#supervisory role...like....

[asleepinawell]

have been dying over the fact byregot was the poor man hyth dumped all his paperwork on. the man behind the legend. after a hundred years of this he took one look at hyth's husband's grand plan to save humanity and fucked off to the resistance immediately lol

to make it funnier, byregot was also thaliak's apprentice at some point (mentioned in thaleia). this man has been bullied by twinks his whole career

[3liza]

feminist tentpole of providing women with one firearm and one large, protective dog

[cesium-sheep]

hm... another option I hadn't considered in a while is I could try to leverage arin's contacts to get a supervisory agreement in order to apply for a counseling certification... (not the same as a license, despite them both being called counselors in this state. license requires a master's, I only have a bachelor's right now. it does at least only require the fee for the certification, which will still be significantly less than getting eg an accounting certification from scratch, although I feel like work may be harder to find? I really don't know.)

[femvaylin]

Whelp I guess I'm back on Tumblr

[kiwriteswords]

hear me out, hear me out... is it possible to get shy!reader x bearded!hotch?????????????

Shades of Stubble

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy Female Reader||Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical themes, shy reader, teasing team, teenage Jack, bearded Hotch, post-season 10/11 with no Mr. Scratch, reader has a crush

Sypnosis: When Aaron Hotchner returns to the BAU sporting a beard after a rare week off, it draws more attention than he expects—especially from you, the shy but perceptive team member whose lingering glances reveal more than you realize.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t often take full advantage of the rare breaks the team received, but this time, a solid week away from the BAU had given him time to unwind—if that’s what growing a beard counted as. Normally, his morning routine was methodical, almost meditative—a quick splash of cold water to wake himself up, followed by lathering shaving cream across his jaw and carefully dragging the razor along the angles of his face. It was a task he’d repeated every day without fail, a ritual that helped him maintain the sharp, controlled image he knew his role required.

But when the break started, the razor stayed on the sink. The first morning, he told himself he’d get to it later. By the second, he rationalized that there was no harm in skipping a day or two. By the third, a faint shadow of stubble had appeared, and he caught himself in the mirror, running a hand along his jawline, curious. It wasn’t like the full beard he’d grown out during his time in Pakistan—this was something new, something... untethered. For once, he wasn’t adhering to his usual strict standards, and there was a quiet freedom in that.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d chosen to let it stay. Maybe it was exhaustion—seven days free of the ever-present weight of the BAU felt like both a luxury and an anomaly. Or maybe it was a small rebellion against the routine that so often defined his life. This was about as rebellious as he got these days, maybe a silent nod to his pre-boarding school days, but nonetheless. He didn’t have to answer to anyone for a week, and he didn’t have to fit into the box of Aaron Hotchner, Supervisory Special Agent. He could just exist.

By the time the week ended, the beard had grown in enough to draw attention, though he hadn’t considered how it might be received by the team—or anyone else, for that matter. It wasn’t a decision he put much thought into, at least not until he walked into the bullpen on Monday morning.

The reaction was immediate, though not unwelcome. JJ’s playful quip cut through the usual hum of activity, and heads turned in his direction. He caught Rossi’s amused smirk, Morgan’s raised brow, and—most notably—your wide-eyed, stunned expression. For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt a little... self-conscious. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

JJ’s voice rang out across the room with playful familiarity. "It's baaaack!"

Heads turned, but Hotch’s gaze landed on you. You were seated at your desk, a pen in your hand paused mid-air, as if frozen in the act of jotting something down. Your eyes widened when they met his, and though you tried to look back at your work, Hotch caught the way your cheeks flushed, betraying your reaction.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed you looking at him like that—soft glances quickly averted, the occasional stammer when he addressed you directly. He’d always assumed you were shy by nature, but there was something about the way you reacted to him in particular that stirred a feeling he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. Not until now.

He crossed the bullpen, nodding a silent acknowledgment to JJ, who grinned knowingly and sipped her coffee. As he passed your desk, he noticed your gaze dart up to him again, only to quickly drop back to your notes. Your pen moved, but the faint smile tugging at your lips told him you weren’t really focused.

“Good morning,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet bubble you seemed to have surrounded yourself with.

Your head shot up, your eyes meeting his again before flickering to the beard and back. “G-Good morning, Hotch.”

There it was—that hesitation, that barely there crack in your voice. You managed a small smile, but your hands fidgeted with the pen, betraying your nerves.

He nodded, letting the moment linger just a second longer than usual. “I hope you had a good week.”

“I did,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly, before glancing away. “Did you?”

“I did.” His lips twitched in a barely-there smile. “It’s rare to have so much time off. I’ll see you in the meeting room.”

With that, he moved on, climbing the stairs to his office, though he couldn’t resist glancing back once. You were still sitting there, staring blankly at your notebook, one hand pressed against your cheek as though trying to will away the blush.

The day moved forward with its usual rhythm—briefings, paperwork, follow-ups on ongoing cases. But throughout it all, Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. The way your gaze flickered toward him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your voice softened when you addressed him. And, of course, the way your blush deepened whenever someone—namely Morgan—commented on the beard.

“Looking rugged, Hotch,” Morgan said during lunch, his grin teasing as always. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Hotch replied simply, though he couldn’t help noticing you sneaking a glance at him from across the table. He decided not to meet your eyes this time, sensing you’d only shrink further into yourself if he did.

By the end of the day, Hotch found himself in the bullpen again, finishing a conversation with Rossi. As the older man walked away, he turned to see you standing by your desk, gathering your things for the evening. You glanced up and froze when you realized he was watching you.

“Heading out?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, clutching your bag tightly. “I, uh... just finishing up.”

“Good.” He paused, then added, “I’ve noticed you’ve been very focused today. I appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he thought you might not respond. Then you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He didn’t miss the way your gaze lingered on his face—on the beard—before you ducked your head again, clearly embarrassed by your own boldness. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement—and something else, something warmer, deeper—at your reaction.

“Have a good night,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You too,” you replied, finally looking at him again. And this time, there was a tiny smile on your lips—shy, but genuine.

As you walked away, Hotch stood there for a moment, watching you go. He didn’t usually dwell on personal matters, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about something—or rather, someone—other than the job.

Hotch lingered in the bullpen after you left, his gaze fixed on the space you had occupied only moments before. The quiet hum of the office around him faded into the background as his thoughts drifted. You had always been reserved—soft-spoken, diligent, and almost painfully shy in his presence—but tonight had felt different. The way your cheeks had flushed when you glanced at him, the way your voice trembled ever so slightly when you said, “Good night,” lingered in his mind like a melody he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way you avoided his gaze during meetings or the nervous energy that seemed to bubble to the surface whenever he was near. At first, he chalked it up to his position, assuming you were simply wary of interacting with your boss. But over time, he began to notice the subtler details—the way your focus seemed to falter when he entered the room, the way your lips pressed together in a shy smile whenever he acknowledged you. He couldn’t deny that your reactions had begun to stir something within him.

With a sigh, Hotch headed up to his office, closing the door behind him. The mirror by his coat rack caught his eye, and he approached it, scrutinizing his reflection. The beard, now fully grown, had transformed his appearance in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It softened the sharpness of his jawline, gave him an edge that felt rugged and unpolished. It reminded him of a different time—a different man—but also felt like a small reclamation of his identity beyond the suit and title.

He ran a hand over the coarse hair, considering whether it was time to shave it off. His routine had always been a source of stability in his chaotic life, and the beard felt like an indulgence he wasn’t sure he could afford to keep. Yet, as he stood there, the image of your wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. The way your blush deepened when JJ’s comment drew attention to him. The tiny, shy smile you offered as you said goodnight.

A warmth spread through him, surprising in its intensity. He’d seen countless reactions to his decisions over the years—respect, defiance, admiration—but the unfiltered awe in your eyes when you looked at him tonight was something else entirely. It wasn’t about the beard, he realized, not really. It was about you, and the thought that he might have been the reason for that smile, fleeting as it was.

Hotch turned away from the mirror and sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair. The thought of shaving the beard felt distant now, almost trivial. He knew he would eventually, but for now, he decided to keep it—if only to see if he could coax another smile from you.

And maybe, just maybe, to hear your voice tremble in that sweet, shy way one more time.

Aaron Hotchner stood in his bathroom, razor in hand, staring at his reflection. The beard was staying—for now—but it was time to bring it under control. He wasn’t the type to let his appearance slip too far, and even if the beard was uncharacteristic for him, it didn’t have to be unruly. With steady hands, he trimmed the edges, shaping it neatly to suit his features. The coarse sound of the trimmer filled the quiet bathroom as he worked methodically, the precision calming in a way that reminded him of his usual shaving routine.

When he was satisfied, he stepped back to examine the results. The beard was tidier now, the lines clean and deliberate. It still felt like a small rebellion against the rigidity of his usual image, but it was a rebellion on his terms.

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts from the hallway. “You’re keeping it?”

