “What was that for?” you ask, bemused. Glancing up for the first time to see Law grinning, his face barely inches away. 

“A bribe,” he says. 

“I’m almost done,” you tell him, crabbiness sharpening the words.

“And if we don’t leave soon, they’ll be sold out.” 

“You must think the market is a bustling metropolis.” Bending over for the final time, you sink the tool into the pattern to continue. No sign of a break shows in the clay. A smile grows on your face, pleased at the outcome. 

“Is it not?” Law asks. He still hovers. “My crew doubles the population.” 

“Your crew single-handedly provides enough economy to keep the town afloat.” 

Done. Setting down the tool, you slowly move the wheel around to admire the pattern in the bowl, snaking and criss-crossing through the red. 

“Pretty,” he says. 

“Complimenting won’t rush me,” you say. 

“But you like it.” 

“I love it.” With a laugh you stretch out your arms and back, the muscles protesting from overuse and tension. Law’s hands immediately go to your arms, rubbing in all the right places as a sigh and a moan fall from your lips. 

“I can sell your stuff if you like,” he says. 

“Huh?” The movement has made lights pop in your vision, shutting out your workspace as reality jerks you into the present. Work has a tendency to shut part of your brain off. “Sell it? Where?”

“Here and there.” 

Stiffly you rotate on your stool to stand, shaking out your arms and legs. Law doesn’t back up (he never does) but he does tilt his head to the side, regarding you up and down. Then he starts to untie the apron around your back, a feeble attempt to keep your clothes tidy every day. 

“Yeah?” you ask, amused by this offer. He loops the apron over your head to toss aside. “And let me guess. You’re going to upcharge for imports and make an astronomical amount of money, most of which will go into your pockets.” 

Law frowned, pushing the rim of his hat higher. “It’s not easy, trade,” he says. 

“It’s not easy being scammed by the man in my bed, either.” Most of the feeling has returned to your extremities. Enough that you tip forward on your toes to kiss that frown on his face, which eases into a crooked smile. 

“I’m not scamming you,” he insists. “I’ll take a small cut. Not even enough to compensate for the time and effort it’ll take, so I’ll be losing money.” 

“How very generous.” 

“It’s a perfect plan,” he says. “You can’t ask for a better negotiator than me.” “Here’s what I think would happen,” you say with a smile, reaching over to pick up the tray the newly-decorated bowl sits on to take to a drying shelf. A nudge into your rear from behind doesn’t break your concentration, lifting the tray and turning on your heel with a narrowed glare at Law, who shrugs like he’d done nothing wrong. “You’re going to upcharge the heck out of my wares and people will buy them because you’re scary and mean.”

“Maybe.” He follows you into the next room, lit by the sunset through the cloudy windows. The earthy scent is home, stacks of fired dishes and drying pots filling the space to the brim. With a heave you hoist the tray onto a shelf, brushing your hands after stepping away. 

“And then they’ll find out, eventually, that my products aren’t worth the price you charged.” Chin high, you regard Law across from you. Unrepentant, as always. He shrugs again, this time with a smile. “And who do you think they’ll take out their discontent on? You, scary and mean? Or the lady who made the subpar wares in the first place?”

Something flashed in his eyes. “They wouldn’t come after you.” 

“Prove it. My name is stamped on the bottom of every single item.” You wave your hand at the room. Labeling all the products with your name is more vanity than anything, as everyone on the island knows you and your name. How could they not? Every one of their tables bears your dishes. 

“Not your location,” Law says. 

“But my location isn’t a secret, either. Plenty of people from this island have moved away and would recognize my name in an instant. I’d expect an angry mob at my door within six months of you carting away crates to charge an arm and a leg for.”

He snorts. “I don’t need to charge for an arm and a leg.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“They wouldn’t dare attack someone with ties to me.” He seems to believe it, too, because as he says it his shoulders straighten out, standing a little taller. Hot, but not entirely convincing. Law acts mean, but behind that brittle exterior, you know better. How no one else seems to notice the melty tenderness in his eyes is a mystery. It’s so obvious. To you. 

Then again, you wouldn’t want him as an enemy, either. He’s much better in bed. 

“This is silly,” you say. “Let’s go get dinner.” 

“I changed my mind.” 

“What!” 

A glint in his eyes betrays his desire. His intense desire. “Let’s go to bed early,” he says in a rough voice. A tingle has your toes curling, but you ignore it.  

“No.” Lips pursed, annoyance flickering but too tempered by fondness to go anywhere, you stomp past him. The house is getting dark, and you grab a coat by the front door. One arm in, then the other. 

“We can eat tomorrow.”

His voice in your ear makes you hiss, less equilibrated than you’d been while working. Why did he do this? Spring up on you without warning? He could walk like a normal person! 

“You’ll be miserable all night, whining about being hungry,” you tell him. 

“Promise I won’t.”

“I’ll be miserable all night, whining about being hungry.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll keep you too busy to be hungry.”

“How did we arrive here?” Halfway out the door, you turn with a laugh bubbling out. Law looked so miffed in the indigo night, hunched over and surly. “Does it turn you on when we bicker? Is disagreement foreplay to you?” 

“So what if it is?” He pulls the door shut behind him. At the water pump in the front yard, you draw water to rinse your hands. Without a brush and soap it’s a cheap job, but works. Once your skin gleams you shut off the water, shaking your hands to dry. Law takes the steps down the yard one by one, gaze on you the entire time. Hands in his pockets. No coat. 

“If it is,” you say, pulling the collar of your coat tighter against the chill in the air. Autumn’s claws dig into the island, especially at night. How he managed in a barely-buttoned black shirt, you don’t know. “Then I can be nastier.”

