#and maybe call a mechanic for them during the ad breaks

[abrahamstalker]

A lil comic based on NotRealName NotAtAll's FNAF ruin smooching guide

Video in question

[amirasainz]

The beginning

This is the first part of the "Sunshine behinde the camera" story. I hope you all enjoy reading this and I'll try to update as soon as possible. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for the next chapters, let me know. I'll try to include them. Have funy and enjoy!

-XoXo

Summary: After the winter break, Lando and Oscar get informed that they will get a new team photographer. However, despide being only 18 years old, the drivers are both impressed with her work. After meating her, Isabela immediately worms her way into their hearts.

All the relationships are platonic!!!

Part 2

“So, we believe that if we keep including fun games and other drivers, like Charles or Fernando, in our activities, our follower count will increase by 43 people per day,” concluded Charlotte, the head of McLaren’s Media team, with a confident smile.

It was the first day back from the winter break and the very first meeting of the 2024 season. The meeting room was bustling with energy and anticipation. Mechanics, PR personnel, factory workers, test drivers, managers, and more filled the space, eager to kick off the new season. Of course, the four most important people were Oscar, Lando, Andrea, and Zak, who sat at the front, ready to lead the charge.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you heard it. We have a promising outlook for the new season. To finally end your suffering, we wish you all the best and a good start to the new season,” joked Andrea, eliciting laughter and lightening the mood in the room.

Neither Lando nor Oscar could go far before Zak called them over. “Boys, Andrea, Charlotte, and I will need you for a few minutes. Please wait in meeting room C for us.” Before the drivers could ask their boss about this “secret” mini-meeting, he moved on to speak with one of the mechanics, leaving them curious.

“What do you think this is about?” asked Lando, walking with his teammate towards their destination. “I have no idea. Maybe one of us messed up on social media,” replied Oscar, seemingly unbothered by the private meeting.

After entering the room and waiting for a few minutes, the other three adults joined them. “Sorry for our tardiness, boys,” apologized Charlotte, always the considerate one. “No worries,” assured her Oscar.

“Boys, we have some big news for you,” began Andrea. “As you all know, Steve, our team photographer, and his wife were expecting a baby at the end of the season. During the winter break, Steven called me and informed me that it wouldn’t be possible for him to continue his job as our team photographer,” continued Charlotte.

Charlotte went on, “He said that he wanted to be a part of his daughter’s life as much as possible, and having to travel a lot during the year is neither helpful for his wife nor something he desires. So, we came to the conclusion that Steven would become the new McLaren factory photographer, you know, to give our fans some behind-the-scenes insights.”

“This means we were put in a position to find a new team photographer. Someone who isn’t bound to one place,” added Zak. He shared a relieved smile with Andrea before turning his attention to the drivers. At this point, both racers were sitting on the edge of their seats.

“Her name is Isabela Ferreira. She is a lovely young woman from Brazil, and her work is incredible,” Charlotte said, handing out folders containing samples of Isabela’s past work. “Wow, these look really good,” muttered Oscar. Both he and Lando wore impressed expressions.

“Not only is she a pro with the camera, as you can see for yourselves, but Steven also approved her work. In fact, he was the one who recommended her to us. To be honest, without his recommendation, we probably wouldn’t have hired her,” said Andrea.

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, what do you mean by that?” he asked, glancing at Oscar, who shared the same puzzled look. The three adults exchanged glances, silently agreeing to be open with the drivers.

“Well, even though her work is phenomenal, she is still very young,” started Zak hesitantly. “She turned 18 a few days ago, which makes her the youngest member of the team,” he continued. Both racers had surprised expressions. “But that means she’s still a baby,” stated Lando. Both drivers were trying to absorb this new information. All in all, it wasn’t actually a big problem for the team to employ someone so young; it was just unusual in the Formula 1 world. Typically, people started working for the teams at 24, drivers excluded.

Zak continued, “We understand that her age might raise some eyebrows, but we believe in her talent and potential. Steven’s endorsement was a significant factor in our decision. We are confident that Isabela will bring a fresh perspective and innovative ideas to our team.”

Andrea added, “We also plan to provide her with all the support she needs to succeed. She will be working closely with our experienced staff, and we are committed to ensuring a smooth transition for her.”

Oscar, always the pragmatic one, asked, “What about her travel arrangements? Will she be able to handle the rigorous schedule?”

Charlotte responded, “We’ve already discussed this with her, and she’s fully aware of the demands of the job. Isabela is excited about the opportunity and ready to embrace the challenges. We will also make sure she has the necessary resources and support to manage her responsibilities effectively.”

Lando, still processing the news, said, “Well, if Steven believes in her, that’s good enough for me. I’m looking forward to working with her.”

Oscar nodded in agreement, “Same here. It’s going to be interesting to see her in action.”

Zak smiled, “That’s the spirit, boys. Let’s give her a warm welcome and make sure she feels at home with us.”

“Look, we know this is a surprise for both of you. Trust us, we were surprised as well. But that doesn’t change the fact that she has incredible talent. We just wanted you both to be prepared for when you meet her,” reiterated Zak, his tone serious yet reassuring.

After a moment of silence, Charlotte continued, “Let’s be honest. She is an 18-year-old girl, very far away from home. She doesn’t know anyone here and will be working closely with both of you most of the time. We ask you, no, we three ask you, to keep an eye on her. This is something completely new for her, and she will need support and reassurance from us. And let me tell you, she truly is a ray of sunshine. Trust me, you’ll fall in love with her the minute you meet her.”

“It’s true,” confirmed Andrea. “She walked in here with the biggest smile anyone has ever seen,” eliciting chuckles from those in the room. “Well then, I guess it’s time we finally meet this lovely girl,” stated Oscar. Charlotte let out a relieved smile before beckoning the drivers to follow her. “She’s currently at the practice track, trying out some new lenses. Oh, I can already see it. The three of you will cause chaos around the paddock,” she smiled like a proud mother. Behind her back, the papaya boys shared an amused smile.

As they walked towards the practice track, Lando and Oscar exchanged curious glances. “I wonder what she’s like,” mused Lando. “If she’s as good as they say, we’re in for a treat,” replied Oscar.

When they arrived at the track, they saw a young woman with a camera, intently focused on capturing the perfect shot. Her concentration was palpable, and her passion for her work was evident. Charlotte called out to her, “Isabela, come meet the team!”

Isabela turned around, her face lighting up with a bright smile. She approached them with a confident stride, her camera still in hand. “Hi, I’m Isabela. It’s so nice to meet you all,” she said, her voice warm and friendly.

Lando and Oscar introduced themselves, both impressed by her professionalism and enthusiasm. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Lando. “Welcome to the team,” added Oscar.

“Thank you! I’m really excited to be here and work with all of you,” Isabela replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As they chatted, it became clear that Isabela’s youthful energy and fresh perspective would be a valuable addition to the team. The drivers felt a sense of protectiveness forming. The only 18 year old girl already wormed her way into their hearts like she did with the other people she met before.

“So, you’re into photography. How did that come about?” Lando inquired. He, Oscar, and Isabela were seated in the cafeteria after Charlotte had sent them inside. According to her, it was far too windy outside for them to spend time on the track. Thus, the trio decided to warm themselves up with some tea and coffee.

“Well, to be honest, my Avó Berta introduced me to photography. After my parents divorced, my father had to work tirelessly to support both me and my grandmother. We had nothing; we lived in the favelas of Rio. That’s why my father juggled three jobs, ensuring we always had food on the table and a roof over our heads,” Isabela began.

“Wow, that must have been tough,” Oscar commented, his eyes wide with empathy.

“It was,” Isabela nodded. “Because of that, us girls were often alone at home. But after a few years, my Avó Berta fell ill and became bedridden. I always loved recounting my days and all the new things I saw to her. However, after some months, she began to forget the things I told her about and what they looked like. So, for seven months, I saved up all my money to buy a camera. Mind you, it was only a cheap one, but it immediately printed the pictures,” she said, laughing lightly. At this point, both Lando and Oscar had somber smiles on their faces.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Lando said softly. “It must have meant a lot to her.”

“It did,” Isabela replied. “So, the next time I told my grandmother about the latest adventure my friends and I had, I was also able to show her the pictures. And if she forgot after a few days, the photos helped to jog her memory.” After a moment of hesitation, she continued.

“Sadly, my grandmother passed away that same winter, so she never got to see the new camera my father bought me for my birthday,” she murmured. Oscar placed his hand on top of hers, causing Isabela to look up. “Your grandmother sounds like a real badass,” he told her, eliciting not only a laugh from the girl but also from his teammate.

“She really was,” Isabela agreed, her eyes shining with fond memories.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what about your mother?” Lando asked hesitantly. “Lando!” Oscar looked shocked at Lando while kicking his foot under the table. Isabela laughed again before continuing. “It’s alright, Oscar. Lando’s just curious. Well, my mother left us when I was two. One day she was there, and the next day she wasn’t. She just packed her bag and left us. No goodbye letter, no SMS. Nada. Which is also the reason why my grandmother despised her.”

“That’s harsh,” Oscar said, shaking his head. “How did you cope with that?”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t really remember much about her. The only thing I know is her name and what she looks like. The only thing I have from her, besides my looks, is a letter that she sent me on my 16th birthday,” Isabela explained.