Hotch turned to see his son leaning against the doorframe, a teasing grin on his teenage face. Jack had grown so much, taller now, his voice deeper, but the playful light in his eyes hadn’t changed.

“For now,” Hotch replied, setting the trimmer down. “Why? You don’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I mean, it’s fine. Just... you look like you’re trying to be cool or something.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, amused. “Trying to be cool?”

“Yeah,” Jack teased, crossing his arms. “Like, what’s next? Leather jackets?”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to suits, thanks.”

“Good call,” Jack said, grinning as he walked away. “But don’t blame me if people start calling you ‘Hotch the hipster.’”

Hotch rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a towel and cleaned up.

The next morning at the BAU, the beard caught its usual share of attention. You were the first to notice when Hotch walked into the bullpen, your eyes flickering up from your desk. As usual, you tried to hide your reaction, but Hotch caught the way your gaze lingered on him before you quickly looked back at your screen. He felt a small, unfamiliar pang of satisfaction.

Throughout the day, it became a pattern. Your eyes would drift toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. You seemed more flustered than usual, fumbling over your words when he asked you a question during a meeting and avoiding his gaze entirely when Morgan teased him about the beard.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Rossi made his move. The two of them were standing by the coffee machine when the older man gave Hotch a knowing look.

“So,” Rossi began, casually stirring his coffee. “You’re keeping the beard.”

“For now,” Hotch replied, taking a sip from his own mug.

Rossi smirked, his tone light but unmistakably teasing. “I think someone likes it.”

Hotch frowned slightly. “Jack? He’s made his opinion very clear.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jack.” Rossi’s smirk widened as he nodded toward the bullpen, where you were seated at your desk, your gaze darting toward Hotch once again before you quickly turned your attention back to your papers.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rossi chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You might want to pay attention, Aaron. She’s not as subtle as she thinks.”

Hotch glanced toward you once more. You were chewing on the end of your pen, deep in concentration, oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

He turned back to Rossi, shaking his head. “Let it go, Dave.”

“Sure, sure,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with false innocence as he pushed off the counter. “But for what it’s worth, I think the beard suits you. Clearly, I’m not the only one.”

Hotch didn’t reply, but as Rossi walked away, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of him was glad he’d decided to keep the beard. If nothing else, it gave him one more reason to notice the way your cheeks flushed and your gaze lingered just a little too long.

Hotch was used to reading people—it was part of his job. He could pick apart the smallest details in someone's behavior, uncovering motives and intentions hidden beneath the surface. But when it came to you, he had learned to tread carefully. You were quiet, meticulous, and hardworking, but there was a guardedness about you that he respected, even if he didn’t entirely understand it.

The subtle glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your voice softened when speaking to him—it had all been easy to dismiss as shyness. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was more to it. Rossi’s teasing hadn’t helped, planting a seed of curiosity that grew every time your gaze lingered on him just a second too long.

The revelation, however, came unexpectedly, in the middle of a case briefing.

The team was gathered in the conference room, the case details spread across the table. Hotch was at the head of the room, presenting the profile, when he asked a question about the unsub’s potential targets. You were the one who answered, your voice steady but quiet, offering an insight that made the rest of the team nod in agreement.

“Good observation,” Hotch said, his tone even but sincere. “That could narrow down the list.”

Your eyes darted to him, and for a moment, there it was again—that slight hesitation, the way your gaze lingered on his face before you quickly looked down. It was subtle, but it wasn’t lost on him.

What followed, however, wasn’t subtle at all.

“Careful, Hotch,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Keep praising her like that, and she’s gonna think she’s your favorite.”

The comment drew a few chuckles, but your reaction was what caught Hotch’s attention. You froze, your cheeks turning a deep shade of red as you fumbled with the pen in your hand.

“I—uh—I didn’t...” you stammered, your words trailing off as you avoided everyone’s gaze, especially his.

JJ, ever the empathetic one, tried to steer the conversation back to the case, but Morgan wasn’t done. “I’m just saying,” he added, his grin widening, “you don’t see him handing out compliments like that to the rest of us.”

“Enough,” Hotch said, his tone firm but not harsh, cutting off the teasing. He could see how uncomfortable you were, your shoulders tense as you kept your eyes glued to the table.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and as the team dispersed, Hotch stayed behind, watching as you gathered your things with hurried precision. He could see the embarrassment still etched on your face, the way you avoided looking at him as you moved toward the door.

“Wait,” he said, his voice stopping you in your tracks. You froze, gripping the edge of the file folder in your hands as he stepped closer.

“Sir?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his tone softer now. “Morgan’s comments—”

“They were just jokes,” you interrupted, though your cheeks were still flushed. “It’s fine.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your grip on the folder tightened. And then, as if unable to hold it in any longer, you blurted out, “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

That caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the door as if debating whether to make a run for it. But then you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly as you said, “I—it’s nothing. I just... I know I’m not subtle. I’ve been trying, but...”

You trailed off, your words hanging in the air between you. Hotch felt his chest tighten, the weight of what you weren’t saying suddenly very clear.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes wide and uncertain. “I’m not making this weird, am I? I don’t want to... I mean, I know you’re my boss, and I shouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted gently, his tone firm but kind. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the room thick but not unpleasant. Hotch could see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you seemed torn between fleeing and staying rooted in place.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch nodded, stepping back to give you space. “Take the rest of the day if you need it.”

You shook your head quickly, a small, shy smile appearing despite your obvious embarrassment. “I’m okay. I just... I’ll try to be more professional.”

“There’s nothing unprofessional about being yourself,” Hotch replied, his voice calm and measured. “Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, you nodded, clutching your folder tightly as you slipped out of the room. Hotch watched you go, his thoughts swirling as the door clicked shut behind you.

For a man who prided himself on being able to read people, the realization of your feelings hit him like a revelation he hadn’t seen coming. And yet, as he stood there in the empty conference room, he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him at the thought.

Aaron Hotchner lingered in the empty conference room after you left, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence. He was rarely caught off guard, but your words—and the vulnerability behind them—had shaken something loose within him. You hadn’t outright said the words, but the implication was clear. And now that it was out in the open, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the signs before.

He sat down, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he let himself think about it—about you. The way you’d look up at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your cheeks flushed whenever he praised your work, the way you stumbled over your words in meetings but always managed to recover with a thoughtful, intelligent point.

And then there was his reaction to it all. How his gaze would linger on you longer than it should. How your shy smile had a way of softening the edges of his day. How, against his better judgment, he found himself looking forward to the moments you shared, no matter how brief or inconsequential they might have seemed.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair. He’d spent so long guarding himself, compartmentalizing his emotions to stay focused on the job. But with you, those walls had started to crack, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Your presence had a way of grounding him, reminding him that there was still room for warmth and connection in his life.

Later that evening, Hotch was in his office, going over the case files, when a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, expecting one of the team.

Instead, it was you. You stepped inside hesitantly, your file folder clutched to your chest like a shield. “I just wanted to apologize,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “Again. For earlier.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hotch said, his tone gentle as he set the file aside. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his before darting away again. “I just—I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

Hotch stood and rounded the desk, leaning against the edge of it as he regarded you carefully. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

That made you look up, confusion flickering across your face. “What? Why?”

“Because I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve noticed the way you look at me. The way you try to hide it. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make you feel self-conscious. But I also didn’t want to admit to myself that I’ve been doing the same thing.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as his words sank in. “You... what?”

Hotch offered a small, almost hesitant smile. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. To convince myself that it’s unprofessional or impractical. But the truth is, I feel it too.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. He could see the disbelief in your expression, the way you seemed to be processing his words in real time.

“I don’t know where this goes,” Hotch continued, his tone careful but sincere. “But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”

You stared at him, your grip on the file loosening slightly. “I didn’t think... I mean, I never thought you’d...”

“I know,” he said gently. “I haven’t exactly made it easy to tell.”

A small, tentative smile broke across your face, and Hotch felt a warmth spread through him at the sight. It was as if some unspoken weight had lifted, leaving room for something lighter, something brighter.

“I guess we’re both bad at this,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of shy humor.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. But we can figure it out.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing as your smile grew. “Okay.”

For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel the full weight of hope, the possibility of something beyond the job, beyond the walls he’d built around himself. And as he watched you leave his office, your steps lighter than before, he couldn’t help but think that this—whatever it was—might just be worth the risk.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[elumish]

If you are part of any of the many companies that are doing away with their DEI stuff right now (as mine is), especially if you are in any sort of supervisory, managerial, or leadership role, now is the time to double down on mentorship and support, particularly for your marginalized coworkers and subordinates.

Executive orders, laws, or company policies can't stop you from being a good person. You have power to be kind, to be compassionate, to be intentional, to be just. Help people up the ladder after you.

And even if you are junior staff or you feel like you have no power to help anyone or change anything, you still have the ability to be kind. You always have the ability to be kind.