He stops where he is. 

“Cruel,” you enunciate, but you can’t help smiling. “Absolutely villainous.” “Nah,” Law says, and resumes his way down the steps until he stops at the level of the water pump where you wait. “I don’t think you have it in you. How about you continue to be you and I’ll keep my thoughts about your mouth to myself?” 

“No,” you say. Wait a minute, shifting your weight, and then prompt, “Did that turn you on?” 

“You’re ridiculous.” But he smiles, shadowed by his hat. “Let’s go.” 

You loop your arm through his, though he didn’t offer it. “What were you thinking about my mouth?” you ask softly, and his barked laugh echoes to the stars. 

“Telling you would definitely constitute foreplay,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s save it for the walk back.”

Stars twinkled as the sky darkened, the worn trail to town only navigable by sheer practice. You could walk the path by memory, eyes closed and hog-tied. Leaning your head against his shoulder, his low hum tickles your ears. 

“It’s almost winter again,” you muse, pointing at a constellation just visible on the horizon above the sea. One that only appeared during the cold months.

“Are you going to move to town again?” Law asks. 

The cottage on the bluff is gorgeous in the summer, but winter winds from the sea tend to wriggle their way through the ramshackle windows and sagging walls. Cold hands make clumsy pots. Winters, for you, look like renting a room above the bakery to paint and fire dishes all winter in one of the baker’s ovens in exchange for new mixing bowls and jars for leaven. 

Winter tastes like fresh, hot bread, and aching loneliness. 

“Will you visit me if I do?” you ask. He rarely visited in the winter.

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “How thick are the walls of the bakery?” 

“Not thick enough,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” 

“I don’t like the idea of the baker’s six children peeping in,” Law says. 

“The tailor says this winter will be mild, anyway,” you tell him. “I’ll chance it in my house.”

Ahead, the shining lights of the town appear between the slopes of the hills that, miles down, gives way to the sea. The track descends through dusty soil, scuffing into the air. The first houses of town are built in the hills, candlelight and firelight twinkling on either side as the path widens into a road and the noise of the market becomes audible. 

“We’re lucky to find seats,” you say to Law a few minutes later. Stools at the noodle maker’s are hard to come by, especially with visitors. But Law’s crew appears to be occupied elsewhere; some flirting with women across the street, some notably absent. 

“Are we?” he asks in a vague sort of voice. His tattooed fingers rub a pair of chopsticks together, as if seized by the sudden need to be busy. Barely visible beneath the rim of his hat, his eyes dart to his crewmates, narrow, and then drop to his hands. 

“It’s a nice night. Everyone seems to be out enjoying the weather.” After the long, hot summer days, people in the town emerged to have their fill of company. It’s the same in spring. Smiling, you tap your feet to the beat of a guitarist nearby playing a lively tune. “It makes me want to dance,” you say.

Law snorts. “Don’t say that to Sachi.” 

“Why, would he want to dance with me all night?” 

Any amusement Law may have felt disappears. “Yes,” he says in a stony voice. Lips twitching, you nudge him with your elbow. 

“Jealous?” 

“I don’t want to dance with Sachi,” Law deadpans.

“No, would you be jealous of him? If he and I danced all night?” 

“You aren’t going to dance all night with Sachi. You have a strict bedtime.”

“Since when!” 

“Since just this second.” Law’s further bickering was smothered in a polite smile as two bowls of steaming noodle soup were slid across the bar of the stall. Fragrant steam fills your nose, stomach rumbling in response. 

“Thank you, Saizu. It smells delicious.” 

The noodle maker beams ear to ear. You’d never once seen him frown. “Ingredients have been cheap lately,” he says, wiping his hands on his apron. With no other orders, he’s inclined to chat. Law is disinclined; he starts to eat. “Ships to and from have been making their routes without getting harassed lately.” 

The broth tastes even better than it smells. Saizu’s best batch yet: whatever ingredients he’s been getting must be made by the gods. It’s a few moments before you’re composed enough to ask, 

“Pirates?” 

“None that I’ve heard of,” Saizu says. 

“I suppose I haven’t, either,” you say. Swallowing a clump of noodles, you turn to Law. “You’re the only one here that ventures out on the sea. Are there fewer pirates this year than normal?”

He chokes on his own noodles, a few splashes of broth hitting your coat. “Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Must be.” 

Saizu nods wisely. “A few of my bowls have been dropped lately. Can I put in an order for a dozen more?”

“Of course,” you say. “Matching design or something new?”

“Whatever you’re inspired to do. I haven't seen anything you’ve made yet that I don’t like.” His smile never falters, never hesitates. “But I will say, the last batch you gave me is my favorite yet.”

Saizu has always been one of your best customers. And most generous with compliments: while you and Law eat, he picks up a bowl from a stack and holds it to the light, pointing out the colors and details he likes the best. The black accents, the flecks of minerals shimmering in the fired clay. 

“I don’t know where you get your ideas for these designs,” Saizu goes on, tracing the ribbons of black around the base of the bowl. “Then again, I have the artistic abilities of a monkey.”

“Funny you say that,” you tell him. “Because I have the cooking abilities of a monkey.”

Saizu bellows with laughter. Law even snorts his amusement, finally coming up for air as the food in his bowl dwindles. Out of the corner of your eye you see him do a double take at the bowl Saizu still holds up to one of the hanging lanterns above the stall. 

“That’s your bowl?” he blurts. “You made that?”

You meet Saizu’s eyes. “Are you asking me or Saizu?” you ask. “Because it’s his bowl. I made it. He makes what goes in it.” 

“Are they all like that?” Law grabs his bowl of broth and lifts it, eyes widening as he sees the similar design on his own. He sets it back down slowly, though his knuckles have gone white. 