“Did you ever try to find her?” Lando asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I thought about it,” Isabela admitted. “But I realized that my life was full with the people who stayed. My father, my Avó Berta, my friends, and my passion for photography. They were enough for me.”

“Wow, I’m honestly… impressed,” said Oscar. “After everything that happened, you turned your passion into your profession. That is something nearly no one achieves,” whispered Lando. His heart felt heavy. How could her mother ever leave this sweet girl? And then, after 14 years, only send a letter? Isabela could only muster a small smile for her new friends.

“Thank you, guys. It means a lot to hear that,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude.

After that day, the three of them only grew closer. The drivers understood what their boss meant when he said Isabela was a ray of sunshine. Each morning, she greeted everyone with a smile that rivaled the sun. Her cheerful demeanor and genuine interest in others quickly made her a beloved figure at the factory. Sometimes she spent time with the PR team, assisting them in devising new challenges. Other times, she conversed with the engineers and mechanics, inquiring about the new McLaren. They were always more than happy to indulge the young woman, often going out of their way to explain the intricacies of their work.

Isabela’s presence had a noticeable impact on the team’s morale. Her positivity was infectious, and she had a knack for making everyone feel valued and appreciated. The cafeteria staff adored her because she always took the time to chat with them and compliment their cooking. The security guards looked forward to her daily greetings, which brightened their long shifts. Even the usually reserved IT department found themselves smiling more often when Isabela was around.

But her favorite moments were those spent with Oscar and Lando. Oscar, with his calm and thoughtful demeanor, often shared stories about his racing experiences and offered advice on navigating the competitive world of motorsport. Lando, on the other hand, was the life of the party, always ready with a joke or a funny anecdote to lighten the mood. Instead of only spending time at the factory together, they watched movies at each other’s flats or went out for dinner. One time, they even went grocery shopping together, which ended with a half-new wardrobe for Isabela, 7 liters of milk for Lando, and a new TV for Oscar. How that happened, nobody knows.

During those few weeks in England before Testing, Isabela had the pleasure of meeting Lily, Oscar’s girlfriend. The two of them became best friends instantly. When Lando and Isabela arrived at Oscar’s flat for another movie night, it was also the first time the girls would meet each other.

Instead of the uncomfortable “Hey, I’m… Nice to meet you,” Isabela and Lily ran to each other for a hug. “Oh my gosh, hi! You look so pretty,” Isabela gushed while the girls still held each other. “Girl, you’re one to talk. You literally look like a goddess. I love that shirt,” Lily complimented her, making the Brazilian girl spin. “Really? I wasn’t sure if it was the right one for tonight. I didn’t want to be overdressed,” the younger one replied shyly. “Love, listen carefully. You are never overdressed. The people around us are just underdressed,” Lily assured her while leading her new best friend to the sofa. The girls sat so close to each other, practically sitting on each other’s laps, while talking about the newest paddock gossip.

Lando and Oscar only looked at the two with bewildered expressions. “What the…” “Just happened?” After another moment, their silence was interrupted by Lily, who ordered Oscar to “bring this cutie pie a refreshment. Oh, and Lando as well.” The only thing Lando could do was laugh so hard that tears started streaming down his face.

As the evening progressed, the group settled in for a movie. “What are we watching tonight?” Lando asked, still chuckling from earlier. “How about a classic? Maybe something like ‘Back to the Future’?” Oscar suggested. “Oh, I love that movie!” Isabela exclaimed. “It’s been ages since I last saw it.”

They all agreed, and soon the movie was playing. During a particularly intense scene, Isabela leaned over to Lando and whispered, “Do you think we could ever build a car like that?” Lando grinned, “With the right team, anything’s possible.”

@mclaren

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 3 673 297 others

Ladies and Gentlemen, we are haply to introduce you to our new team photographer, Ms. Isabella Ferreira. We are happy to have the 18 year old from Barsil as part of our family.🧡

tagged: @isabelaferreira, @landonorris, @oscarpiastri

Comments have been disabled

____________________________________

@mclaren & @isabelaferreira

liked by zakbrown, maxverstappen 2 650 385 others

2024, here we come 🤜🧡🤛

Comments:

@user1: OMFG they look so hot

@user2: Wait, those pictures look really good

@user3: this new photographer does an amazing job

@user4: "this photographer", girl he'd name is Ms Isabela Ferreira

@user5: I don't get why everyone is hyping up the girl. I mean, she just took some freaking pictures. That's bot so hard.

@user6: mate, stay jealous

@landonorris: let's goooooo

@oscarpiastri: 😸👍

@user7: LMFAO

@isabelaferreira: 🧡

[theresattrpgforthat]

SYSTEM OVERVIEW: Powered by the Apocalypse (PbtA).

This week I’m taking a break from my regular recommendation posts to talk about some indie ttrpg systems that have gained some well-deserved attention over the years. I’m going to introduce you to how they work, why I like them, and what kinds of games are out there!

Powered by the Apocalypse is often described by its progenitor as a game philosophy more than a game system. If you want to learn about the ins and outs of Vincent Baker’s thoughts on this game philosophy, I recommend looking at his series of blog posts about the system, starting here.

There are a lot of things that can be housed within the family of PbtA games, but a game that advertises itself as Powered by the Apocalypse is probably going to have the following elements.

Moves

To do anything, PbtA games have a list of moves available to the whole party, and then certain moves specific to any given players. When you do something that fits the description of the move, you follow the move’s instructions.

Generally, this involves rolling 2d6 and adding a relevant modifier, somewhere between -1 and +3. The most common source of these modifiers comes from player stats, 3-5 player traits assigned to you during character creation that represent your strengths and weaknesses. These traits might be Cool, Sharp, and Hot, like in Apocalypse World, or Spirit, Wit and Heart, like in Thirsty Sword Lesbians, etc.

Other games use different sources of modifiers. In Apocalypse Keys, you’ll spend Tokens gained by roleplaying according to certain prompts, such as feeling lonely or forgotten. In Patchwork World, your modifiers depend on the moves your character takes. Can you become cats? When you burst into 1d6 cats, roll -CATS. Do you have Bee Resonance? You’ll roll +Stress marked.

Some moves might not even require you to roll dice - maybe you just have to use up a resource, or answer a question before that action happens.

Staggered Successes

PbtA games are not the only games to use this kind of metric, but they’re certainly the most well-known. When you roll dice in these kinds of games, there are generally three different kinds of results you can get: 7-9, 10 and higher, or 6 and below. Usually a 10 or higher allows something spectacular to happen, with a greater amount of narrative control given to the player. A 7-9 is partially successful: the player and GM will likely share narrative control. On a 6 or less, a significant amount of narrative control is given to the GM. 6 or less is usually seen as a turn for the worse, but what that turn looks like is dependant on the game and the genre.

What I like about these results is that regardless of the outcome, the results are meant to be narratively engaging, and push the story forward. Failing to sway the bartender doesn’t stop your plan in its tracks - it leads to the bartender calling forward security, or maybe calling you out on your shit. In a game like Last Fleet, these outcomes push the characters closer and closer to a meltdown. In Urban Shadows 1e, they encourage the characters to deal more intimately with favours and debt. Each outcome should propel you into another fraught situation.

Social Currency.

Having some kind of personal connection to other characters becomes a useful resource in many PbtA games. At the beginning of the game, you’ll answer leading questions that tie you to other characters, in both positive and negative ways. What exactly that personal connection is depends on the game.

In MASKS, your teenage superheroes have Influence over each-other. This Influence is either present, or it isn’t, but when it’s present, it can be spent to encourage other characters to follow your lead or your orders. In Blood Feud, you can look up to or down upon your fellow players, which will change the nature of how you interact with each-other. In Interstitial, you can spend Heart Links to improve your chances of success, adding modifiers to your roll.

I love these mechanics because they encourage the players to engage with each-other - and their interactions don’t have to always be positive either! Monster-Hearts expects your players to be at each-other’s necks just as often as they might be making out, for example.

Character Playbooks

Most, though not all, PbtA games have character playbooks - which may not feel like a novel thing, but it’s a big change for folks who are used to putting their character together from a list of options provided in a rulebook. Character playbooks usually provide all of the options for your specific character type on one page. You don’t choose from a big list: you choose a concept, and then select options from that concept.

Often concepts fill out tropes, such as the Git in Pigsmoke, or the Monstrous in Monster of the Week. These may come with pre-assigned stats, or ask you to assign certain stat values as you like. You’ll also choose playbook-specific moves, describe your character, and take note of special advances or forms of harm that may be incurred as you play. This harm might be physical, but it could just as easily be an emotional state, such as in Voidheart Symphony, where your character could become Angry, Callous or Scared.

What I like about this is that it can streamline character creation. If you’re a first-timer to PbtA you might need some guidance, but you can probably still knock out a character in under an hour. If you’re a veteran, you might be able to put a character together in a few minutes.

Collaborative World-building.

Any given PbtA game is usually inspired by a short list of media or some kind of genre. Brindlewood Bay is inspired by elderly lady detective fiction and eldritch horror. Sunset Kills is inspired by Buffy the Vampire Slayer and similar supernatural-teenager media. However, the specifics of what your group is doing still has to be determined by the group. This means that you’ll have to decide how you met, how you got here, and what the world around you is like.