[bellesdomain]

@roykiller07 There's been some costumes on display on mannequins, which might help staring at the technical details for how Electra fits together? It's easier to see when not on a living actor!

John Napier's basic concept is "toy - trains" - like action figures, the joints are emphasised as the joints are needed to allow the rigid mechanics to move! This is the opposite of his work on the musical "Cats", where almost all the seams, the joints between fabric even, are eliminated or hidden to make the performers as smooth and fluid as possible. For Starlight, we don't have fluid, we have chonky!

The German costumes are duplicates of the Broadway costumes made by Parsons-Meares in 1987, the Parsons-Meares costumes were used as the basis for all productions except the original London production in 1984 - and now the 2024 Wembley production. (Though I believe a few makers who worked on the London show in its later years did also work on the Wembley costumes, but not in a design/supervisory role, so things like construction methods probably didn't get carried across.)

Anyway! The Classic Broadway / Bochum costumes by John Napier rely heavily on a basic bodysuit, often padded and quilted, with belt, vest, elbow, kneepads, gloves, thigh pads, etc, attached.

Here's Espresso's basic suit, knees and thigh patches remain connected - Espresso's performer has to quick change between the engine and the gang costumes. there's a zip the full length of the leg so he can change without removing skates!

The coaches are a bit different of course, being lighter, more shapely.

The coaches have leotard and leggings, with plenty of anchor points to hold the other pieces in place.

As to what it all means? That's quite a different question! The original designs are mostly collages of photos of trains, they're meant to get the idea of the mechanics across rather than being a literal representation in most parts.

Generally it's understood that the bands around ankles etc are springs, the big shock absorbers. Elbows have buffers, the coaches arms and legs have windows - their shoulders are the carriages.

I'm sticking to the Broadway/original Bochum designs here - the original London were very experimental and done on a shoestring budget. They poured money into the Broadway designs - it was the 1980s after all! Later costumes have had less overall concept behind them, they just "Look like Starlight Express". And the Gabriella Slade costumes? I have no clue. but they're shiny.

[yuurei20]

Hi :D, I hope you can help me if you can :c , I would like to read the mangas and 4komas of twisted wonderland, but how can I find them? and this question is strange, but I would like to know who are the manga artists, how can I find out? I fell in love with the drawing style of savanaclaw's manga

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! ❤️🦁🐙 The manga and 4koma are being released on a somewhat erratic schedule in G-Fantasy magazine, available from Amazon, and coming out this week!

The magazine itself releases on the 18th of every month but the manga releases are difficult to predict: Savanaclaw was on a temporary hiatus while the mangaka had COVID, only the 4koma was released in November, only Octavinelle and the 4koma are coming out this month, and we have't seen any new Savanaclaw since July 2024?

But a second hiatus has yet to be formally announced and the manga continues to be published in book format, with Octavinelle starting before Sanavaclaw was complete and possibly on track to end before it is finished?

There are at least five artists at work behind the Heartslabyul/Savanaclaw/Octavinelle/4koma manga (not including Yana herself, who might have a supervisory role)!

Starting with Savanaclaw 🦁 The artist is Oda Suzuka! (Website)

Other work she has illustrated for includes: ・Psychic Detective Yakumo ・Pretty Boy Detective Club ・Danzai no Dragnet ・The Villainess Who Aims to be a Nightingale

Unlike the artists for the Heartslabyul and Octavinelle arcs Oda seems to be working entirely by herself, doing both layout and illustration!

Layout design for the Heartslabyul arc was done by Hazuki Wakana, with illustrations by Kowono Sumire!

Yana explains that Hazuki and Kowono "…are staff members involved in art production for background settings, cards, and more in the Twisted Wonderland app."

There do not seem to be any SNS accounts or other published works associated with the names "Hazuki Wakana" or "Kowono Sumire," so they might be aliases for use in their work with D-6th.

Yana says that they are both also staff members that have been working with her on her manga, Black Butler, for many years.

The two artists will sometimes have messages to fans posted through Yana's Twitter account, like at the conclusion of the Heartslabyul arc and the start of Octavinelle.

Illustrations for the Octavinelle arc are also being done by Kowono Sumire, with layout design mostly by Hazuki Wakana except for chapter 11, which was done by longtime Black Butler assistant artist Nagaoka Chiaki (Twitter).

Yana says that her role is overall collaboration, character design and character creation (she says that in addition to creating the basis for Trey’s parents she also designed Riddle’s mother, including her face, but they ultimately left her in silhouette).

It is difficult to tell what Yana means by “overall collaboration," but she has shared a tweet about drawing the characters out herself for Kowono to base her work on.

(This might not apply to Oda who is not a member of D-6th, and I have not been able to find any tweets from either Oda or Yana about any collaboration that may be going on.)

And the 4koma is by artist "mochi"! (website)

They are also one of 18 artists who participated in the creation of volume 2 of the anthology manga! (The one in the middle with Lucius!)

[thommi-tomate]

Hello Bayern fans,

After a lot of speculation about me recently, I would like to take the opportunity to clarify things with this letter to you. Even after all these years, regardless of my playing minutes, I still have a lot of fun being on the pitch with the boys and fighting for titles together for our colors. I could have easily imagined myself in this role next year as well.

However, the club made a conscious decision not to negotiate a new contract with me for next season. Even if this was not in line with my personal wishes, it is important that the club follows its convictions. I respect this step, which the Executive Board and Supervisory Board certainly did not take lightly.

Understandably, I did not like the back and forth in public over the past weeks and months. However, I feel the same way about this as I do about my soccer game: it wasn't always characterized by perfection, but rather by thinking positively ahead to the next action. After a bad pass, you have to win the ball back with team unity. We've managed to do that in the past few days in trusting discussions.

I can feel the appreciation from everyone involved for my long time at fcbayern and feel deep joy at having played for my favorite club for 25 incredibly intense years. I will be forever connected to FC Bayern and to you through so many great moments together.

Now my full focus is on our sporting goals for the season. It would be a dream come true for me to bring the championship trophy home again and to reach the long-awaited Dahoam final at the end of May. I will give everything for that!

Thank you for everything that has been and for everything that is yet to come

Always forward FC Bayern!

[piratefishmama]

Some "After The End" facts about Nest for you, to clear up any questions anyone might be thinking about after the end because lmao i left a few strings loose, my bad:

Sadly, as a mated Alpha, Steve cannot continue his current role at the clinic because he'll always smell a little like another omega. HOWEVER, due to his truly spectacular self restraint with Eddie, due to how ready he was to put himself in danger for the sake of a patient, Owens had zero problems with promoting him to a supervisory/management role, so he wouldn't be dealing directly with the omegas anymore, just supervising the alphas on staff and providing them with support.

Gareth was very smug when he found out about them, proud of his unintentional wingmanning.

Robin didn't get in trouble for giving Eddie the tape.

Eddie still doesnt know what a scent mate is. Steve has tried explaining it.

Wayne's cold protective uncle thing very quickly melted under Steve's puppy eyes and golden retriever energy, it helped that Steve and his nephew were head over heels for each other too.

Eddie never has problems during his heat again, always very comfy and well looked after by his perfect Alpha. Pampered. He's very spoiled.

They wind up with three kids, two cats and a dog.

their eventually purchased house is chaos.

they regret nothing.

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 36)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (34)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN enjoyed her morning and flight back, still trying to comprehend what was happening. She’d wished she had time to go through Edinburgh itself but had been swamped all morning with emails relating to the expansion of staff. Lumos management were also a lot more vocal with her now that they’d all met and decided she should be directly involved with their meetings and decisions.

Once she’d landed, she’d Ubered to her and Jordan’s house to pick up Miles and give Blu a pat before she drove to the conference room in town. She’d arrived just after midday and was delightfully pleased to see the entire team was already there with canapes just working and bantering away. She greeted them all as she entered and as she walked to her seat, she realised there were a large bunch of flowers sitting in her space. She was a little confused. Was this from Catherine? From the team for the first round? From the hotel the conference room was in? She looked around for an explanation and only received a few grins in response. She gently touched one of her flowers and leant in to smell them before taking the card out of the top.

Hi little one,

Well done on your first round of women’s football!

I’m so proud of you, always, in everything that you do.

I can’t wait to see you soon in Spain.

I love you.

Lucy x

She blushed as her heart fluttered, again finding a few of those grins, yet now they were teasing. She didn’t mind being teased for it. She was proud of her relationship with Lucy. She moved the flowers more central in the table and took her seat, setting up her laptop and notes before sending a quick photo and text to Lucy.

She knew they had a lot to cover and made sure to text Jordan, asking for a heads up when she was headed home. She wanted to be there for her. She put her phone on the table and they began. They spoke about the first round, each team member talking about their experiences and ideas. They spoke about the interviews, the posts, the equipment, all of it. When they were done, YFN made sure they were all comfortable and confident with their roles and then dropped the bombshell. They were expanding. Already. She told them how happy and ambitious management were. They’d expanded from ten including YFN to fifty. This was a shock to everyone of course, however YFN managed to ease them.