“Don’t like it?” Saizu asks. Heat rushes to your face, aware of the reason behind Law’s reaction. It was no secret to you that Law is your muse. But you’ve never told him so. 

“It’s fine.” Law’s voice cracks on the word. “Just fine.” He doesn’t meet your gaze, though you’re looking straight at his face. Before you can prod him for more, or confess, or something, a body straddles the stool on Law’s other side. And yours. Caged in by white uniforms. 

“Hi, Penguin,” you say. “Sachi.” “Hiya,” Penguin says. “Captain.”

Law grunts. Not entirely pleased by the company. 

“Good to see you again,” Sachi says. He’s on your side, facing you on his stool with significant enthusiasm. “Did you know Captain won’t drink out of anything but your mug?” 

How many months Sachi has been holding onto that tidbit of information, you can’t begin to guess. But the speed at which he says it suggests many. Raising a brow, you ask, 

“Is that so?” 

“Sure as I’m sitting here.”

“Yeah,” Penguin chimes in from Law’s far side. He leans toward the bar to see you, half-concealed by Law’s slumped shoulders. “I’m surprised he doesn’t sleep with it.” 

“Sounds chilly,” you say. Then, to Law’s defense, you add, “I didn’t know ships were the standard for dishware choices. How many mugs do you have to choose from that consistently choosing mine is so remarkable?” 

“We have one set,” Law says. “And I have one cup, thank you.” His glare for Sachi zooms past your face. 

Despite knowing Law for so long, he’d never commissioned you for his ships’ set of dishware. Gnawing on your lip, you remember, “You stole that cup.” It had been before dawn, over a year earlier, when you’d stayed in bed to blearily watch him dress to join his crew on his ship. He’d stopped at the door, plucked a mug out of a crate ready to be taken to the market, and left with it. 

Penguin gasps. “Captain! You didn’t!” “Her prices are really reasonable,” Saizu chimes in. 

“It was a memento.” Law pushes his empty bowl towards Saizu, who takes it. 

“Of what!” you laugh. 

Silence. Sachi breaks first into cackles, then Penguin, and then Saizu, clutching his belly for a laugh that echoes across the street. 

“Of what?” you repeat, leaning closer to Law. His cheeks stain tomato-red, casting you a look. “No,” you say in a hushed voice. Laughter tries to bubble out of you, face burning, but you clap a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling. 

“I meant to pay you back,” Law mutters. 

“Wow!” Sachi grabs your hand from your mouth, splaying out your fingers like some sort of zoo creature. “Your fingernails are really long.” 

“Yes,” you say. “I have no better tools than my own hands.” 

“Ah,” Penguin gives a wise nod. “That explains it.”

“Definitely explains it,” Sachi agrees. “We’ll be sure to alert the crew that there was nothing to worry about.”

“Do you mind?” Law grits out between clenched teeth. “You’re not on shore leave to spend the entire time harassing me.”

“They’re harassing me,” you assure him. Then to his crewmates, “Explains what?” 

Law grabs his cup to down water, as if the action will hide his blush. It doesn’t. 

“Why Captain came back last time with his shoulders and back all torn up,” Penguin says. “I could’ve sworn he was attacked by a wild animal. Bepo said he lost a duel with a tree branch.” 

Water sprays across the bar. Law hacks and hacks, face turning even redder. Penguin thumps him on the back several times before Law pushes him away. 

“Oh,” you say. The prickling danger of Law lashing out is a cold tingle down your spine. As embarrassed as you wanted to be by this topic of discussion, the best course of action was clear: diffusement. “Are you sure that was me and not someone else?” you ask in a light voice. 

“No, ma��am,” Sachi says. “You’re the only one.” 

“What makes you so sure?”

Saizu wipes down the bar from Law’s spat water. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything about the conversation, or the mess it’s making. 

“He rolls his eyes if we tease him about women favoring him anywhere else,” Sachi says.

“We mention you and he swaps our ears,” Penguin adds. “Sachi’s look terrible on me. Even worse than they do on him!”

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself!” 

“If you’re jealous that Law has something of mine and you don’t,” you interrupt. “I have a few dog bowls I can send along.”

Law’s cough turns into a choking laugh. To Saizu he says, “If I tell you these two hooligans are pirates, will you run them off for me?”

“Ha!” Saizu grins. “Your whole crew is so good-natured I wouldn’t believe it for a minute. Best merchants in the North Blue.” 

The rest of your broth has chilled with the dropping evening temperatures. But you down it, anyway, smacking your lips together as you drop your chopsticks in the bowl. “Thanks again, Saizu,” you tell him. “And sorry about the highly-inappropriate interruptions.” 

“It’s not every night I get a free show,” Saizu says, eyes twinkling. 

Law slams a handful of coins on the counter. “Keep the change.” Saizu chuckles, and sweeps them into his pocket. 

“I don’t think that pays her back for the cup, Captain,” Sachi says. 

“Go kiss a sea sponge,” Law retorts. Twisting on his stool, he hops down in your direction, fingers curling over your wrist. “Let’s go.” 

“Good night, Saizu!” you call, already dragged away from the warm lights. Law is mightily determined when he chooses to be. “Bye Penguin! Not with tongue, Sachi!” 

“You!” Law hisses when the noise of the market was fading behind you. 

“Me?” you ask indignantly. “You stole my cup! And you never paid for it!” “I thought you noticed!”

“I did!”

“Then why didn’t you tell me before?” 

Away from the main market thoroughfare, the night was dark, and darker between buildings and houses. Law stops in his tracks outside the baker’s, where only a faint light could be seen from upstairs where the family lived. You squint to see his face better, backlit by the market lights. 