For some games, like Legacy: Life Among the Ruins, the character choices you’ve made will determine facts about the end-of-the-world you live in. Did you pick titan-slayers? That means there’s titans walking around. Similarly in Comrades, if you pick the Propagandist, you have a newspaper or radio station as part of your rebellion.

I like about this because it affirms one of the core claims of PbtA: the game is a conversation. You begin your Session 0 sharing ideas as a group, with players having just as much say in the creation of the world as the GM. If you want to speed up the game, the GM may propose a setting to make things more specific. I’ve done this in the past with Wolf Hounds, which I wanted to make fit into my Monster Squad campaign last year.

However, even if the GM makes some decisions about the world, the choices the individual players will affect what parts of that world we’ll focus on. I feel like this experience gives a lot more agency to the players, so if you want to run a game but you don’t want to be responsible for everything that lands on the table, you might want to consider something Powered by the Apocalypse.

There are some elements of PbtA that can provide quite a bit of whiplash for new players. The game is very reactive, which means that it can be difficult for a traditional GM to figure out what to plan. Some games, like The Between, come with modules or adventures that can make it easier to ease into a GM-ing role. I’d also recommend checking out PbtA games that play in genres that both the GM and the group are very familiar with. If you like teenage superheroes, MASKS will probably be fairly easy to pick up. If you're familiar with found-footage horror, you might be more interested in Public Access.

I’ve talked about a number of PbtA games in the past. Let’s take a look at a few that I haven’t mentioned much.

City of Mist is a game by Son of Oak about ordinary people caught up in supernatural investigations as they grow to embody myths and legends.

Trespassers, by BoughandWave is a game about monsters in a wood - but you are not the scariest things in this forest.

Fight Item Run, by Whimsy Machine, is a game meant to replicate beloved video games about dungeons and magic.

A Monster's Tail, by Five Points Games, is an homage to monster catcher media, such as Pokemon, Digimon, and Jade Cocoon.

If you’re interested in PbtA games, you might also want to check out the collection of PbtA games that I’ve put together on Itch!

[secretsnowclub]

I found a weird old Gamecube survival horror game??? Can you help??

I’ve recently started collecting older video games, specifically all the survival horror games that I was too afraid to play as a kid. Now that I’m older and have a salaried job, it’s nice to be able to court that younger version of me and buy all the stuff my family couldn’t afford. Plus the games are fun. Everything from Resident Evil to Rule of Rose, Fatal Frame to Parasite Eve. I love being scared and these games work their hardest to do it and sometimes succeed.

Before I play them, I like to go on youtube and watch retrospectives, reviews, and old ads for them, so I can sort of get settled into the headspace and learn about the creation of them. But there’s one that I’ve stumbled on that I’m unable to find anything about. Almost like it came out of nowhere.

I found this game at a used game, movie, and music store just off the red line in Chicago. It’s called Soul Cemetery for the Gamecube. A survival horror game about a detective returning to their hometown to investigate the mysterious death of her father. It’s very obviously inspired by Resident Evil, featuring the tank controls, fixed camera angles, and similar graphics, not to mention the focus on zombies which wander the town. There’s also some Silent Hill influence with a heavy use of snow (instead of fog) and ambient music throughout. 

It seemed like a very generic sort of game after the opening cinematic and wandering around the opening area, but then it started to reveal itself as something more. The controls were straight forward but also had some interesting things about them. You aim and shoot like in RE, but there’s also a button to “hum,” which makes the detective slow her run to a walk and hum a tune, which changes with each area and sometimes changes within each area depending on exactly where you stand. 

There’s also a dedicated “smoke” button, which plays a unique (albeit short) cutscene where the detective smokes a cigarette and says a little something about the area, or what just happened. It almost feels like the journal mechanic that games like Life is Strange have, where the character recaps the last chapter in their own words, only you get to control when it happens and how often. 

Both of these things kinda took me off guard and drew me into the game in a way I didn’t expect. There are no save rooms or safe rooms like in a lot of survival horror games, so these two things were like getting a break for the spooky scary stuff whenever I needed it, while also getting to hear the thoughts of the character. 

This got kinda freaky when the detective started saying things about me during these moments. The game must read your memory card and system data or something because the further I got into the game, whenever she’d smoke she’d say stuff to me about how late I was up, or about the weather (possibly reading the month??? Idk if Gamecubes have location data). In the light of day these things aren’t that scary ig, but after getting killed by zombies after playing till 4 a.m. it was definitely giving me goosebumps.

It was extra creepy when the detective would do these things without being prompted. The further I got into the game, the more she would indulge in humming or smoking without me pressing the buttons. At first I thought maybe my hand slipped, but no, it’s almost like she has a mind of her own. And these self-indulgent moments were often the scariest.

I played through the entire thing in one sitting, it was maybe 5-6 hours. There were some obvious levels included in a lot of survival horror games, like a spooky motel with zombies, a dark forest with this weird moon spirit creature who is like the main bad guy of the game, and an empty town center where there’s a boss battle. About halfway through, the detective finds herself at her childhood home and that’s when shit really started to freak me out. I don’t know how to explain it other than her house had the same layout as mine? Maybe it’s just a coincidence because the game takes place in an unnamed midwest town, and maybe the houses here are just copy-pasted anyways. But it was spooky. Her living room was my living room, her bedroom was mine, the kitchen was mine. Even the spooky stairway into the basement was in the same place. 

Back in her parents room, her mom is a zombie. There’s no music. Just the looped MP3 of the zombie groans. Whenever you press the button to aim, the detective would hesitate and tell me not to do it. It was only after the mom had attacked and killed me once that I could actually return to the room and shoot the zombie. Immediately after, the detective took control and started humming this really broken, solemn tune. It felt so recognizable but I can’t figure it out. I did my best to record it here:

It’s been stuck in my head ever since.

After the run in with the mom zombie, the detective continues humming that tune, allowing me to walk slowly through the house. I returned to her bedroom and was able to “interact” with her childhood bed. The detective climbs in, the humming breaking up more and more until she falls asleep.

There’s a few esoteric and surreal images that flash on the screen. I didn’t expect them, so I couldn’t take pictures, and when I went and played through the game again, this entire section didn’t happen. Idk if it’s just like the order of events was different, or if it was how I killed the mom or how I explore after? Idk. But the images were these brutal close-ups of the mom zombie. Like, real photos, not just rendered. There were startling, and even if I can’t get them to pop up again, I feel like they’re still fresh in my mind.

The detective wakes up in her childhood bedroom after a second and is different. She’s a child. Her character model is smaller, she doesn't have her gun, and her entire control scheme is different. Most of the buttons are replaced with the “hum” thing, which has her doing that same haunting hum from before. As a child, she can still wander around the rest of the town, and it’s still overrun with zombies, now there’s just noway for her to defend herself.

I felt kind of stuck and frustrated with this as the zombies kept killing me and I didn’t like hearing the MP3 child scream over and over again, so eventually I turned the Gamecube off and on, and when the game loaded up, the detective woke up in her childhood bed as an adult, like none of that stuff happened. I was able to continue the game but was unable to beat the final boss. I think there was something I had to do as a child to be able to? But I don’t know. The game was very confusing at that point and, like I said, when I tried to replay it, the child-thing didn’t even happen. 

I think if the game has a guide or even just, like, any information online I could have made sense of it. It’s a weird take on survival horror that really did get under my skin, I just wish I could finish it, or at least figure out what some of the weird stuff in it was doing or trying to do. If you played this game when you were younger, were there any guides you followed? Or do you remember anything? The only thing I was able to find was a shitty scan of the game manual, but even that I’m having a hard time deciphering…

Any help is appreciated!

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 6

Today's theme is Drop.

================================================

A drop in the ocean is seldom seen again. That was what Allison had said to him, wasn't it?

A part of him couldn't help but envy those who could disappear into the ink like that. He knew how devastating it could be to have no memories and no identity, but he yearned for a moment when he would no longer be burdened by the knowledge of the situation he was in. The other ink creatures received some brief respite from the horrors of the studio when they entered the puddles. Some period of time when they weren't fighting for their lives at all times.

Henry received no such rest.

Even during the peaceful times with Boris in the safe house or confined in the cell in Allison and Tom's hideout, he was painfully aware of when it would all end. Those moments were never true breaks, only brief lulls between the moments of terror that had defined his existence for so long. Maybe that was why he hadn't tried to escape from the cell those strange creatures had put him in. There was no story for him to follow here. No expectations looming over him. He could finally rest for once.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He was stuck in captivity while being freer than he'd been in ages.

"Little sheep..." Sammy's voice jolted him from his thoughts.

"Yes?" He turned toward the glass, despite knowing that Sammy couldn't see him from his cell.

"...Why is it that you haven't tried to escape, little sheep?" Sammy's voice sounded small, unsure. Henry had never heard him sound that way before.

"I could ask you the same, Sammy." Henry scooted his stool closer to the glass of the cell window.

Sammy was silent for a moment or two before responding. "I... Cannot use my powers to escape through the puddles. And I lack the... mechanical knowledge that the false angel utilized to free herself."

"Well." Henry leaned his head against the glass. "I don't have powers or mechanical knowledge. How do you think I'm supposed to get free?"

Sammy made a frustrated noise. "Because you're different. You've always been different. I don't know how you would do it but I know you could escape if you truly wanted to."

"Maybe I don't want to escape, then."

Sammy was silent again. When he spoke once more, his voice was once again small. "Why would you want to stay here?"