“Fifty?!” Ruby almost yelled. “How much money does this company have?!”

“The company has a lot of faith in us…and they were very impressed with the first round.”

“But that’s mainly because your interviews were amazing…” Ethan countered.

“No, we all did amazing work.” Bridget disagreed.

“Fifty sounds like a lot, but it really isn’t,” she assured. “We have six games a week. Fifty is our new number so that we can have three videographers, three photographers, one editor and one interviewer per game. That’s forty-eight people. The extras will be Noel for IT as our posting and editing becomes even more sizeable, and myself.”

They thought this was definitely a lot more reasonable when it was put like that.

“Management are throwing money into us to not only expedite the process of growth, but to make sure we’re training and preparing for the international fixtures as well,” she explained. “We won’t just be doing WSL the entire time. Plus, there are the other leagues in Europe, and the other minor leagues in the UK.”

“But the training…” Emily almost whispered.

YFN nodded, running a hand through her hair a little stressed. “Oh, trust me, I know. We need to be fully prepped and confident for our games so we make the mistakes in practise rather than onsite.”

“Prior planning prevents piss poor performance.” Sam quoted.

“Exactly and I have a plan for that. Now we’re all new here but we’ve all been in the field, we’ve researched and prepped and decided on how to best create a product that suits our brand image. It’s because of this that my plan is to have you all in supervisory roles for the new team coming in. The new hires will arrive next Tuesday which gives us time to prep with them prior to our third round. I’ll put you into game groups and you can work together to prep during the week, with this group supervising each game group and taking a bit more responsibility. Teach them what you’ve learnt. Next week is going to be a long week, but we can do it. I’ll expect progress reports also as I can’t monitor fifty people. If someone is excelling, or not quite up to scratch, I expect to be told so we can sort it out prior to our game. Also…” she looked around the conference room. “…we’ve just acquired an office space in London. I understand that not everyone will live there, and I just want to state that when we’re up and running more comfortably, the people who live further away will be able to zoom our meetings instead if they choose. In the meantime, we’ll continue with our face to face meetings, though don’t neglect yourselves. If it becomes too hard to travel; let me know. We’re going to have enough people to cover each other, it’s okay.”

The rest of the meeting was fairly better as YFN had decided they would only start to worry about the new hires later on. Right now, it was about prepping for the next games.

Their schedule set out for the upcoming week was as such:

Man United vs West Ham (Leigh Sports Village, Manchester): 12th Nov 1200 – YFN and Ruby.

Spurs vs Liverpool (Brisbane Road, London): 12th Nov 1230 – Sam and Olivia.

Everton vs Chelsea (Walton Hall Park, Liverpool): 12th Nov 1300 – Ethan and Daniel.

Man City vs Brighton (Joie Stadium, Manchester): 12th Nov 1300 – Bridget and Emily.

Bristol vs Aston Villa (Ashton Gate Stadium, Bristol): 12th Nov 1400 – Matt and Noel.

Leicester vs Arsenal (King Power Stadium, Leicester): 12th Nov 1845 – YFN and Ruby (relocate from United vs West Ham); Matt (relocate from Bristol vs Aston Villa in Bristol est arrival: 1900).

The scheduling was tight because all of the games were on the same day, and she needed to be carefully logistically to make sure she didn’t have people driving out of their way unnecessarily. Luckily, Matt lived in Birmingham and would be able to get to the Leicester vs Arsenal game for YFN to get some good interviews of the players, one she was hoping would be Kyra and Courtney.

Before she knew it, the clock had ticked over to 5pm and Jordan had messaged.

Dory: Training just finished. I’ll be home in 20.

YFN: I’m coming. I’ll get take-away for us. What would you like, Dory?

Dory: Anything I’m not supposed to eat.

YFN: You’re amazing. See you at home soon, roomie x

YFN walked through the front door, pizza in one hand and flowers tucked under the other arm, her work bag slung over her shoulder. Regardless of this, Jordan was on her from the moment she opened the door, wrapping arms around YFN’s waist. After a cute little hug, YFN spoke when she felt Jordan getting emotional.

“Okay, firstly, I love you. Secondly, we’re eating before we talk. We need to get this comfort food into you before it goes cold.”

They settled onto the couch and devoured the pizza quickly, having to snatch it away from Blu at times. Then, Jordan spoke.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why? For having sex with someone you love? Someone who knows you and loves you too?”

“I guess it does sound better when you say it like that…”

“What happened? Tell me everything.”

Jordan sighed. “We dropped you off and came back home. We didn’t speak much in the car. She put her hand on my thigh, but I think it was more of a reassurance thing than a sexual thing. Then we spoke when we got home. I did exactly what you said, I sat far away so I wouldn’t be tempted by anything. She said the nicest things, YFN.” Jordan began to cry. “How much she loved me and missed me and how badly she’d screwed up. I couldn’t help myself, I cried and I couldn’t stop. I tried to hold it together. She comforted me and…” She put her hand on the back of the couch, presumably where they’d been sitting.

“Did you have sex right here?”

Jordan’s tears paused as she gave a cheeky, embarrassed smile.

“Ooookay I’m going to pretend I didn’t ask.” She reached out and brushed some of Jordan’s tears away. “Was it…bad?”

“No,” she admitted. “No, it was incredible. Probably the best sex I’ve had in my life. It was so desperate and passionate. I don’t know what happened, I missed her touch, I just melted.”

“Ah…and you cried after it?”

“No, I cried during it. It felt so good and to have her back so close to me. I missed her so much, YFN. I think after we’d been…doing it a while…the lust faded a little, and I just got scared. Scared that she made me feel so happy, made me feel so loved and then I got scared she’d leave again. I panicked and cried. She didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do. I told her to go.”

“She tried to stay?”

“Yeah of course but I was just a mess, I needed to be alone.”

YFN hesitated. “You pushed her away before she could leave you…”

“Is that what I did?” She whispered.

“Oh Dory, come here.” YFN pulled Jordan into her lap and wrapped her arms around her, stroking her supportively. YFN and Jordan were both very, very affectionate people, especially physically.

“I don’t know if I can trust her again. I th…thought I c…could.” Her crying increased and she clung to the front of YFN’s shirt.

“Did you tell her why you wanted her to go?”

“That’s the worst part…she begged me to stay. She was on her knees at one point. On her ACL torn knee…but I couldn’t look at her. I wanted her to go. I knew she had a long drive back to London. I knew it was late. I still kicked her out.” She shook her head. “She begged me all the way out of the door to explain what was happening. I just remember telling her, “I can’t handle you leaving me again.””

YFN’s stomach dropped for Leah. She finally got close to Jordan again. Close enough for sex. For intimacy. She must have been so happy…and in a split second it was all taken away from her because of that insecurity she’d planted in Jordan with her previous mistake.

“It’s okay…it’s okay. Leah will understand, trust me. Has she messaged you?”

Jordan nodded into her. “She’s sent me multiple messages since.”

“And have your feelings changed?”

“That fear of her leaving? It’s not going away anytime soon.”

“I think she needs to win your trust back. You two made a mistake by diving into sex.”

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You need to let her know that if she wants you, she needs to build that trust back. She needs to know that it may take a long time but it’ll be worth it because she’ll get to have you back.”

Jordan nodded. “You’re right…”

“If I’ve learnt anything over the past few days it’s that communication is key…”

“I just need a little space.”

“Okay…look, I’ll be at the Arsenal game on Sunday in Leicester. I’ll talk to her if you want? Explain a little…”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“Okay, I think you should message her asking for your space for the moment.”

“Can you do it?”

“I think this one is best coming from you, Jords.”

 She sighed but took her phone out and texted Leah without reading the messages the other woman had sent her.

“You won’t be at the Aston Villa game this week?”

YFN shook her head. “No, I’ll be covering Untied vs West Ham and then Leicester vs Arsenal.”

“But aren’t you going to Spain?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Yeah…I was planning on going Friday. Lucy has a game Saturday and then I’d fly back for the Sunday games.”

“You’re not staying for long, then? Lucy’s going to be upset.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I know, I planned on doing zoom for my meetings next week, but we’ve just expanded our employees by five hundred percent.”

“What the-”

“Oh, please don’t ask anything. I’m stressed and besides, tonight is all you, Jords. I think a phone call with Lucy and then with Katie and Caitlin may be just what you need, hm?”

Jordan agreed. “Yes, please! I’ll get rid of this rubbish and get us drinks while you message them.”

YFN opened her phone, hovering her finger above Lucy’s message before she remembered their phone call from last night. She bit her lip as she opened Instagram. Sure enough, the first posts were of Lucy boxing and YFN could feel her skin getting hot, and she squirmed as she also felt herself getting wet for her. God damn. Lucy. Those biceps. Lucy. That determined look. Lucy. She groaned.