“I forgot,” you admit. 

“You forgot,” he repeats. 

“Yes.” Another rush of heat rises from your neck to your face. “Call me crazy, Law, but when you’re around my mind is on other things than a missing cup!” 

His eyes close briefly. When they open again, they’re gleaming, fastened on your face. His intensity makes you squirm more than Sachi and Penguin’s teasing had. He’s standing near enough that your neck cranes upward. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you lift your chin to meet his eyes. 

“I’m glad you took it,” you say. “That way you won’t forget me.” 

“Forget you?” Law’s laugh is low and rough. After a pause he adds, “I’ll take the dog bowls. Add them to my tab.” 

“Oh, you have a tab now?” 

“Don’t I?” 

Mulishly you scuff your shoes in the dirt. Nose crinkled with unwillingness to relent. “I’ll require down payment,” you tell him. 

“Oh?” 

“It doesn’t have to be cash.” Gnawing on your lips, and glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, you tack on, “Does getting your mouth and tongue all over that cup remind you of me?” 

“No,” Law says. “It doesn’t talk back.” 

“Look who’s talking.” 

“I don’t tongue it. That’s weird.” 

“Tongue me, then.” 

“Take off your pants and I will.”

“Oh, yeah? Here and now? Where a few dozen people will be walking by in the next fifteen minutes?” 

“I’ll do it,” Law says. A shiver goes up your spine. The rumble of his voice is difficult not to believe, the breadth of his chest only a whisper away. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. Lower, now, he continues: “But you have to tell me why you’re putting my tattoo designs on soup bowls and selling them.” 

Ugh. You should’ve known that would come back to bite you. 

“Because I think about you when I’m making pottery,” you tell him. Any hint of shame, he’d sniff out. Any suggestion of insecurity, and he’d pounce. He tended to do that, skirting around conversations as if they were battlefields. You’d learned long ago that the appearance of surrender brought him closer. 

His brows raise, as if shifting through the meaning behind your confession. “Is that the only time?”

“No. I think about you a lot.” 

Most of the time. Almost always. Life didn’t often require your full attention: making pots and bowls and platters was as mindless as folding laundry. And your singing chases birds away. Filling your mind with memories of the past or hope for the future with him kept the hours of dragging on too long. 

“So.” Law’s fingers reach out to brush against yours, but he doesn’t take your hand. Not yet. A breeze tickles his shirt, fluttering the short sleeves and the hem. How hadn’t Saizu noticed the similarities between his precious soup bowls and the exposed swirls on Law’s chest? You could draw the patterns in your sleep. “About this down payment.” His half-smirk blooms into a grin. He must have liked what you’d said. 

Tipping forward on your toes, you smile up at him. “What do you have to offer, Trafalgar?” 

He shrugs. “My body, mostly.” “Best merchants in the North Blue,” you laugh. “Saizu thinks a lot of you. And here you are, offering sex for dishes.” 

“I know what you like,” Law says. His fingers press into the inside of your wrist before skating higher, slipping beneath the sleeve of your coat. “I have strong negotiation power.” 

“I know what makes you cross-eyed and tongue-tied,” you counter. “My negotiation power is just as strong.”  

He grips your arm, tugging you along as he walks backward into the darkened alley. His smile is briefly lit by the market lights before blackness swallows him up. A moment later, and you’re swallowed, too. 

Without warning you’re pushed against a stone wall, the gasp of surprise swallowed up by Law’s mouth covering yours with unerring accuracy. His hands are all over your front, his mouth devouring. And you yield: your fingers clutch around his neck, tickled by his hair escaping from his hat. 

“Mmm,” resonates from his chest. Your hands slide down, finding his hot skin every inch of the way. Beneath his collar, over his shoulders. The night isn’t so chilly with his body snug against yours and heat building between your legs like a furnace. 

A burst of laughter escalates from your middle to your throat and out of your mouth. Law gives a grunt of displeasures when he pulls away. “What’s that for?” he asks roughly. 

“I didn’t realize I scratched you up so bad,” you admit. “I’m sorry. Especially since your crew has been giving you a hard time.” 

“You’re giving me a hard time.” His lighting quip is punctuated by his hips angling into yours. Not willing to be drawn into a discussion of his crew, then. 

“Oh, my,” you coo, still on the verge of laughter. “That feels uncomfortable. Are you suffering?” 

“Immensely.” 

“And after one kiss?” 

“One - ” Law nearly croaks. “I’ve been fantasizing about this all day. Don’t you remember?” 

Vague memories from his interruption at your pottery wheel and verbal foreplay surface in your mind. Gripping onto his shoulders, but with the pads of your fingers instead of the nails, you hum, nodding. “You may have mentioned it,” you say. Pinned in place by his body, you tip forward to find his jaw with your lips. “Once.” A kiss. “Twice.” Another. “All-freaking-day.” Down to his throat, where you bite the flesh near his Adam’s apple. Law’s laugh vibrates through your mouth. 

“Your fingers are ice,” he says. He wraps his own, much warmer, much larger fingers around yours, pulling them gently away from his shoulders. 

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now,” you tell him. 

“I’m not. I want to go home where you can get warm enough not to make my balls shrivel up from these icicles.” Brows raised, he makes his point by rubbing your fingers together between his hands, warm blossoming like a summer sun-kiss. 

Home. Home. He thought of your house as home? 

Law stops rubbing your fingers. “What’s with the look?” 

No weakness. He’ll sniff it out. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s a long walk back, are you sure you’re up for ten minutes of chastity?” 