Henry let out a long exhale. "Because I'm tired, Sammy."

"Tired?" Sammy echoed.

"Yes, tired."

"I suppose the constant fight for survival in this place can be... exhausting," Sammy conceded.

"Something like that." Henry didn't have the energy to explain the whole story at the moment. Not to mention, Sammy wasn't one of the ones who remembered the Cycle. Explaining the fact that there was a Cycle would be tiring enough, let alone explaining Henry's role in it.

Some nervously plucked notes made their way to Henry's ears. So Sammy was playing again. He'd been playing off and on since he'd been put in his cell. Henry rather enjoyed listening to it. While he could remember Sammy's playing, he knew those memories weren't really his. He'd never heard Sammy play before.

"I... am sorry," Sammy suddenly said.

"Huh?" Henry frowned and sat up. "Why are you sorry?"

"I... know there is much about our world I do not understand," Sammy said slowly. "And while I do not entirely know what your role is, I know that whatever weighs on your mind is heavy indeed."

Henry gave a weak laugh, letting his head rest against the glass again. "You have no idea."

"Therefore," Sammy continued. "I offer you my sincerest apologies for whatever it is you are burdened with."

"Thanks, Sammy. I appreciate it." Henry allowed himself a small smile.

"You are most welcome," Sammy said before pausing and quietly adding, "Henry."

Henry's breath caught in his throat. When was the last time he'd heard Sammy call him by his name?

"Thanks," he repeated quietly.

Neither of them spoke after that, the only sound filling their lonely cells being the sound of Sammy's banjo playing. Henry closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the music. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of being faceless and anonymous.

Just another drop in the ocean.

[eightyonekilograms]

The parallels between finance and various engineering disciplines are always fascinating to me. It's uncanny the degree to which you can model finance as a complex distributed system like a power grid, including (or even especially) in how it breaks down. The breakdowns in finance are increasingly system accidents: the obvious failure modes are handled by regulations and safety systems, but the remaining ones are caused by emergent behavior in the interconnections between parts that often nobody even knew were connected. And a lot of times the safety systems for the well-understood failure cases make the unknown ones worse!

At dinner last night @keynes-fetlife-mutual's roommate brought up a point about the GFC that I hadn't realized: part of the problem was that various European banking regulations had created a huge demand for AAA-rated assets, via the perfectly understandable public demand that things like pension funds and only make extremely safe bets so retirees don't suddenly lose all their money. But there are only so many AAA assets around! And the vacuum ended up getting filled by sketchy American mortgages that were laundered through securitization and money markets until nobody realized what they were anymore. But to be clear: if American mortgages hadn't filled this demand for AAA assets beyond the realistic supply, something else would have, and would've blown up a different way.

To this I added the point that the in, which is what we saw when Truss became PM: to make a long story short, the chaos occurred in pension funds when the BOE raised rates and looked poised to raise them a lot more, and suddenly these funds were out of cash. Which is really counterintuitive! Pension funds should benefit when rates go up. But these funds had hedged themselves so much against interest rate downside risk that when rates when up, even though their future asset value was excellent in the long run, in the here-and-now they had no money. Again: safety systems causing problems. It's similar to that issue last year when commodities prices went way up, and refiners/miners of some metal, (maybe aluminum, I can't remember or find the link) were screwed because they had again hedged against downside risk and now a bunch of banks were making margin calls on them. This all turned out to be fine, I assume because capital markets gave them bridge funding on the promise that "hey, we benefit from these high prices, we're good for it", but you could imagine a scenario where this price spike occurred during a liquidity crisis where there was no easy capital available, and then these producers would've been strangled to death by their own safety nets.

I don't know much of the details, but there's an emerging discipline of study about the extent to which safety systems against small-scale accidentally inherently make large-scale ones more likely because it increases the risk of cascading failure. This is something that keeps cloud computing operators up at night, since disks and NICs and power supplies die constantly and you have to make that invisible to consumers, but these failover mechanisms are very likely to take down entire datacenters if they just plow ahead with whatever they're doing. It's wild to me that finance faces the exact same dilemma.

[fates-roll]

Welcome to Fate’s Roll

Fate’s Roll is an ask-driven story with video game inspired mechanics, set in an Undertale multiverse teetering on the brink of disaster where your & the player’s decisions- and a roll of the dice- will determine its ultimate fate.

> START GAME

> CURRENT EVENT [DIVORCE BRACKET!]

> CHARACTER LIST [TOYHOUSE]

> MORE INFORMATION

Rules

These will be expanded on later, but for now I’m just. Putting down what I can think of.

No sexually explicit, racist, homophobic, or any other generally offensive or crude content in asks.

Don’t attack/cuss out other askers for being rude to characters.

While asks about ships are super okay, please don’t send in asks about ships that include anything like siblings or an adult and a child. This includes specifically the Fate’s Roll versions of Error and Ink, as they consider themselves siblings.

Interactions

Interactions are currently limited to asks, where askers can speak to whoever is currently breaking the fourth wall, and influence the player’s decisions.

The current fourth wall breakers are Fate, Ink, and Error. You can’t physically interact with them, but it seems like you’re able to send gifts through now… maybe you’ll be able to do more in the future?

Posting

The queue is for three times a day, at 10:30 am, 2 pm, and 5:30 pm CST!

Once an update is finished, it’ll be added to the queue and bumped up either to the current day or the day after, with other queued posts being mostly filler.

The queue is currently paused so I can fill it up a bit, and may be paused again in the future.

Tags

#Fate’s roll - general tag for any fate’s roll content.

#Fate’s roll chronologically - simple tag for an easy way to start at the beginning. (You’ll need to go in browser to sort the tag so it’s in the right order.)

#Fate’s roll interlude - drabbles. Very very short writing of some bits not seen during the updates.

#Fate’s fun facts - ooc fun facts abt miscellaneous things to do with fate’s roll.

#Fate’s roll [character] - anything with that particular character.

Shipping

There may be background hints at ships, but the story I’m telling is not focused on shipping- the only canon “ships” will be oc x oc, and anything that’s already canon in undertale. And also The Divorce™️.

Either way, asks about ships are totally fine, as long as you follow the rules, though they’ll typically be answered ooc!

Mechanics inspired by:

The webcomic Fortuna (and, by extension, Homestuck.)

Dungeons & Dragons

Extra fun things:

Character playlist masterpost

TBA

About me

Hey! I’m the guy running the blog. You can call me Lamb or Axe, my pronouns are he/they/xe/it, and I’m 22. My main is @lambsbite, and my utmv specific side blog is @lambsbones.

I use a more simplified style here for the sake of both my time & enjoyment! And arms.

If any dialogue comes across as weird or off, it’s either on purpose for characterization or because I’m autistic.

… idk what else to put here lol. Thanks for looking through this all!

[delightfuldevin]

Hellooooooo!! Can I bother you for some headcanons on the Koopalings? I've been thinking about them a lot recently gkjhkgsf. Personality, Likes/Dislikes, Orientation, Ages, Koopa Breed, where they came from; anything you got think thonks about them on pretty please!!

Hello hello!! Ask and yee shall receive! I’ve written out a lot of stuff about them for my lore fic, but I haven’t polished it yet so that’s why it hasn’t been published with the rest of the fic! Under a cut this time since there’s seven of them and thus, this is gonna be looong

I’ll start with orientations since it’s pride month and I can’t bring myself to draw yet ;^; (also ages cause I should probably figure those out eventually lol).

(Added some headers to separate this so it’s a bit easier to navigate!)

Genders, Orientations, and Ages

Larry (he) - binary trans boy; straight (at least 12, maybe 13?)

Morton (he) - cis; aro-spec polyamorous (14-ish?)

Wendy (she/fae) - trans demigirl/genderfae/Idk some kind of girl-but-not-girl gender hdchjsxbjchjsx; lesbian polyamorous (15 or 16)

Iggy (he/they/ze) - genderqueer; gay (16 perhaps?)

Roy (he/they) - agender; bisexual polyamorous (17 or 18)

Lemmy (any pronouns) - genderfluid; panromantic asexual (18-ish)

Ludwig (he) - cis; aroace (18-20 Idk hdbcdcsjab)

Species/Biology

In terms of species, they’re the same as Bowser, which I call Dragon-Koopas! They are typically larger and physically stronger than most other types of Koopas, and they’re capable of breathing fire and using magic, though the latter depends on how much magical potential they have. All the past rulers of the Koopa Kingdom have been Dragon-Koopas. There are Dragon-Koopa families who aren’t royalty, though many are nobility in some way. Biological features include:

spiked shells, which come in many colors, that are unable to be separated from the body (unlike regular Koopas, who can remove their shells)

the flame pipe, an internal organ that produces fire and keeps the fire from burning other organs

very large and sharp teeth (Dragon-Koopas’ diet is primarily meat)

longer tails (for balance)

hair (only a few other types of Koopas are capable of growing hair)

“giant form”, a defense mechanism developed during puberty which causes Dragon-Koopas to grow many times their size when they have been mortally wounded (can also be affected by mental state)

Sorry to go on a biology rant hdbcjjds. Moving on!

Origins

Larry, Wendy, and Ludwig are the only ones related by blood. All the Koopalings arrived at Bowser’s Castle at different times (though all during childhood, perhaps within a year or so?), and eventually came to see each other as siblings.