“You okay?” Jordan asked from the kitchen.

“Yeah!” She called back and liked the post. She considered commenting and decided against that. She was worried how forward she would be in front of Lucy’s 750k followers.

YFN: Hey Luce, are you free for a call with Dory?

Lucy: Hi, little one. I’ve been waiting for your text. I smile when your name pops up on my phone. Yes, I’m free whenever you want me.

YFN: I always want you. And you’re always busy.

Lucy: Lies.

Jordan passed her a drink over the couch and she took a sip.

Lucy: Come to Spain and fuck the busy out of me.

She choked on her drink. Jordan gave her a look before she rolled her eyes as she made her own drink.

YFN: Behave. I’m barely hanging on with your Instagram posts.

Lucy: I hoped you’d like them…can we have a late-night call tonight when you’re free?

YFN: Yes, please.

It’s crazy how naturally they fell into teasing each other. She sent another message to the messenger with Katie, Caitlin and Jordan.

YFN: Hi! Are you all free for a group call with Dory and I in the next hour or so?

Caitlin: KEEN.

Katie: Only if we see your faces.

YFN: Done. I’ll message you soon!

Jordan joined her on the couch then and she called Lucy, giving Jordan the phone. Obviously, Jordan had Lucy’s number, but this was more convenient. She watched as the two old friends spoke, Lucy not failing to make Jordan grin and laugh. Of course she could. At one point they were even speaking about her, and YFN rolled her eyes, working a little on her laptop while they had their talk.

Their talk ended after about forty minutes, Jordan hanging up before YFN could talk to Lucy. She frowned. Lucy immediately texted.

Lucy: Call me in bed?

YFN: Okay, I’ll be about an hour, love. Thank you for that, she really needed it. You managed to cheer her up a lot.

Lucy: I know her too well. You’re welcome, though. Talk soon. x

YFN messaged the girls back then telling them to call whenever they were free. Apparently, that was immediately. Jordan and YFN on one end, Katie and Caitlin on the other. It was a hilarious conversation after Jordan had been honest about what happened with Leah to them. They’d given her support and told her to take her time which reassured her a little bit more. Katie had changed the mood of the conversation after that by introducing Coopurr by holding the cat up to the camera. Jordan responded in kind with Blu, of course. Then Caitlin surprised her fellow Australian with a question.

“Hey chicken, do you know what’s happening with Kyra? She’s been a bit off and we figured you might know…”

YFN hesitated. She didn’t want to keep anything from them, but knew it wasn’t her place. “Uh…yeah…it’s not really my place to say though…”

Katie turned to Caitlin. “I told you.”

“You were right,” Caitlin rasped. “It’s about Courtney then.”

They watched as YFN practically glued her mouth shut. Of course they knew. Courtney was a Matilda. Caitlin was a Matilda.

“Is that why you’re coming to our game now?”

“Oh, that's right! You two were so obvious when Kyra asked what game you were going to.”

“Mmnhmn. Yeah, look, all I can say is that I plan on interviewing them together. We’re going to start interviewing players in groups more, and also interviewing opposition together. So this weekend I’ll do a young interview with those two if I can catch Courtney, and then I’ll do an-”

“An old person interview? Rude.” Caitlin laughed.

YFN rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, we’re happy to do an interview with you, but I assume you want someone you haven’t talked to yet?”

“Yeah, you know, I was thinking Kim or…” She stopped herself as she looked at Jordan.

Jordan frowned. Leah. There was a moment of silence.

“That’s okay, you know.” Jordan reassured. YFN gave a grateful smile.

“…or Jen Beattie?”

“Are you in those little sleeping shorts of yours?” Lucy asked.

“Yes,” she almost whispered.

Lucy hummed. “Good. Take them off.”

YFN did as she was told, wriggling them off and turning back to her phone propped up against Lucy’s pillow.

“Shirt too.”

She pulled her shirt off, now fully bare beneath the sheets besides her socks. Lucy knew she loved her socks, though.

“I wish you could understand how much I want you right now.” She said a little exasperated.

“Tell me…” She whispered, looking at Lucy through the camera. She allowed herself to begin playing with one of her nipples and Lucy noticed, groaning.

“If you could feel between my thighs, you’d know just how much I miss you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you…I can’t seem to get you out of my mind.”

“Good.” She said almost harshly. “That’s where I belong. Inside your mind. Inside you. Now I need you to touch yourself. I need your hands to do what I wish mine were right now.”

“Guide me where you want me, Luce.”

“Put your free hand around your throat. Good girl. Squeeze a little. Argh…yes. You like that, hm? Two days and that’ll be my hand.”

“God I need you, Luce.”

“I have no idea how I didn’t fuck you silly the other night.”

“Because you love me,” she whispered, her hand moving down over her body and under the sheets. She knew Lucy would enjoy that visual.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

YFN paused. “No…”

“Hm.”

“Can I…?” She trailed off as she saw Lucy’s darkened eyes through the screen.

“Use your words, love.”

“Can I touch myself?”

“Yes, but don’t go inside. Not yet.”

She felt through the wetness of her body, not realising just how ready she was. She was tempted to slip a finger in, but Lucy told her she couldn’t just yet, and so she didn’t. Her fingers found her little bundle of nerves and began to play.

“That’s my girl,” Lucy groaned. “T…that’s my girl. Feel that.”

Lucy stuttering a little was proof to her that she was also touching herself. Her eyes rolled back at the thought and her body was twitching and getting tingly at the stimulation of her clit. They worked themselves up like that for a while, both moaning and shakily breathing. Hearing Lucy losing control was one of her favourite things. She just wished she were right there, rather than across a phone.

“Luce, c…can I go inside?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

She bit her lip and her back arched at the question, her fingers speeding up. She whimpered. “You, Luce. I belong to you.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t you ever fucking forget that. Two fingers inside, now.”

YFN eagerly thrust two fingers inside herself, her body jerking and her legs automatically widening.

“I want to hear you.”

YFN released one of her nipples to drag the phone down and place it on her left thigh. She could hear Lucy groaning from the other end. She threw the sheet off so she could hear her better.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” she repeated. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m yours, Luce. And I…I’m the l…lucky one.” She had no idea how she managed to get the sentence out. She was so wound up, her body arched into her hand, hips automatically thrusting against her fingers.

“I want you to come like this, fucking yourself. Don't move the phone, I want to hear it.”

YFN did as she was told, and sped up her assault, her body becoming a shaky, uncontrolled mess. It didn’t take long for her to get right to that edge, and she could hear Lucy getting closer. Lucy wasn’t very vocal, that was something they were still working on, however her moaning and panting betrayed her. She was close. She just needed to be tipped over the edge. So YFN gave her that.

“Arghh…Luce…Lucy…can I come?”

She knew asking permission would be Lucy’s last straw.

“Y…yes,” she gasped. “Come.”

YFN sped up her efforts once more as her body unfolded and that electric shock of ecstasy shocked her body into a tense spasm. She heard Lucy whimpering on the other end of the phone and that just made it last longer.

She let herself come down and reached for a tissue near the bed to wipe herself clean. She took the phone and put it back up near her face as she rolled to the side and looked at her girlfriend. Lucy pushed the glasses up her nose, giving a satiated grin. She couldn’t help but return her own.

“This is becoming a regular thing for us.” YFN said.

“I need this just to be able to think during the day about something other than fucking you.”

“Ah, but I thought you liked thinking about me.”

Lucy laughed incredulously. “Yes, but I also have a profession I should be thinking about. Mapi managed to kick a ball into me today while I was zoned out thinking about how good you look under me.”

The visual was hilarious. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s never been a problem until you. I feel like I’m losing a battle of urges.”

“Keep talking, please, you’re making me feel very loved right now.”

Lucy laughed and YFN continued. “But if it’s any consolation, I also can’t stop thinking about you. The one time I managed to not, was when I was walking into my meeting but then I saw your flowers…”

Lucy grinned. “You liked them? I thought it’d be romantic.”

“Oh, it was. And just so you know, your surprise will be there tomorrow also.”

Lucy’s eyes widened with excitement. “You sent me something?!”

“Last night. I just wanted you to know that I sent it BEFORE I received your flowers.”

“Who’s the romantic one, now?”

“You, always you. I may be a romantic, but I’ll never have anything on you, Luce.”

[lizbethborden]

Something I've thought about in my industry (coffee) and adjacent quick service type businesses is the way roles are "deprofessionalized" and undervalued in a way that creates a feedback loop of underinvested, unprofessional employees.

These businesses are businesses like any other and have legal health codes, product standards, inventory, financial considerations, and so on, and employees are typically expected to not only uphold standards but also monitor and be mindful of the "back end" issues like labor cost, inventory waste, and overhead, given that these various administrative concerns directly impact their day-to-day. How much info a given staff receives is obviously dependent on management or ownership, but regardless, these are all things that they are held responsible for (I used to get yelled at in one place if I dropped disposable cups or cutlery, because that was my boss' money, and I was expected not to throw them out--that's inventory cost as well as a health code violation lol). (I also had to take a ServSafe manager's course on this man's behalf because he was too stupid to pass it. Btw.)