Amusement flicks his lips upward, then long-suffering stamps them back down. Mouth drawn in a line, Law drapes a long arm around your waist until your chests are pressed together like clay, ready to be pinched together to be sealed for eternity. A leap in your chest causes a gasp, his eyes sparkling like dark diamonds as he studies your face. 

“Hmm,” he says. 

His mouth descends on yours. And sometime during that kiss, the building behind you isn’t blocking the wind anymore; but a brisk, sea-breeze sizzles through your clothes to pop goosepimples up and down your skin. With a shriek you jump in Law’s embrace, cheeks stinging with cold. Above his head, the moon shines. No longer blocked out by the bluffs protecting the town, or the town itself; a harsh, pearly light. 

“I hate it when you do that,” you say, but it’s a half-hearted complaint. He’s warm and you’re not: you snuggle in closer to his chest, putting your cheek on the top of a black whorl immortalized in Saizu’s bowls. 

“I know.” Lips send more warmth from your scalp to your tippy-toes. “That’s why I do it.” 

“And that’s your romantic way of trying to earn a long, cozy night of lovemaking?” 

“I think I clinched that back in the alley,” Law says. “If not three years ago.” 

Little prick. You set your chin on his chest to glare up at him, but he only grins unrepentantly back. He’s right and he knows it. That’s what’s so insufferable. 

“Carry me inside and we’ll see,” you say by way of negotiation. 

His grin widens. “Actually,” he says. “I have a better idea.”

You catch on when his arm becomes a vise around your waist. “Law, no!” 

But it’s too late. The night sky spins in black and moonlight and starlight.

[interiorergonomics]

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[ofgarnett]

who: @ajastor

where: Atlas Jay's Alchemy Penthouse, 7:00pm

They arrive on the cusp of transfiguration, dusk bleeding into the penultimate hour of Dorian’s long-promised becoming. Restlessness flickers through Cait’s marrow like static; each heartbeat is a knuckle rapped against the cage of her ribs, reminding her the passenger is awake and pacing.

Inside the shared hush of their skull, she recites the ledger: the deal signed with Astor, the blood spilt. Dorian listens, a serpent coiled around her spine, and in rare unanimity they agree—yes, this is the only proper sequence. Order amid the havoc they intend to loose.

The last time Cait faced Atlas Jay Astor she stood alone in her own skin; tonight she is a two-voiced chorus wrapped in a single body. She has not volunteered that fact—even Jameson didn’t discover Dorian until the spirit was laced around his lungs like winter frost. Still, secrecy has a half-life, and Astor is an observant witch. The moment he asks for proof of possession with a 'Well where’s the possession, Garnett Girl?’ she'll have to confess: 'It’s in my body right now.’ 

She balances the draft spell in her palms—a palimpsest of marginalia: her meticulous revisions, Jameson’s counter-glyphs, a millennium of Dorian’s occult calculus. Hypotheses refined, variables punished, theorems carved into bone and smoke. All of it distills to this single sheaf of vellum, trembling only because she refuses to.

Astor’s penthouse door looms. He’d sworn the workspace met exigent standards; if it doesn’t, Cait fully intends to flay his pride with her tongue. But she is ready—has always been ready. A lifetime spent coaxing this bloom from poisoned soil.

Tonight, Dorian takes the wheel. He has rediscovered the utility of an alchemist, having once worn that mantle through at least three gilded epochs: Bohemia, Kraków, and finally, Kyoto. Those centuries weigh nothing as he lifts Cait's fist and raps. The latch clicks; the door sighs open on a hush of conditioned air.

“Astor,” Dorian says through her lips as a greeting. He holds up the manuscript - for him. All business. “Your reputation suggests we can close the circle and be finished before dawn.”

[whohasfourthumbsand]

[ Attachment added; Untitled022.omniv ] [ Begin playback; ]

GRAY — "I apologize, but my other projects had to take a backseat for a day or two— I know that I was working on some very important things, for some very important people, but I had a thought, or, rather, an idea, and, and I needed to tend to that first—"

[ The young pilot's tertiary hands adjust the camera, perching it on a shelf just a few inches above his eye-line. He's uncomfortable close to the viewer for a moment; His exhaustion is plain in his face, visible in the lines beneath his eyes, or the unkempt nature of his hair. He isn't shaking, however, nor does he seem ill; He's merely worn out, worn thin, and a little frayed. ] [ His dominant hands are visible as he steps back, gesturing vaguely as he speaks, but not signing. The voice of his TTS interface buzzes from the PDA strapped to his hip, but he isn't touching the keys. ]

GRAY — "Our nanite 'problem' was easy enough to solve- disable them with an EMP device, gather them into an admittedly simple container, transport them to a designated area to be dealt with by a professional." GRAY — "Except— no-one knew that I had them. No-one knew that there was even a 'problem' to begin with." GRAY — "And, in the moment, I suppose I was taken with a sort of nostalgia- I have experience with these things, with greywash and its ilk, and I've seen how useful it can be when properly utilized. I have an affinity for things like this. Things so single-minded in their purpose, these things built to eat, to grow, to deconstruct what it means to be alive." GRAY — "Though, It wasn't my idea, really, to keep them- I've got a bleeding heart, no doubt, and had already gotten a little attached to it even as it destroyed my workspace, and gnawed at my chassis. I figured- I thought, why not give it a more comfortable container, and, possibly, make myself and my brother a little safer at the same time?"

[ Gray doesn't smile. He steps back, two hands held out to the camera, palms forwards, urging the viewer to wait as he briefly steps offscreen. A moment later, he reappears, grabs the camera, and holds it aloft; A quick pivot on the heel of his boot, and the camera's perspective widens, revealing the nanite-ravaged workshop— ] [ —and a Combat Drill, laid out in the center of the large workspace, partially deconstructed and heavily modified. Gray leans closer, focusing the camera on the head of the drill. ] [ Something buzzes along the metal's edge. ]

GRAY — "I couldn't be prouder of how it turned out." GRAY — "Now; I'm going to get some sleep, and, hopefully, resume work on my obligations in the morning. Afternoon. Whenever I wake up." GRAY — "Hopefully, I'll feel more like myself after some rest."