Ludwig’s parents worked in Bowser’s Castle. When Larry was around 3 years old, their parents (died? Disappeared? Not sure yet dhbcjxcb). Bowser took them under his wing (he didn’t officially adopt them yet) and named Ludwig his heir (Idk how royalty works irl so I’m not sure if he can technically do that, but oh well, this is the Koopa Kingdom and Bowser makes the rules lol).

Next to arrive were Roy and Morton. They were both orphans and met each other on the streets and became like brothers. Roy, being the hot-headed and impulsive child that he was, decided it would be a good idea to break into the king’s castle. When they were caught and Bowser was asked what to do with them, he put them on cleaning duty under the guide of the castle’s cleaning crew. Roy protested at first, but Morton convinced him to suck it up since he thought the king would do worse if they didn’t. Morton was always scared of Bowser and only started to warm up to him after Bowser Jr was born.

Next was Lemmy! He was part of a traveling circus and was left behind when the circus came to the capital. Wendy found him and brought him back to the castle to play with and convinced Bowser to let him stay.

Now, Iggy was the last to show up and it happened randomly without anyone even noticing until he was already settled in. Lemmy was the first to notice Iggy was in the castle, and they just played in his room most of the time. Most of the castle attendants had gotten used to seeing Dragon-Koopa kids running through the castle, so none of them thought it unusual when they would see Iggy around.

It was around this time that Bowser started referring to them collectively as the Koopalings cause he got tired of calling them individually whenever he needed more than a couple at a time. Back then, he didn’t keep track of them so he didn’t know how many there were in total. When he finally called them in to get a final count, there were seven of them and he didn’t question it. No one knows where Iggy came from, and he deflects the question whenever it’s brought up to him.

The Koopalings were officially adopted not that long before the, uh, “current” time for lack of a better term. Bowser Jr was actually very surprised, not because they were being adopted, but because they weren’t already. Like, they’ve been living with Bowser for longer than Jr’s even been alive, so he (understandably) thought they were already his siblings to begin with hbscjsbcjd. Thing is, everyone thought they were Bowser’s kids all this time and they practically were in principle; he just never made it official until very recently.

Extra

I have sooooo many headcanons on these guys, but for the sake of not making this post a mile long, I put 4 points for each. The rest will be added to my lore fic, so look out for that!!

Larry:

Very shy and afraid as a toddler so he stuck to Ludwig like glue since he’s his older brother; very outgoing and sociable now, and doesn’t even remember being shy lol

Loves to play games; video games, sports games, card games, board games. Anything so long as it’s a game

Hates losing so he cheats in almost everything; Morton is the only one who plays with him cause Mort’s the only one who doesn’t mind his cheating and won’t call him out on it

Despite his cheery demeanor, he has a rather short fuse and is easily angered

Morton:

Terrible at telling lies, but good at keeping secrets

Likes to bake; enjoys making cakes and cookies the most

He talks a lot. Like a lot. He’s shy around strangers, so one might think he’s the quiet type, but once he’s comfortable he will never stop talking

He is magically strong and physically strong too, making him the perfect balance amongst his siblings. However, he is known to take things overboard when it comes to his strengths, which makes him very unpredictable and dangerous in battle

Wendy:

Likes typically “girly” things like bows, make up, jewelry, and high heels, but not above violence to get what she wants

Known as “the scary one” amongst her siblings and many of the minions; the other Koopalings may not listen to Ludwig sometimes, but they all know to listen to Wendy

Her necklace can be used as a weapon like her rings; it’s a chain/whip

Gets into petty arguments with Roy a lot, usually over small things like which shade of pink is the best

Iggy:

Ambidextrous

Has a deep fascination with nature and all kinds of plants and animals

His Chain Chomp is named Horace

Does all of his experiments and inventing in his room and he’s accidentally destroyed it multiple times; stays in Lemmy’s room whenever his has to be rebuilt or fumigated

Roy:

The weakest Koopaling in terms of magic, and the strongest physically (though he and Morton are almost evenly matched); relies on brute force most of the time and doesn’t care about improving his magic

Has heterochromatic eyes (his right eye is dark purple and his left is bright blue)

Wears sunglasses because his eyes are extremely sensitive to light and it can be very painful; his sunglasses were magically created by Bowser

Has an exceptional sense of smell and hearing since he relied on those senses mainly before he got his glasses

Lemmy:

Used to have a very overactive flame pipe when he was younger (sometimes he would just be trying to talk and then all of a sudden a bunch of fire would come out); has better control over his flame pipe now and his is the strongest of his siblings (meaning he can breathe the most fire at once)

Enjoys dancing and abstract painting

Always on his rubber ball; he’s even been known to sleep on it (how he manages to stay balanced on it seems like magic in and of itself)

Naturally blonde; dyes the rest of his hair

Ludwig:

The strongest Koopaling in terms of magic; according to Kamek, with enough training, he could be the strongest Dragon-Koopa in modern history

He curses a lot, which is unexpected due to his somewhat princely personality

Considers himself the leader of the Koopalings; the others usually follow him, but sometimes they don’t cause they think he’s too bossy (he kinda is lol); trusts Wendy the most and puts her in charge when he can’t be

With Bowser Jr’s birth, he is no longer Bowser’s heir, but he has no animosity about it; rather, he’s decided that it’s his responsibility to make sure Jr grows into a proper king (kinda like he’s living vicariously through Jr lol)

Sorry if this isn’t coherent I really gotta put this stuff together properly for the lore fic dhbcjsnbdcsjs

[vespertin-y]

it’s liveblog o’clock babeee!! this time from the beginning of ch1′s trial to The Switch :’)

-”ah-haha, oh man, i haven’t been in a trial in, like, forever!” “oh, so you have experience with trials...?” tsumugi is using her sweating sprite here, too...adding this to my ‘kokichi was season 52′s second sacrifice’ conspiracy corkboard.

-the mechanical podiums in v3 are fucking SICK. i especially love the way they yank prime suspects into the middle of the trial circle. the standardized size is funny though, poor gonta and korekiyo look so awkward. at least they gave ryoma a stool....

-the monokubs are talking about the fastest class trial to date, and they say: “he was like...a leaf on the wind.” “oh yeah...i guess now he’s one with the wind.” “yeah, i think about him this time of year too.” “the way he soared through the enemy fleet all badass, just to die like a li’l punk!” it seems like the guy was a military aviator(?) who either killed someone right in front of the others, or confessed immediately. sucks for him, but a good basis for an oc...hmmm....

-it’s childish, but seeing two dr characters on the screen with a giant CONSENT!!! between them never fails to make me laugh. in an ideal world they put these in the love hotels.

-the way kokichi’s voice wobbles up and down during his fake crying continues to be hilarious, and ryoma’s amused little “...cool your jets, kid.” is great also.

-oh, i just realized they all call gonta by his first name! i though it was just kokichi that did that, but it seems like he just drops his usual -chan.

-korekiyo suggests they torture those who went to the basement for information, but shouldn’t he know that’s a useless way to interrogate people...? and no one even comments on it, either??? they just let it slide and move on!

-”if the culprit is among that group, then wouldn’t maki be the most suspicious? just look at her - she could definitely kill someone.” lines like this make me inclined to believe kokichi wasn’t lying when he says he’s known about maki for ages in ch2. was he just waiting for the proof the motive videos provided? or maybe he knows literally nothing and is just dicking around here. that’s always an option!

-watching shuichi be suspected for forgetting about the camera intervals shatters my heart. but hearing miu call him kaede’s boytoy with zero pushback from either of them puts it back together.

-i wonder what the intermissions are, in-universe? i hope they’re bathroom breaks...standing in one spot for that many hours would be awful.

-shuichi’s panic spiral is definitely not helped by being moved to the middle where he’s surrounded by eyes from all angles 😬 i’d clam up too!

-the pulsing scribbly eyes during perjury are SO cool-looking,,,

-kaede’s JP VA is absolutely INSANE. the fact that i can hear her smiling AND tearing up, at the same time, across a language barrier????

-THE SLOW FLICKERING OUT OF THE UI...THE GUNSHOT SOUND WHEN SHE SAYS SHUICHI’S GOING TO PROTECT EVERYONE...SHUICHI’S SHAKY VOICE FILTERING IN...WHAT a moment oh my goddd. 193/10.

-that’s all for now...i’ll be back with the next part of the trial sometime soon, for now i just need to lay down......(இ﹏���`｡)

[pentition]

I wonder if they are going to add an outcome to keep Pen in Sandrock at the cost of Logan hating your gut. I don't think I would even mind that all that much, consequences like that can be pretty neat in a game like this I think.

It would be interesting! I want to keep them both but it would make sense to go that route. I'd also feel bad since Sandrock is (objectively) more of Logan's home than it is Pen's.

Spoilers!!

Sort of reminds me how in Dragon Age: Origins you get the chance to recruit Loghain at the cost of Alastair. Which, with some characters I like to play, they absolutely would make that call. I mean, when it comes to competency and useful assets, taking a veteran soldier vs a novice warden during a war is better. Apply that here, too.

Factoring in morality and intentions is always important, of course. Pen and Loghain are both traitors and both in possession of experience and knowledge. Alastair and Logan are both products of their mentors (or father-figures) and more green/less in the know of things. You run the risk of unpredictability in a way with the prior two vs the latter two when it comes to loyalty. But if they willingly do wish to aid for whatever reason, they are absolutely more significant assets to have.