But these are hourly positions that are chronically underpaid, even in HCOL areas like mine, and in shops that aren't regulated by unions or Fair Work Week laws, schedules are inconsistent and hours are never guaranteed--those are "deprofessionalizing" characteristics that make these roles into what are culturally considered temporary and unimportant stepping-stones (despite the percentage of adults, including older adults, working in them) and discourage workers from taking them seriously as jobs or careers. An hourly worker with an inconsistent paycheck, few benefits, no social value, and top-down pressure to take on both physical and mental workloads simply has no incentive to do their job well or consider it really important. Obviously you do get people with passion for their industry or who are interested in moving up or who just have work ethic, but they are relatively rare.

Until conditions in the industry change to make these jobs worth having, the model will always rely on turning and burning crops of hourly workers, and on those rare workers who, through ambition or ethic or lack of other options, will pick up the slack from their disincentivized coworkers. In food service this often means that the immigrant workers in the back carry the day (the hardest working people at aforementioned boss' place were the undocumented people who needed to be paid in cash and so had few other job prospects).

Meanwhile: people are OVERWHELMINGLY dependent on all these types of businesses and there is a high level of demand for products as well as, well, a high level of being freaking demanding from the customers. This is why people working at Starbucks frequently burn out hard: not only is the physical labor of working there grueling, the mental workload and the behavior of the customers (in an environment that is almost totally permissive to their whims) are just impossible.

There is a massive disinterest in easing the burden on workers as well as a disinterest in worker education and development; moreover workers are frequently leery of actually learning about the business in a substantial way because that means more work for the same money--whereas if they were actually valued, they would receive commensurate compensation for their education and skills, and wouldn't have to be scared of gaining knowledge and expertise. If we lived in a perfect world, the big industry names would respond to this and change to improve working conditions and benefits for workers, which obviously is not something that will happen.

I have also noticed that management and supervisory roles in this industry are often "deprofessionalized" as well. This is nothing new as far as, for example, salaried kitchen roles go: your hours are consistent, but consistent in that they're 50-60 hours a week, with no overtime, and frequently severely underpaid. I often see management roles offering salaries that would not let you qualify for a studio apartment, meanwhile you are expected to show up at 4 AM to open and stay until 10 to close (as often happens to Starbucks managers, which I saw many a time). You take on the increased mental burdens while also working physically in the role (well, depending on environment--sorry to keep using Sbux as an example but managers there are expected to spend 40h on the floor and to carve out admin time in slow periods, and that has been the expectation I've seen in many comparable quick service roles). Obviously there are many managers who slack--and why wouldn't they? They are not treated as or considered professionals; they are underpaid and undervalued and may not have much better benefits than their staff. Moreover their staff is similarly disincentivized both by their manager and by the terms of their employment set by ownership.

no conclusion here. Just some things I have noticed. I try to operate my own shops in an affirming and encouraging way that values the staff, and that's all I can do.

[intpstyle]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard Review Pt. 3 - "How to move on?", On Community

DA:TV Spoilers ahead!

Pt. 1 is here, Pt. 2 is here

The capital-h Hero brings me to the second point: community. One could argue that Rook simply doesn’t have the luxury of breaking – there is too much on their shoulders. The game drops multiple hints in that direction, but (again) doesn’t seem to fully commit to the idea. Just one scene of Rook pacing their room, frantically going over battle plans, tossing in their sleep (even just staring out into their aquarium with a furrowed brow for a particularly stoic Rook - anything!) before a companion knocks and they put on their smiley/calm “Yes, I am the boss and have all the answers” demeanour would have been worth gold. What a fantastic opportunity, too, to have them break in front of their Love Interest and their Love Interest alone! As some other reviewers have already mentioned, I also would have loved ANY codex entry mention of the other companions being worried about Rook. As it is, Rook stands alone.

This is reinforced by the game mechanic that only allows Rook to eavesdrop on conversations in the Lighthouse rather than join them, the odd mirthless reactions when you buy companions gifts, the much-maligned book club that never asked you to join, etc. I was also missing a scene like the Inquisition card game that showed everyone just …hanging out. If there is enough time in-between the world saving business for a book club, there is enough time for a shared meal or two, maybe with storytelling and reflecting on the adventures the team has already overcome. Before the final battle, Solas says something to the effect of Elgar’nan choosing only pawns that grasp for power like him, while Rook has assembled a team of skilled professionals and invested in their skills, which is why they will win. And … yes. But for my taste, the game does not invest enough on either side of heavy is the crown; leaders stand alone // we win with the power of friendship; we’re like a family! When escaping from Fade Prison, we see the hands reaching for Rook and can piece together that they have been gone for weeks, but why not show us the moment Rook tumbles through, back into the Lighthouse, back home, and their team huddles around them with victory cries? Say what you will about The Dawn Will Come (or even the jailbreak scene in Origins!), but there is no scene that fullfils a similar function here. All we get are (hilarious!) snippets of Venatori fangirling over Rook, but when has Rook reached this level of prominence? Where are the in-between steps?

All that to say: once again mirroring Solas, but not in a great way, both Rook and Solas stand alone. While I appreciate the story for Solas we got, it is a shame that his vast elven network did not play any role in the plot, and it is a shame that Rook does not seem to be affected by the juicy parts of having to move on from anything ever, leaving them somewhat removed and in an almost supervisory position towards the other companions (which is also not explored in much depth). The main theme of Mythal relieving Solas of his sole responsibility and guilt, and Rook helping every companion with their quest is that “you don’t have to go through this alone. We can move on together.” I just wish this had been stressed more, particularly in regard to Rook.

One last thought on choices: another change that could have taken this game to the next level would be to commit to the follow-through of danger. I loved D’Meta’s Crossing and was so excited to get into “real” Dragon Age territory, but the fantastic build-up with shuffling through the dripping blight and people losing their minds left and right should have been a high-adrenaline boss fight or cut scene, not a rather tame moral decision on leaving the mayor to his fate or not. Same for Mila, the girl in Weisshaupt – she’s a brilliant character and adds real tension to the siege, but to not have a single scene where she’s truly in danger? Missed opportunity.

Anyway, it is easy to criticise a cake when it stands baked before you, and considering that the oven was malfunctioning, that the ingredients were hard to get, that the chefs were underpaid and overworked, and that the restaurant owner at some point wanted a soufflé, it is still a damn fine cake. Every creator puts themselves in their creations to some degree, so I wonder if there isn’t also a sad and rather obvious reason why Rook feels so under-pressure, unallowed-to-break, and alone, and why the catharsis is not included in the game itself. Respect to the Bioware developers that pulled through – may they be rewarded in the way they deserve and the industry currently does not allow.

So yes, all in all, Veilguard was a 7/10 for me, and I can’t wait to see where the series will move on to from here.  

[of-pale]

Another DMC Christmas fic leftover I gave a little polish to toss in the scrap bin:

Decorating the Christmas tree was, unsurprisingly, a chaotic affair. Nero was doing his best to wrangle the three adopted kids, each of whom seemed determined to hurl anything shiny and sparkly directly at the tree. Or at him, it hardly mattered to them.

Dante and Vergil had taken up supervisory roles—or at least, that’s what Dante liked to call it. He was sprawled across the sofa, looking disproportionately pleased with himself after what he considered an unprecedented amount of effort in setting up the tree in its stand. Meanwhile, Vergil sat rigidly at the opposite end, his expression that of a bored king surveying the trivial on-goings of the court.

Eventually, the tree’s lower layers became a tangled masterpiece of color, glitter, and crooked ornaments. The top half, however, remained bare, frustratingly out of reach for the kids. This just wouldn’t do.

Calling upon his spectral arms, Nero hoisted the children one by one, guiding them as they gleefully reached to place ornaments higher up. It worked, mostly. With three kids and only two sets of arms, one child was always left out of the fun, which inevitably led to pouting and complaining.

“Fine,” Nero grumbled, realising this was getting out of hand even for him. “Dante, get off your lazy bum and help.”

Dante stretched theatrically, leaning further into the couch cushions. “Naaah, I’m wiped. Setting up that tree was no joke, y’know?”

“Bullsh—oes,” Nero muttered through gritted teeth.

Dante ignored him entirely, instead turning to Vergil. “Hey, Verge, you’re up.”

Vergil froze, caught off guard as one child’s wide, expectant eyes locked onto him, arms outstretched and ready to be picked up. Meanwhile, Nero’s sharp glare drilled into him, a silent warning laced with skepticism. It was no secret that Nero didn’t entirely trust Vergil—especially when it came to the kids. Predictably, Dante seized the opportunity for mischief, giving his twin a none-too-gentle shove off the sofa.