[ Close attachment. ]

UPDATING LICENSE: TR-GRAE-007 -- IPS-N Vlad @ LL9 -- [ LICENSES ] IPS-N Vlad 3, IPS-N Tortuga 1, IPS-N Zheng 2, IPS-N Blackbeard 1, HORUS Balor 2 [ CORE BONUSES ] Titanomachy Mesh, Fomorian Frame, Auto-Stabilizing Hardpoints [ TALENTS ] Duelist 3, Technophile 3, Black Thumb 2, Executioner 2, Pankrati 2 [ STATS ] HULL:3 AGI:2 SYS:0 ENGI:6 STRUCTURE:4 HP:19 ARMOR:2 STRESS:4 HEATCAP:12 REPAIR:5 TECH ATK:-2 LIMITED:+3 SPD:5 EVA:10 EDEF:8 SENSE:5 SAVE:16 [ WEAPONS ] FLEX MOUNT: SUPERHEAVY WEAPON BRACING MAIN MOUNT: Tiger-Hunter Combat Sheathe HEAVY MOUNT: Combat Drill (Nanocomposite Adaptation) // Auto-Stabilizing Hardpoints [ SYSTEMS ] Siege Ram, Synthetic Muscle Netting, Total Strength Suite II, Swarm Body WAKE UP

[falloulex]

Can you give us more descriptions about the casino? And mayhaps some headcanons about how our ocs and characters interact with it? <3

Regarding Alex's casino,

I don't have a lot of details or solid plans about how it will look or function in the story,

Right now, I'm calling it the "King's Crown Casino", although I don't know if that's permanent or not yet.

I liked the idea that the color palate is lots of black, and grey, and purple, I think that palate is kind of fitting of the vibe Alex himself would give off.

When Alex delivered Evangeline (@skyrim-crossing) to the Lucky 38, House offered him a reward, and Alex requested that House help rebuild the casino with the aid of the Securitrons

After some arguing about improper utilization of securitron models, House eventually relented at the request of his daughter, and The King's Crown was rebuilt, the top floor renovated into Alex's personal workspace, and the warehouse redesigned (without House's help or knowledge) to serve as the base of operations for Alex's raider activities.

He keeps the raider and casino businesses separate, for all intents and purposes the Casino's work is extremely professional and 'legal' (if legality is even a concept that has any meaning in this new world)

The casino itself sits on the way to Freeside, but far enough away that most caravanners and travelers use it as a rest stop before continuing their journey, as such as it has all the amenities that a good rest stop has - there's restaurants, there's a mall, kind-of, sort-of, it's a small handful of opened shops selling the bare essentials, weapons, ammo, armor, food, chems, so on and so forth, but a vast majority of this mall is closed off and abandoned.

It tends to cater more towards the average wastelander, as opposed to most of the casinos in New Vegas that thrive on glitz and glamour,

The showroom mostly has the same cast of characters, a couple singers and actors doing their own thing mostly unsupervised, but that also means that they lack any true vision in what they are doing, so it's not the most popular aspect of the casino.

As far as security goes, Alex spares no expense, he has automated turrets at every entrance and on every side of the building, and due to his close friendship with The King, that faction oftentimes serves as hired guards, and when the King needs a break from the stresses of Freeside, he has a nice fancy suite in the Casino's hotel.

There's an indoor pool if you don't mind the rads, the purification systems are on their last legs, and until Evangeline eventually takes it upon herself to fix them so she can experience a clean shower again, Alex just kinda leaves em to rot away.

(This requires some context, after the death of Frank Horrigan in Fallout 2, the Chosen One is given a quest to bring his body parts to a merchant to sell as memoribilia. Alex got his hands on Horrigan's helmet, and it is his prized jewel, kept in a heavily guarded display in the game room.

The Casino has an 'inner circle' of people who take care of most of the responsibilities while Alex is away, they're something of a family of their own, with each member having dedicated tasks; one handles the merchants, one handles the gambling, one handles security, and one handles guest services and the hotel.

The showroom also serves as a psuedo-nightclub, when there aren't shows or performances happening, and the VIP booth is reserved pretty much only for Alex and his closest friends, because the price is too high to get in unless you are in the post-wasteland's 1% equivalent.

Alex's fondness of Sunset Sarsaparilla, lead to him distilling and creating an alcoholic moonshine variant of it that is sold exclusively in the Crown, aptly named "Sunshine" (this was inspired by Nukashine from 76, sue me lmao)

There's also a vintage diner right by the front door to the left when you walk in, they sell all kinds of pre-war foods made with post-war ingredients; brahmin burgers, gecko dogs, iguana on a stick (the iguana kind, not the Fallout 1 kind lmao), it's probably the most popular part of the casino, and entirely thanks to Evangeline's pre-war sassy ass being devastated that she couldn't find good burgers anywhere on the Strip.

I might add more to this and expand on the casino later, as time goes on, but for now, this is all I've got to offer,

Thank you for the question, Sugar. Love you! 🧡🧡🧡

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

omg yES I'd love a part two to the Captain Rex headcanons with an anxious reader with the relationship part since you offered! ;u; I loved the first part so much (and that you included more from the 501st!) tytytyty 💙💙💙

Aw anon I'm so glad! Thank you for coming back as well, and continuing to fuel my feelings for our fine captain. 💙

Warnings and Information: Largely the same as part one. Undescribed fem!Reader with unspecified anxiety/anxious tendencies. Lots of fluff and other good feelings, primarily. Follows bullet point format. No Mando'a used this time. Reader is given different "nicknames" from the Clones to by-pass the use of a name in some cases.