Traitor Pen becoming a double traitor? Sharing his knowledge, when he thinks it's relevant to share it. I can think of so many reasons why he'd turn against Duvos sgfdgfhg

I feel like it's potentially something that Pathea wouldn't do just because they seem to prefer operating on more simple means. Which I wish wasn't the case since their games have lots of potential to be bigger and more. They have such fun lore with the ability to be light and dark, and even with some of the ridiculous designs they have it doesn't detract from the meat of the story and characters. I feel like if they are willing to make that effort it would definitely be interesting to the narrative. Choosing between Pen or Logan. Or even finding a way to make them cooperate enough. It would be really cool but I feel like, gameplay-wise with NPCs, things are kind of on par in some places and less in others with engagement in this game vs Portia. But it's also in early access still and despite my full release date worries (if they are happening in the summer still?) I keep trying to just remind myself it could change.

There are a lot of things I'd like to see. I think the potential for Pen exists in a lot of ways to keep him in the narrative and as a returning romance option. Also possible to make it be a choice between Logan or Pen or them just be at odds the whole time, likewise I see potential for positive development if facts are just changed around and Pen not really being honest. That's a whole ass subject in itself though. I just agree it would be interesting if they added more context and game mechanics - especially with these two, since they are rather important to Sandrock's storyline.

Also consequences in games, when done well, are so fun!! I'm so weak for social dynamics having pros and cons with characters and factions. If we have Pen back in our custody at the end of Knives Out, I feel like it's a perfect opportunity to play with consequences or building trust to keep Pen. The idea of options existing interests me. Maybe you can't get through to him so you can only engage with him while he's in prison. Or maybe you can't and he breaks out and stays your enemy. Or maybe you can find even ground and he comes to stand by you/Sandrock/Free Cities instead?

I'm dipping into the whole potential of Pen narratively speaking so I'm gonna cut myself off here. I agree with you on how fun and interesting it would all be!!

[catboybiologist]

Reblogging to my primary blog, and adding a bit of commentary. I want to keep hi-sierra as "uncluttered" as possible, so its easier to find stuff

Am I evil for ending on a bit of a cliffhanger? Maybe. I have a good plan for the rest of "chapter 1", if you can call it that, and that'll probably be the first clean stopping point.

Also, PLEASE give me critique and feedback on this! I'd love to write more stuff, and I wanna know if I'm doing things nicely! Even down to the way I format dialogue, Rosie's panels, and in general, the writing mechanics of how I represent the story.

On that note, a weird, cobbled together string of tumblr posts... isn't the most efficient way to post this. If anyone has any recommendations for a way to post and link my stories instead of using this weird format, I'd love to hear it!

I'm so sorry this took so long! @godless-of-the-hunt, thank you SO much for your donation to make this happen, and I'm so sorry for a late delivery. I'm brutally realizing that managing side projects while working on my PhD work is very taxing on my time and energy. I'll absolutely continue working on stuff like this, but I am NOT setting any more deadlines for myself while I still have my day job to think about.

@k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl, I'm sure you'll wanna take a look here as well LOL

I have SO many side project and story ideas. I'll keep working on them now, but as I've mentioned, I'll be taking a hiatus from my PhD this summer. The way things are shaping up, I'll likely be getting most of the work done on those projects then. I have some kind of starting point or outlines for four different things right now- Biologics, Symphony of the Stars, a video essay or podcast about biology and gender, and another video essay or podcast idea that I can't even efficiently summarize.

I hate to shill, but if you want to be able to support me during this time, consider putting something into my ko-fi:

I'm a broke graduate student already, and I'll be forgoing my income for the summer to take a break and work on these kinds of things. Any bit helps.

Okay. I think that's all I have to say. Bbbyyyyeeeeee

And fuckit, I'm abusing the 196 tags for this. Look at my story, boy.

Biologics, chapter 0.5

Hello, hello! I finally have added a significant amount to my story, Biologics, resulting in a total of ~4400 words. Not a whole ton, I know, but unfortunately life gets to ya. It isn't quite where I want it to be to consider a proper chapter one, but I feel like there's enough written for me to post. General warning that this is intended to heavily lean into the theme of "eroticism of the machine", so if that doesn't appeal to you, you've been warned. It does, however, have many general sci fi worldbuilding elements, so I hope it has a somewhat broad appeal!

So yes, if you already read the first snippet, that's going to be mostly a one to one repeat with some grammatical adjustments. Feel free to scroll down until you get to the new stuff. Flow-wise, there just wasn't a good place to break between the two sections.

Look at me rambling. And I wonder why I can't get any of this stuff done. Anyways, here it is!

Biologics

Pappy always said that manufacturing biological transportation was nothing knew. I mean, shit, humanity's been breeding horses for how long? To him, not much was novel about what was going on in the shipyards way out by Neptune when I was a kid.

But Pappy didn't know a lot of things. And he certainly didn't meet Roseanna.

The Federation Navy had experimented with Biologics for decades. The idea was to create self regenerating ships- organic matter that interfaced with the hull, moving new titanium plates and patches into place down to microscopic precision. If you had a living, growing mass interfacing with steel, a ship didn't have to head all the way back to the yards to patch up after every dogfight.

The first generation... worked. With a full time crew, that is. Full time people on deck jabbin the rigid, chitonous matrix full of growth hormones to get them to set just right. Full time onboard bioengineers to compute what signaling cocktail ya need to hit 'em with to get it to grow back right. Skilled onboard technicians to shave back the chitin when it tried to overgrow the titanium, and slap some new cells in to seed the process in heavily damaged areas. Less input material, less time in the yards, but far more manpower. Great for a Federation cruiser on deep space peacekeeping missions. Far too complex for small craft. Right?

Until some bastard put brains in 'em.

Well. A lotta suits would say that they weren't brains. They were a diffuse network of sensory neurons and ganglia, living inside the body of the ship, integrating signals from a skin of alloyed metal and fibrous protein, calculating power draw too and from various components, integrated with the mechanical and electrical components of the ship to precisely manage the "wound healing" process of the vessel. And of course, it just so happened that one of those ganglia was larger and more complex than the rest of them, and it just so happened that the computer interfaces with this ganglia exhibit complex, thinking behaviors on the level of human cognition, and it just so happens that most pilots and navigators reported them developing their own personalities.....

But of course, the Navy didn't want anyone to have some kind of pesky empathy in the way of their operations. And they certainly didn't want anyone side eyeing the rate at which they disposed of the damn things, just to let them suffer and rot. So as far as the official record was concerned, they weren't brains. But I knew different.

Like most people in the belt, I found Rosie on an... unsponsored field trip to the Neptune scrap yards. She wasn't a ship then. She wasn't much of anything. Not much more than a vat with the central ganglia and just barely enough of the stem cells needed to regrow a network. But I took her all the same. Brains were valuable. Few pilots outside the Navy had them back then. Nowadays, a black market for "brain seeds", a cocktail of neuronal stem cells and enough structural stem cells to grow your own into the chassis of your ship, was thriving. The Navy was pumpin' em out, and leaving them to die. It was cruel. Sometimes, being scavenged and resold was a kinder fate. But more often, some nasty piece of work would pick them up eventually, and treat them like just another goddamn ship. They may be vehicles, but they're a livin' being too.

I digress. I'd never do that to Roseanna. I make sure she gets proper care. And for a good, proper, working ship? That includes some good, proper work.

The asteroid we were docked in was one of my usuals- good bars, nice temp quarters, nice views of the rock's orbiting twin, and a spacious hanger for Rosie to rest in. The chassis I had imprinted Roseanna to was a 40-meter light skipper, with some adjustments for handling deep space trips, as well as some... personal touches. It was pretty much the smallest thing you could actually use to live in and work for long periods of time, but it got the job done. The angular design made the entire ship look like a wedge, or the blade of a bulky dagger. It didn't hurt that each bottom edge was fortified with a sharpened titanium blade, turning the entire sides of the ship into axe-like rams.

Those would probably come in handy today.

I approached Roseanna on the catwalk above her, marveling her alloyed scales. I could almost see her shudder in anticipation as my footsteps vibrated through the air above her. I took the steps down, and hit the trigger to open her top hatch.

When the news got out of the Navy scuffling with a rebelling mining station, an electric air raced across the station. Some went about their day as normal. Some resigned themselves to picking at the leftovers after the dust had settled. And some, like me, knew that they could get the finest pickings.

I slipped into the pilot's seat like it was an old boot.

"Welcome, Captain Victoria."

Rosie could talk, but more often than not, she chose not to. But she understood me just fine. Most of our communication took place using her three prerecorded lines- her welcome statement, affirmative, and negative- as well as a tiny screen showing a small, emoticon face. Many pilots chose to give their ships an elaborate render, but Rosie preferred it this way. It was the first face I gave her, from somewhere out of the scrap heaps, and she refused any offer I made to upgrade. Hell, she even had a hi-res screen for external cameras and comms, but she refused to interface directly with it. Secretly, I was overjoyed. To me, the little pixelated screen was her face. That was her voice. And it was beautiful to see her true self through them.