Vergil hesitated, but the unspoken challenge in Dante’s smirk left no room for refusal. Surely, this was a simple task, he reasoned.

As he approached, Kyle began bouncing on his heels, arms outstretched in eager anticipation. Vergil leaned down, scooped him up… and, with all the grace of a man handling an unfamiliar object, held him by the leg, dangling him upside down like a grocery bag.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Nero hissed, his spectral arms twitching in disbelief.

“Assisting,” Vergil replied evenly.

“You’ll drop him—”

But Kyle’s delighted giggles drowned Nero out. “This is so fun!” he squealed, swaying his arms wildly to hang an ornament on a high branch.

The other two kids immediately began clamoring to be held the same way.

“Yeah, it’s fiiine,” Dante drawled, strolling up to join Vergil. Without hesitation, he plucked one of the kids from Nero’s arms and flipped them upside down with an exaggerated flair. “Our dad used to hold us like this whenever we decorated the tree.”

Vergil turned his head sharply, narrowing his eyes at Dante. “He absolutely—”

“Sure did!” Dante interrupted with a broad grin, waving off any protest.

Even as a man with fragmented memories, Vergil knew nonsense when he heard it. Sparda had never held them upside down during tree-decorating—or any activity, for that matter. Clearly, Dante was trying to smooth over any tension between him and Nero.

The children’s delighted giggles were infectious, and Nero finally relaxed. Resigned to the absurdity, he flipped the kid he was holding upside down, mimicking the twins’ ‘method’. “Only you two could come up with this,” he muttered.

And so, the three Spardas stood around the Christmas tree, each holding a child upside down as they decorated the Christmas tree. It was chaotic, unconventional and downright ridiculous. But such was the Sparda way.

[shadowsndaisies]

the death of mike franks

a/n: this was the idea that sparked the crossover when i was doing an ncis rewatch

main masterlist

introducing gadget masterlist

synopsis: p2p killer's on the loose, and you're stationed across the country when you get the call

wc: 1.1k

It’s not a call you wanted to ever receive.

“It’s.. uh, I just. I figured you’d want to know,” Tony’s voice trails.

“Know what Tony?” you ask, brow furrowed, he wasn’t making any sense.

The bar is loud behind you, it’s almost nine now, but the sun’s only just set and the whole squad was inside, everyone covered in salt and sand from the day spent at the beach. It had been a good day, but somehow, you knew the good was about to end.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again and your breath catches.

You’d met Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo during your station at Norfolk. You’d been sent there while on medical reserve. You worked on the Navy Yard, and when you think back, it’s probably because of your mom. She’d been close with a retired Marine Gunny turned Supervisory Special Agent in Charge, all because of your grandpa. The Gunny had a team there, and somehow, you’d gotten roped into spending some time with them while you recuperated. Physically able enough to be in the field, but not yet able to withstand sustained Gs. You’d enjoyed the stint, made friends with the team. You’d left NCIS better than you’d arrived, in more ways than one.

You’d bonded with Tony over pop culture references, and a quiet reverence for the Gunny. A new level to the respect you’d always had since you’d met him as a toddler.

“Tell me,” you force out.

Please don’t say it’s Gunny.

“It’s Franks,” he finally admits, and your knees go weak. “He’s dead, kid.”

“Oh shit, oh, fuck,” you huff out, trying to reign everything in.

That’s worse.

“Did anyone call my mom?” you ask, as your legs give out.

There’s a rolling wave of grief.

You grip tight to the railing as you try not to topple.

“Gibbs is calling her now,” he says quietly.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had been in your life as long as you can remember. He’d filled the dad role often after your own had passed. You’d never really known him as a Gunny, but you did as Pop’s probie. You can’t imagine the silence that must’ve fallen over the NCIS building. But your thoughts are focused on Mike Franks. Your grandfather. There’d always been something about him, all old school, with his own sense of justice, too patriotic for his own good, it turned out. You hadn’t understood it then, but you saw how he changed after 9/11, and that was when you realized there was still so much to do. That was the reason you enlisted, he was.

You finally sit, as the grief rolls over you. You were not new to grief, you’d lived with it as a cloud almost your whole life, but this felt different. It wasn’t like when you’d lost your dad. You’d been too young, you think. All you really knew back then was you missed him, you were sad he was gone, disappointed that he’d never come home again.

You were okay though. You had your mom, you had pop, and you had Gibbs.

Gibbs who took you to the father daughter dance after pop got hurt on a case, and couldn’t take you like he’d promised. Gibbs who taught you how to drive manual when your mom decided she was not built to be the one to contend with you and the road. Makes sense, given you elected to pursue a career involving flying jets.

You’re struck with the realization that underneath the grief is an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s not Gunny, it’s not Tim, it’s not any of them. You want to puke as soon as you think it. Guilt gnawing at your insides. You loved your grandfather, but you’d been anticipating his death for a while now. So sure that all the cigarettes would finally catch up to him.

“Gadget?” His voice is strained, thank god it wasn’t Tony, either.

“Yeah,” you manage to choke out, from where you’re now sitting, one hand still grasping tight to the railing.

“It was the P2P,” and then there was anger.

“Son of a bitch,” you huff, and now there’s tears in your eyes. “He was supposed to be in Mexico,” you add on, because you’d just talked to him. “He was supposed to be done with this!”

You’d spoken with your grandfather just a few days ago, making plans to come down to Mexico when you had a short leave in a few weeks. You’d already booked your ticket.

“He only got here this morning, Gibbs called,” Tony adds on.

it goes quiet then. As if Tony’s not sure how to continue. and you become stuck in a contemplative silence.

…

“He picked my call sign,” you eventually say softly.

“What?” Tony asks, and you can imagine the frown.

“Pop, he.. uh… I loved cars, and taking things apart to learn how they worked. He was the one who called me inspector gadget as a kid. One of my instructors heard him call me Gadget during training on family weekend, and.. and then it was my official callsign.”

You don’t know why you’re telling him. You’d never told anybody that your grandfather was the one who coined Gadget, everyone who needed to know, did.

“I didn’t know that,” Tony admits, and you can hear the sad chuckle in his voice.

“I’ve never told anyone before,” you admit, sniffing.

“I’m really sorry, (y/n),” is all he offers.

You sniff and force yourself back to your feet. “Yeah,” you say in the absence of anything else. “Tell Gunny to call me when he can,” you decide.

“Yeah, but-” you don’t listen to the rest, ending the call.

You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, but it must’ve been too long because eventually someone came looking for you.

“Gadget?” it’s Hangman who calls your name. “You drink too much or something?” he muses coming closer.

It’s not until he can see your face that he realizes you’re crying, and the smirk is gone in a second. He drops down to be eye level and you continue to look past him and at the ocean.

“Gadget? Gadget, talk to me, what happened?” his voice had gone soft, one hand gently landing on your shoulder

“My grandfather’s dead,” you say, and god it hurts.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

gadgets tags: @oikawasblueearbud @rory-cakes

[no-quit-lucy]

Five Times Lucy Chen used Tiger Balm, and One Time she Used it on Tim Bradford

read on ao3 Rated M w/c: 2,349

1.

Lucy put the small jar on the bottom shelf of her locker, shutting the door and tenderly rubbing her wrist tugging down her long-sleeved uniform. Quickly, she rushed out of the room, only hobbling slightly after roughly apprehending their last two suspects. As usual, Tim had instructed her to chase after them, running three blocks and through two alleyways before finally jumping and tackling after repeated calls to stop running and surrender. While Tim drove to catch up, she had fought further but successfully controlled and cuffed both suspects.

Already fearing she was taking too long, Lucy rushed back to the shop, hoping Tim didn't chew her out for taking too long.

She got in the vehicle, frowning when she saw Tim with his elbow on the window, waiting for her return with his eyebrows drawn together. Opening the door, she quickly got in. She watched him curiously, wondering what version of TO Tim she was going to get, stern and authoritative who would chew her out for one tiny little misstep, or the approachable, dedicated teacher who would acknowledge her efforts and reinforce her confidence in the field. From the crinkle of his nose as she reached to buckle her seatbelt, she cursed to herself that her tiny little jar was too fragrant and she’d get chewed out by the former version of Tim for infecting the shop. Instead, she was met with the latter, his tone soft yet firm as he asked, “You good, Boot?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Gonna be sore tomorrow but fine,” Lucy responded, easing his fears, suddenly more concerned with her safety ever since she got stuck with a dirty needle.

She was sure he could smell the tiger balm she had used, but to her surprise, he hadn't been bothered by it and seemed to instead welcome the scent.

“Let’s get to it,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot to go back on patrol.

2.

Tim had meetings all day, so it was unexpected when he was pulled from the office at the last minute to respond to a high-profile busted party. Calling on his aide, he made Lucy drive to the hills, knowing she had a special kind of skill for navigating the identical winding neighborhoods late at night.