Word count: 2,458

The set-up 

The first time he goes to ask you if you'd like to grab some caf together, or go check out that little corner store not too far from the base by speederbike that one of your coworkers mentioned to you in passing, Rex puts in the effort to clean up his armor a bit. Now he doesn't go so far as to polish and repaint all the parts, but he doesn't want to look fresh off a battlefield either where he's caked in mud and dirt and ash. He wants to show you he cares by looking nice when he goes to lay out his offer. You're past the probationary period following your transfer, and he thinks it'd be nice to sort of celebrate that. 

You're in your jumpsuit, cheerfully strutting around the hangar to complete the necessary work a little earlier than usual this morning when he first sees you. "Good morning, Captain Rex!" You're all bright-eyed and sunny smiles for so early in the day. Must be in a really good mood now that you feel the weight that comes with being fresh blood in the "office" has been lifted from your shoulders. Can breathe a little easier when there are less eyes scrutinizing your every move. "You're in a good mood today." Rex replies, careful to keep the right balance of being personable and professional within earshot of other civilian staff, as always, "Is there a special reason?" Your grin and your body language tells him everything he needs to know. 

"Oh, no reason. Reasons, on the other hand…" you suggest, biting your lower lip to keep yourself from giggling within earshot of those same workers that you've seen him eyeing out of caution. You can afford to be a little braver now, but you should still be cautious. Rex smiles, delighted to hear and see that you're not feeling quite so anxious as you once were. You still have your nervous, self-soothing quirks like fiddling with the wrist-strap of your time device whenever you wear one, or twirling a stylus between your nimble fingers or rocking softly on the balls of your feet. Rex doesn't see you utilize them quite as often these days now that you're off probation, and it makes him feel so much better to see you more relaxed and comfortable here. 

He still asks his brothers to keep an eye on you or give you any help in his stead if he senses you becoming overly anxious about anything. Dogma still offers to take any paperwork down to General Skywalker for you (and is certain to remember to knock, now). Fives and Echo still hang out around your desk and your workspace whenever they get the chance. Tup drops by with small snacks or drinks from the mess if you can't spare a moment to get away from your work (and he'll never say no to an offer to help fix up his hair, either). Kix has been by a few times to come sit with you when the anxiety gets really bad, coaching you through your grounding exercises, or acting as a GAR medic (who has authority to treat civilian staff in non-emergency situations) he can administer something to take the edge off. And Jesse has made plausible excuses for you to your boss's face if you've needed to step away and collect yourself, if it's really severe. 

They all figure if the captain likes you, and on occasion asks them to check in with you for his "peace of mind" ("Captain Rex has a cruuuuush~" "Hardcase stop before you get yourself in troub-" "It's not just the Captain, Fives. She does too.") they shouldn't be afraid to cement their friendships with you anymore. 

“Oh, by the way, Captain,” you call over your shoulder as you walk off to where you’d been summoned, “your armor looks very nice today.” Unfortunately, you were called away to take care of something just as he plucks up his nerve to ask if you’d like to grab a cup of caf with him before the day really gears up, but he doesn’t have to wait much longer for another opportunity.

The first "date"

It comes as a rather impromptu and unofficial thing, with one of the mechanics shouting across the hangar as he wraps up his welding kit that the repairs have been finished on a LAAT that had taken a heavy beating. "Captain! Gunship's good to go!" These guys are good. You get to the gunship before Rex does, admiring the handiwork of the repairmen in awe. "Wow… almost looks brand new, doesn't it?" He agrees with a chuckle, elbow to elbow with you. "What's it like to fly in one of these?" you ask, turning to him with earnest curiosity. It surprises him. "Weren't you transferred to the base in one of these?"

You shake your head, the datapad cradled a little tighter against your chest. "No, I got here by passenger shuttle." 

Stay here, he tells you, he has an idea. He just needs to go find where Hawk is. 

Hawk takes little time to get kitted-up in order to go take the LAAT for a test flight. Rex boards the gunship first, taking hold of one of the handles overhead before offering a hand out to you to help you up. 

You regard the offered hand with mild apprehension, unclear if this is even allowed. "A-are you certain I can be up there? I'm just a civilian. I don't know that I can-" A simple smile is all he needs to calm you, quell your fraying nerves. “I’ll think of some clever excuse if anyone asks.” Rex promises you with one of his charming smiles and playful lift of his brow. He allows you to stand beside him so you feel more secure, showing you where best to grip the support handles as Hawk gears everything up. “Best hold on,” he warns you before you’d feel that lurch in your stomach as the ground falls away fast. 

He tells Hawk to take it pretty easy, just a few test laps around the base and not too fast, and Rex keeps his eye on you as Hawk climbs the gunship high enough for his liking. Any sign from you that this was getting to be too much, and he would call it off. But you’re all giddy smiles and awed murmurings as you bravely peek at the ground far below from time to time. 

“Beginning aerial test laps, Captain. I promise to go easy, ma’am!” Hawk calls back to the pair of you, beginning to maneuver and swing the gunship out to the right, making you bump hips with the Captain, unprepared to brace for the movement with your legs in addition to your upper body. You go to apologize, but he puts his hand on your opposite hip without a word (at first) to hold you a little closer to him to help you feel secure and steady. Rex apologizes to you for not warning you about the nature of the  turns. “Flown in these things more times than I can count; it’s all just second nature to me.” You suppose that makes a lot of sense, surely a little flushed in the face, being so close. On the next turn, you know to anticipate it this time, but you still lean pretty heavily against him.