I brushed my hands across her paneling. Across the switches, the hydraulic controls for the plasma fuel, the steering, the boosts, the comms channels. The thing with Biologics was that you were still the pilot. For whatever reason, they hadn't quite gotten to the point where the brains could take over their own piloting. My personal opinion was just that their personalities lacked the ambition to. Cuz they certainly could take over some ships functions directly, and had the skill to do complex mechanical and electrical tasks. The Navy never let 'em drive, though, and most pilots didn't even know they could give them the ability to control any of the ships functions directly. But with a little help, a little bit of solid engineering, and a pilot that knew their ship... well, you could do a lot. And me and Rosie? We knew each other well. Over the years, I'd added some nice things for her, and she loved using them to help me out.

As my fingers touched the brushed aluminum controls, rimmed with chitinous layers affixing them to the ship, I could feel the walls around me holding their invisible breath. "Do you know what we're doing today, Rosie?"

Her tiny panel flickered on.

[...?]

"We got a scrap run."

[ ^_^]

[ :) ]

[ ^_^ ]

Her panel flicked between various expressions of excitement. My finger quivered on the main power, holding for a moment before flicking it on. The primary electronics of the ship hummed to life, and the parts Rosie controlled pulsed with it. My hands moved across the main functional panels- main hydraulic plasma valve, exhaust ports open, and finally, flicking the switch the start the plasma burner.

My hands gripped the steering. The hanger's airlock doors opened in front of me. My neck length hair started to float as the station's gravity shut off. I hit the switch to unlatch from the supports above. For a moment, we hang there. The dull crackle of the idling plasma burner is the only sound that resonates through Rosie's hull.

Go time. I punch the boost.

The station shakes. Rosie was never a subtle one.

The mechanics are deafened.

The crowd of spectators are deafened.

The other pilots in the hanger are deafened.

But me? The vibrations of Rosie's hull shuddering under me was the sweetest symphony my ears ever had the pleasure of hearing. As we shot out of that hanger, I found myself involuntarily humming a high note, harmonizing with the sweet rumble of my baby's acceleration as we shoot out into the inky, black expanse of space. The twin asteroids shot by us as we disappeared, leaving only the faint blue plasma trail from our engines.

My hand is firm on the boost, weathered hands tightly gripping the bar of the accelerator. I remember installing this thing in her- it was an aftermarket adjustment, not included in the usual light skipper chassis. Gently stripping away the back of her chassis, caressing her insides as I rooted the paneling, firmly attaching the tanks and burners on her insides... these hands had taken great pleasure in that. Bested only, of course, by the first time I had felt the thing roar to life.

And what a feeling it was. Rosie's entire chassis, biological and mechanical, shuddering under my grasp. The grip of my calloused hands on the boost controls, tight and sweaty around the ridged grip of the horizontal bar. The noises she made, as if to shout in glee and wild abandon at being unchained and let loose into the eternal field of space, as she was made to do. The gentle touch of her skin on my back, my body pressed in contact with the small fraction of hers that was my seat. I glanced down at her face panel.

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

[ :| ]

[ :D ]

My humming gave way to a chuckle, and then a wholehearted, exhilarated laugh. Someone was enjoying herself. The flickering faces on her panel reminded me of the happily panting station dogs back on Mars.

But as much as I would like this to just be a joyride, I had promised Rosie a scrap run. And the pickings were looking good. I glanced down at the nav. I was intentionally headed at a slightly indirect angle- Rosie's boost was her main attractive feature (both as a ship, and as a working partner), and the extra leeway I had in travel time let me strategize a bit more. I doubted we would be the first people there, but I figured we could get in before the main rush. The only trouble was darting in and grabbing something right from under the noses of the first locusts. The scrap field in question included a disabled heavy mining freighter, a goliath of the ship larger than some of the asteroids it made supply runs between. I assumed that most other scavengers would be approaching directly from our station, and the other stations in its proximity. With Rosie's boost, we could overshoot, hook around, and put the freighter in between us and the guns of the more violent craft. Rosie has no long range weapons of any kind- not only would they slow down her miraculous speed, but she didn't like them. I tried installing a small plasma cannon once, and she expressed immense distaste. Maybe they were too brutish for her, or maybe she didn't like the way they felt inside her, burdening her with pressure from the inside that didn't befit the delicate touches I usually graced her with. Rosie loved speed, precision, elegance, and stealth above all else. It's just the kind of ship she was.

That's not to say she was a pacifist, or defenseless. Quite the contrary. She just prefers a more... personal touch.

The navicom beeped at me. We'd reached the point where we needed to make that hook. My bare feet gently swept across the titanium flooring to the steering pedals. My right hand delicately gripped the steering joystick, while my left eased its grip on the boost accelerator.

"Ready for this, darling?"

[ >:) ]

I slammed the steering to the left, and Rosie gleefully complied. The wide bank of the turn as we rotated and soared through the sea of stars twisted my body in its inertia, compressing me further into her. As the angle straightened out to the proper heading, I punched the boost again, and Rosie roared forward.

Slowly, our target came into sight. Damn. This thing had taken some serious damage. Mining freighters typically weren't heavily armored- their only job was to get material from point A to B- but this one had clearly been through some serious modifications. Modifications that now lay in ruin. Titanium plating was scattered in a field around the core of the freighter. I couldn't quite tell what was stuff left behind by the battle, and what was the result of shoddy craftmanship- but it didn't matter. What did matter was that the entire thing had been split almost in half, and the scattered cargo that was leaking out. Cargo that most likely included half the weapon supplies of this little rebel faction. Would fetch a pretty penny, to the right buyer. And hell, if it was just gonna sit here unclaimed...

Ah shit. It wasn't gonna sit here unclaimed. Despite my best efforts, it looks like we weren't the first ones here. A larger scavenger gang had already arrived, and it looks like it was one of the ones I knew- Augustus and his lot. Most likely, they'd be after the weapons intact, one more thing to use to shakedown the scattered independent stations I always flitted between. He would not be happy to see me n Rosie here. What he called his "fleet" was a single, mid-sized carrier ship, about half the size of the freighter we were looting, and the dozen or so scout fighters and strip mining crafts he had looted from the Navy and various corps, and one Biologic that he called his. I respect that part, to be honest. What I don't respect is him immediately turning around and using that charge every goddamn station his ever-increasing "protection fees". Not to mention my personal disdain for the way he treated his ship. Didn't even give her a damn name. I digress. But any chance to loot something from under that slimebag's nose was a win in my book. I knew he wasn't gonna make it easy, though.

Welp. That's what our positioning was for. The side facing us was the main starboard face, and like the rest of the ship, it was peppered in small holes and gashes. Seems like the main damage had happened from the other side, and a few cables and scaffolds on the starboard just barely kept the two rear cargo compartments clinging to the front.

"Alright Rosie, time to creep it in slow. Be quiet, now, don't want them picking up a plasma surge"

[ :| ]

Ha. That was her "my lips are sealed" face. She's having fun with this already.

I cut the booster, coasting closer and closer to the bust open vessel. I eased the reverse thrusters ever so slightly, my fingers gently stroking the dual brake levers, lightly teasing at them to wait until we were as close as I thought we could be without attracted attention.......... before slamming both sides back towards me. For just one, crucial moment.

The goal here was to approximately match the speed and trajectory of a floating piece of titanium plating. Rosie's frontal blades were essentially that, anyways, so all they would see is a somewhat more angular piece of rubble. Hopefully they hadn't seen that same piece of rubble screaming out of travel speed, but I was cautious enough with my distances that I didn't think that was a problem. And they hadn't seen me yet. Once we were close enough to the freighter itself, we were blocked from their raw sightline, and Rosie was running quiet enough to not tip off any of their energy sensors.

But there was still no guarantee. Rosie, however, had no shortage of tricks. Something that she and I had developed together was a nice little bit of snooping. Well cared for and well trained, a Biologic brain had the problem solving of a human, and the computational power of a machine. But them together, and you've got a perfect decoder. And I happened to know that Augustus used an encrypted local frequency to keep his

"Alright Rosie, thinkin you can eavesdrop a little?"

Affirmative.

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[..!]

:D

My comms crackled to life. "...7 heavy cannons in center-front portside bay, 3 replacement fighter hatchs...."

The comms crackled back and forth, with each pilot giving updates to what they were finding in their own little segment that they were slicing apart. Occasionally, I saw Augustus or the fighters flick between the slicing ships, overseeing their progress on the port bays. Good. Let them focus on the other side for now. Slowly, the fleet was overshadowed by the freighter. We made it. I released my breath- shit, didn't realize I was holding it- and took a better look at what we were dealing with. It looked as if the scattered debris field had mostly been the remnants of the hull, as well as light weapons for small craft and even infantry. They would fetch some small change, sure, but Rosie's cargo capacity was small. Packing efficiency was the name of the game. I saw the gash that it had all been flooding out of on this side- the entire freighter was covered in them- and peered inside. And ho boy, did my heart flutter.

Heavy cannons.

Jump-graded travel boosters.

Raw, precious metals.

And, hidden in the back corner, seemingly bolted into the wall.... a brain.

We'd hit jackpot, and potentially rescued a poor ship from abandonment, or worse.

"Alright Rosie. Time to get to work."

Affirmative.