When they arrived on the scene, it had already relapsed into chaos, four separate fights had broken out with low-listed drugged-up Hollywood wannabes trying to flip each other over the expensive furniture in the house. Lucy jumped into the action, helping the four or five other officers subdue the scene back under control.

After getting back in the shop, Lucy’s hair was pulled from her bun, her uniform was disheveled, and she rubbed at her shoulder and neck, guessing she had pulled something in the fight. Tim had stated he was driving back, having had the pleasure of keeping his hands mostly clean due to his supervisory role. They didn’t have to transport anyone to the station, so Tim stopped at a convenience store on their way back.

Lucy went in with Tim, grabbing a water bottle and a new jar of balm while Tim got whatever he needed. She waited until they were back at the station, taking up an empty interrogation room to fill out the paperwork together to pull out the hexagonal jar from her uniform pants pocket. Picking it up and tilting it toward Tim, she asked, “You mind?” referring to using it in the enclosed space. The scent would be strong and it could distract him, if she’s sitting next to him, rubbing the balm into her skin.

“No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind it at all,” he gave her a weak smile, still cautious about being too friendly to her at work. He still had boundaries to maintain and he couldn’t let her know how much he liked the smell and how much it reminded him of her rookie days, now that things were different and he was her sergeant and she was his aide.

3.

Lucy boiled a pot of tea for herself, knowing Tim still needed to be won over by the therapeutic properties of the dual healing and calming benefits. She joined him on the couch after he insisted on following her home after she pulled a muscle getting pushed down the stairs by a suspect. She had twisted her ankle too and had to threaten him with a bad time if he tried to carry her back from the station. They hadn’t been dating long, so his getting to take care of her was still fresh and new. He wanted to hover, make sure she was okay.

She relented at letting him drive her home, which had led to her letting him invite himself up, insist he stay the night, drive her back to work the next morning, hover, hover, hover.

Lucy didn’t mind. She liked the way his protectiveness showed, how his care for her over the last two years had grown softer to a point where she could lean herself against his chest and feel like nothing could hurt her, wrapped up in his warmth and safety.

Leaning back into his arms now, as he put on the newest episode of the kitchen competition show they liked, she picked up the jar from her basket on the table behind the couch and began rubbing some tiger balm over her calf and ankle. As she massaged the ointment into her flesh, Tim ran his hand lovingly up and down her waist, wrapped comfortably around her, holding her to him.

When she finished, she relaxed more into his body, stretching herself along his length and feeling fully encompassed by his body, the smell of the tiger balm intrinsically intertwined with the scent of him. Lucy nuzzled into his chest while he leaned down to press kisses into her hair and squeeze her hip tighter to him.

4.

Lucy was staying the weekend at Tim’s house. It seemed everything was going wrong that day. First, she had been hit with a lawsuit, claiming her arrest was an abuse of force and that she was at fault for the victim’s sprained wrist. Lucy was outraged, having proof via bodycam that she didn’t touch the guy and that the same suspect that had knocked her to the ground, had also knocked down the plaintiff and caused the sprain. 

Then Smitty had eaten her lunch, her precious leftovers that she had been looking forward to all morning.

Later, she’d been thrown up on twice by a drunk college student who was caught peeing in the street, who Lucy was also sure had relieved herself in the back of her shop. Then, when she got home, she found a note on her apartment, stating the water heater was broken and wouldn’t be repaired until Monday.

Desperate, she had called upon her boyfriend, thankful that he had given her a drawer and a key weeks ago so she was free to let herself in at the late hour with a quickly packed bag of her things. Kojo jumped from the bed and scuttered from Tim’s room when Lucy arrived, greeting her quietly and ecstatic she would be spending the night.

Tim turned in the bed to face his en-suite when she walked through his bedroom door.

“Hey, sorry, I know it’s late, I just need to do my routine then I’ll turn out the light,” Lucy spoke quietly, already sorry she had woken him up with her call.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, satisfied watching her comfortably and erratically tote about his bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth while he was still half asleep.

After she was done, she was shuffling through her toiletry bag, looking for something she forgot to pack.

“What are you looking for?” Tim asked curiously, still lying dreamily on his side observing her with a soft, domestic smile.

“My tiger balm, my shoulder is killing me,” she griped, upset, in pain, knowing she had just finished the one she usually kept in her backpack out by the front door, not yet having replaced it.

“Second drawer on your left,” Tim called from the bed.

“Huh?” Lucy asked confused, leaning quickly out the doorway before processing what he said and opening the drawer. There, she found a brand new jar of tiger balm with the plastic band still shrink-wrapped around the lid.

“You know me so well,” she hemmed with a smile, applying the balm to her shoulder after turning out the bathroom light and walking toward the bed. She placed the jar on the bedside table and spooned behind Tim, pressing kisses to his neck before turning his head and claiming his mouth in a sleepy, romantic kiss.

“Goodnight, Luce. Love you,” Tim whispered, tightening her grip around his upper body and quickly falling back to sleep.

5.

They were having a romantic evening in since Tamara was spending the night with friends and Kojo was ‘on vacation’ with Genny and her kids. Lucy had lit every candle in her apartment, making Tim twitch with the desire to call the fire department and report her for violating the code on how many open flames one can have in such a tiny, enclosed space. Surely, there had to be a limit, right? Despite the stress that the apartment could go up in flames at any moment, Lucy insisted she and Tim relax and spend some time connecting since work had been so busy lately.

They hadn’t had private time together in weeks and Lucy was craving his touch, desperate for his hands on her body. Having an idea for a mutually beneficial reward, Lucy tore off her shirt and bra and stood before Tim half-naked, much to his shock and pleasure.

He sat on her couch, watching her dark hair cascade over her shoulder as she leaned over him to grab something. Her breast brushed against his arm and instantly, he adjusted his pants and leaned a hand up to touch her irresistible bare skin. He cupped her breast, kissing her neck, figuring this was what she was aiming for by her actions.

Lucy leaned back, one knee on the couch beside his thigh, and pushed his hands away from her body.

“Will you rub this on my back, please?” She asked Tim, passing him the large tin of tiger balm.

“Absolutely,” he eagerly replied, desiring more than anything to press his digits into her muscles to release her sighs and groans.

He opened the tin as she settled to sit between his thighs, the smell overwhelming him with a rush of desire running through his body. Always and forever would he associate the scent of the balm with loving Lucy Chen.

+1

“It kind of tingles,” Tim reported as Lucy sat on the back of his thighs.

“It can feel like burning, but like a cold kind of burn,” Lucy responded, pressing her thumb into his spine and hearing Tim’s responding moan of relief. “It’ll feel really intense for a while, especially if your muscles are sore.”

“Why didn’t I let you do this sooner?” Tim drooled onto his pillow.

Lucy was sat on top of him, massaging tiger balm into his back after a harsh flare-up of his previous injuries. For years, she had made a show of using the balm on herself, singing its praises, and getting to the point where half the time, it was Tim using it on her rather than her using it on herself.

It had almost become part of their domestic routine, him putting tiger balm on her sore muscles. And finally, the tables had turned and he had practically begged her to rub the ointment over his aching lower back. 

She was incredible at giving massages, but it took Tim a lot of pain to feel vulnerable enough to request one. Had he known how much she enjoyed easing his pain, it might not have been so hard to get the words out. Communication was not their strength, but thank fuck physical touch was.

“You’re making me feel amazing,” Tim mumbled into the bed sheets, overpowered by the combined effects of a massage from Lucy and the tiger balm applied by Lucy.

Really, it was just everything Lucy did that made him feel amazing. Heat traveled from her hand to his back, gliding and smoothing over his lumbar muscles, penetrating deep into the meat of his hip and his glutes. He was fully naked, lying on his bed on his stomach. Lucy adjusted above him, scooting down on his thighs to massage more of his ass. The material of her panties and the edges of the long t-shirt she had stolen from him brushed against his bare legs and he moaned, hoping she’d finish the massage with a clichéd but very welcomed happy ending.

“Let me go wash my hands,” she announced to him, dismounting and laughing at his protesting groan.

When she came back, Tim was on his back, his dick laying long and proud resting on his belly. One hand rested low next to it daring to curl around his drawn-up ballsack, while the other reached down and adjusted it to tap once, twice, on his stomach. Lucy was right, the burning sensation felt intense, but at the same time, it felt relieving and arousing, as heat settled deep in his hips and spine.

Lucy paused watching him, still finding it so fucking hot seeing him handle himself. She didn’t think there’d ever be a time she was sick of Tim Bradford, not when he squeezed himself and pumped his cock after she had finished applying the tiger balm he had asked for all over his body. She’d never dated a guy who she’d felt comfortable enough in front of to apply the tiger balm to herself. But with Tim, not only did he often rub it into her skin, but he adopted her practice and let her rub it into his skin too. The acceptance touched her, making her fall in love with all that much more.