What happens next however is absolutely not your fault. Hawk purposefully takes a much sharper turn as he completes one of his last laps, and with the centrifugal force you’re really pushed up against Captain Rex, practically chest to chest with him now, and then laughs apologetically from the cockpit. “Whoops, sorry sweetheart! Got a little carried away on that one. You alright?” You’re fine, you answer just loud enough for Hawk to hear, finding yourself still so close against Rex, his hand still on your hip to hold you steady. You and Rex look at each other for one long moment, almost missing what Hawk says about taking you in for a landing, feeling a little lost in the other’s eye…

Once you’re back on the ground, you thank Hawk for letting you come along on the test flight for the repaired LAAT. “Oh, you’re welcome! I hope it was nice despite that one turn. Just got a little ahead of myself and forgot you’re not used to those kinds of ships.” You promise it’s okay, and thank him again. You should probably get back to work now, you explain, a little color in your cheeks after smiling at Rex and bidding him goodbye next.

He makes no mention of the transfer-smear of lip product found on his Captain’s face, one that looks an awful lot like the color you’re wearing this morning, until he’s certain you’re out of earshot. “That’s a nice color on you, Captain.” Rex takes a moment to clean his cheek of the evidence, a gentle pout playing across his features, his broad nose creasing as he responds to Hawk’s compliment. “You swung too wide on that last turn before we landed…”

As partners 

It’s not long after that that things kick off. Secretly. There’s no official code or regulation against this (you’d know: Echo and Dogma checked for one extensively, separately and together) relationship taking place, but you’re going to keep it on the down-low for the most part. Rex has a professional image to maintain as a captain of the GAR, and you risk being transferred out should any of your higher-ups feel this partnership of sorts comes as a hindrance or serious detriment to your job as a civilian. (“Do you know how many want to be in your shoes? Do you have any idea just how sought-after this position is?” “A-A very good idea, actually. That’s why I’m here, sir. I promise, I’m not going to make any trouble.” (Oh how Fives and Jesse had wanted to give the civilian staff member you reported to a piece of their minds for talking to you like that.)) You and Rex find a way to make it work, with a little help from his brothers.

He visits you during work. Often as he can. Sometimes it's planned out in advance, where the two of you have lots of time alone. He makes sure that you're doing okay, and that you're taking care of yourself, of course, but primarily these opportunities to see you are just to spend time with you. Take his mind off of the war. Take your mind off of your job, or whatever troubles you. Sometimes it's discreet, spur of the moment little meetings in empty offices… or secluded corners his brothers have told him about. 

"There's a blind spot in the cameras around here," Hardcase explains, unprompted, one afternoon over nutrimush in the mess hall, "You can get away with a lot of stuff right there behind the shelving." He's not sure if he's about to reprimand Hardcase as his Captain or to thank him as a brother for this insight for a long moment. "What do you mean by get away with a lot of stuff, 'Case?" There's quite a few options it turns out. Stash some contraband, (re)paint your armor without being bothered too much, or just… y'know. Have a nap? (Damn, okay, aside from whatever Hardcase means by contraband that sounds like a pretty great spot.) "Maybe I'll… check it out." Rex agrees with a simple shrug. 

Oh and if he does, he has to be careful about a certain box on the shelves. Can't put empty snack wrappers back in it otherwise it'll attract ants again, Hardcase says he learned that one the hard way and it took a while to get it back under control just short of throwing away his whole collection of snacks. Two of them are welcome to just about anything they find in the box if Rex takes you there, but the energy drinks are off limits. 

"Or just leave Hardcase five credits if you do take one." Echo calls from a little further down the table, pouring over some section of the regulation manual related to your job that you were having trouble understanding. (They used a lot of unnecessary and complicated words because it was translated into Basic from another galactic language.) "Fives and I do it all the time." A few more brothers confirm that they do the same since being let in on Hardcase's little secret. Dogma insists he does not. "I don't like these crazy energy drinks they come up with. 'Trotting Tauntaun' and 'Hyperspace Rush'? Makes me feel sick to my stomach and my heart race…" (It's probably all the caffeine, Kix calls back to him from Rex's left. Dogma might have a low tolerance for it and that's why he doesn't like it.) 

This little nook within the hangar becomes the perfect place to decompress whenever Captain Rex notices you are looking more anxious than typical. One of his men has stashed away an old GAR-issue blanket that's stained with various smears of cobalt blue - 501st's Blue - but still plenty warm and comfortable to wrap up in. You can tell that it's Fives who added a little stack of flimsi scraps to write notes on the first time you come back here to this corner of the hangar with the Captain. Rex can see from a mile away that Kix is to thank for the healthier options within the box of Hardcase's snacks. 

You're both not sure who scribbled your name along with his under the list of people who were "invited" here, but it makes you cry, in a happy way. To welcome their brother here would be one thing - all Clones had come up with secret, secluded spaces for themselves to have their privacy and establish stealthy boundaries for themselves and their well-being - but they were inviting you too. None of your other colleagues know about this sequestered space. They trusted you to keep their secrets. They liked you. Really liked you. 

"To our Captain and his girl" the note begins, waiting for you both on top of the neatly folded blanket when Rex first helped you here, trying to help you settle your nerves after you were badly frightened by a speederbike backfiring outside the base as it whizzed past, "Welcome to our cozy little corner! We hope you like it here and trust that you'll keep it a better secret than General Skywalker and Senator Amidala being a "thing". Speaking of, figured it was time to let the loth-cat out of the bag now that you're both getting as serious as this war allows~. - The 501st"

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those fancy forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (for example just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

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