And here was another lil something that made Rosie special- her manipulation arms . She always preferred that delicate touch, and wanted to interact with the world in a tactile, real way. So we worked on it. Together. I was tired of taking spacewalks to grab small pieces of scrap, or using the entire goddamn cargo bay on a piece that only had a tiny core, or scraps of precious metals inside. So we needed something that could pluck apart our finds. Do some light disassembly in the field, extract what was valuable, and load it in with the most packing efficiency possible. So I gave her arms- snake like appendages, coiled up in her cargo bay, with thousands of points of articulation. At first, I tried to make some kind of control system that I could use from the cockpit. But Rosie had a different idea. At her urged, I jacked them directly into the same sensory and motor systems that let her grip onto, position, and repair her hull. And by god, it worked.

When I showed her off the first time, no one had ever seen anything like it. Because there was nothing like it. A ship taking real mechanical control, over something so precise and delicate, was something that only a deeply intelligent, deeply skilled ship, with complex decision making and tactile movement could do.

And I was goddamn proud of her.

Every time she deployed them, I watched awe. Rosie gave a face of determination, and sinuous, metallic, tentacle-like appendages slid out in a bundle from the cargo bay opening on her underside. Each one was headed off by a different attachment- a precision laser cutter, a simple three-pointed grabbing claw, a drill, a tiny buzzsaw, camera that let me see what was going on, and more. Each one could be swapped out, depending on the task at hand. With eight of them slithering out from her cargo bay, though, there was usually something for everything. They extended out as a single bouquet, down through the hole of the cargo compartment, and split apart once inside. Each arm got to work.

Her observation monitor flickered on, giving me a view from the camera arm. I would've liked to get the brain out first, but two heavy cannons and a booster blocking the way anyways. We'd cut through that, picking off the energy cores and precious metals in the circuits as we go, and work our way towards the back. Rosie seemed to like the plan as well. My only job was to watch the comms, and watch the sensors.

I watched the camera as the petite tools of the arms excised and picked apart the titanium shell of the first heavy cannon. Her tools- the delicate 'fingers' of her arms- picked, pulled, tugged, and gently gripped every necessary notch, every joined titanium plate that needed to be undone, ever scrap of precious material. Firm, yet precise. Strong, yet never breaking or mishandling a single piece of cargo. As Rosie worked, my eyes darted across the energy sensors. I could see blips firing off as the ships on the other side of the freighter as the slicing ships worked and flitted between their stations from the other side. The comms crackled with their reports to Augustus- they seemed to be moving back and forth to the main carrier to drop off their hauls. It seemed like they had a lot to go through- we'd have plenty of time.

On the camera view, I could see a grabbing claw retracting back through the cargo bay. The first cannon had the back section cleanly excised from the massive barrel and chassis, leaving a path for the tools to get to the booster. The precious energy cell was sliding its way back into Rosie's cargo bay. God damn. She was quick with that. The laser cutter and saw were already making short work of the booster, too. We'd get to the brain in no time.

The chatter on the other line continued. We were still safe, but Augustus' crew had made more progress than I had hoped. Once the slicers had picked apart the port, they'd loop around to the starboard. We had to grab what we could as fast as we can- but I knew neither me or Rosie was gonna leave without that brain. Rosie gracefully sliced the fuel cell and ignition from the plasma burner, leaving the bracketing and vents behind. The second heavy cannon was soon to follow. Each cut through each piece had left a winding path towards the back of the chamber, allowing a physical path to what I had seen just barely poking through: a container for a genuine ship's brain. Rosie slid her camera arm in for a closer look.

The brain was bolted into the chassis of the ship, as well as some containers of growth factor. Seemed like the intent was to grow her in to this freighter. That was certainly an ambitious task, but if they knew what they were doing, it would be well worth it. A self-repairing, intelligent hauler as large as this one would be the heart and soul of resistance movements everywhere, supplying every backwater mining station or moon that longed to be free. Unfortunately, the brave and principled can still be stupid, and these chucklefucks had no idea what they were doing. Slapped in a random cargo bay, desperately trying to get growth out from there with no proper imprinting guidance... shame. If they'd've found me before running into the Navy, I might've helped them out. But at least now, we could give her a better life. I knew a lot of good, caring pilots that would take loving care of a fine ship like her.

From what I could tell, we were still safe from Augustus. Based on what I was hearing on the comms, each slicer was working on its last cargo hold subsection, and after that, they'd be poking around this side. We had to get this brain and get out.

Tenderly, her claw arm gripped the top of the brain's chamber, as her other fingers started working on the rivets. A saw would bust through part of the titanium bracket holding the chamber down, and when it got too close to the container itself, laser cutters took over, delicately slicing off each affixation point one by one. Rosie worked in a clockwise direction, first working down the three riveting points on the right, sawing off the bottom bracket, and then working up the rivets on the left.

C'mon Rosie. You got this. Just need the top plate....

"Finishing up there, slicer 5T?"

Shit. That was Augustus on the comms.

"Sure thing boss. Just gotta get this load to central. Mind if someone takes a peek on the other side for parasites before I get there?"

Shit.

"Sure thing. Fighter 3A, get your ass in gear and make a full pass of the ship."

An energy spike pinged on my sensor panels as the fighter revved up a booster.

"Gotcha boss. Starting at aft segment."

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit

We still had a sliver of time before we were seen. They'd wanna get a good pass everywhere- there were ships far stealthier than us out there. But it was minutes at most. We had to finish up.

"Rosie, how're we doing there? You done?"

Negative.

[ ;( ]

"Fuck. Rosie, we gotta get outta here."

Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative. Affirmative.

Rosie-speak for "I know, I know, I know"

My eyes were fixed to the scanner and my cockpit windows for a visual, but I spared one moment to check Rosie's cam. She was finishing sawing through the top bracket. Just a little more....

"Aft clear, moving to starboard cargo bays."

The brain snapped off of the hull, and Rosie's claws were zipping it back to her cargo bay. I revved the engines into standby. The arms tenderly guided it through the path we had cleared, and out through the hole in the hull. We might be able to barely slip away without them knowing.....

I looked up through the cockpit, just as the dinged-up, formerly Navy fighter showed itself from behind a piece of debris. It froze for a moment, and then lined its nose to face me. Cannon ports shifted open, and slowly took aim.

"Well shit, Augustus, you're gonna wanna see this. Get your ass over here, I'm switching to public comms."

I heard slight fuzz as he switched his channel.

"Alright, leech, I'll keep this simple. You have thirty seconds to relinquish your haul before you join the debris."

For a single, cold moment, I swear I made eye contact with him through our cockpits.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Absentee

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Y/N fell in love with Jason Todd, she didn’t realize the normalcy she lost would become such a problem in their relationship. And she didn’t know how much pain it would cause to hide her boyfriend’s secrets. 

Word Count: 4,600 – One Shot

A/N: This is probably a really personal story. And you all might hate it or not relate to it. But oh well...

Y/N had her music playing in her headphones just quietly enough so she could hear them announce when her plane was boarding.

Between corporate holidays and what was left of her vacation days for the year, she was able to go home for a week and a half.

Only, she was hoping that this year she wouldn’t be going home alone.

But when Jason got sucked into a case two weeks before their flight back to her hometown, she knew there was no way he’d be accompanying her.  

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just–“ Jason had tried to tell her when she realized they weren’t going to be spending the holidays together.

“You don’t have to apologize. There are more important things right now than meeting my crazy family,” Y/N laughed lightly. “But they’ll be bummed.”

Jason still looked so down guiltily. He knew that Y/N had been downplaying how excited she was for her family to meet him.

Yeah, Y/N was upset, but her family was even more upset. Being in a different part of the country and them never putting in the effort to visit her, they had yet to meet Jason. Even when the two of them had been dating for 10 months.

Y/N had met all of Jason’s brothers, along with Bruce and Alfred. It had all been against his will, his family strategically running into them or invading his apartment when they knew Y/N would be there. Jason acted annoyed by it, but Y/N knew he was happy for her to meet them and without him having to act like he cared.

But Jason had only ever waved on FaceTime to her family or sometimes answered calls from them when Y/N left her phone next to him and went to another room.

It wasn’t like Y/N needed her family’s approval. She knew what she wanted and what was best for her. Their opinions didn’t hold as much weight with her as they thought.

But Y/N also had never introduced her family to a boyfriend before. Things either fizzled out before then or the relationship was so casual that the thought of even mentioning a boy-toy’s name in passing to her family made her want to jump out a window.

———

“So Jason couldn’t get out of work last minute?” Y/N’s older sister, Kate, asked as they drove to her house after picking her up from arrivals.

And so it began.

“No,” Y/N answered. “His boss is sort of an asshole. He’s a workaholic and can’t fathom why anyone else would ever be anything different.”

The truth was that Jason didn’t really have a job. When it came to income, Jason was resourceful. He was still a hitman for hire. But once the killing part of that job stopped – which was long before Y/N ever met him – it didn’t rake in as much money. Most of his money was either stolen from criminals or he would work odd jobs here and there.

However, the lie Jason and Y/N had agreed on was that he was a mechanic. And Jason did know absolutely everything there was to know about cars and motorcycles. He’d even promised Y/N that if she ever decided she wanted him to drop the vigilante life, he would do just that and start his own mechanic shop. But Y/N knew better than to ever ask that of him.

“Cars don’t stop breaking – even around the holidays,” Y/N joked darkly.

“Mhmm,” her sister answered.

Y/N already knew what her family thought of her boyfriend’s “job”: it wasn’t good enough for them.

The only reason they let it slide was because they knew Bruce Wayne was his adoptive father. Therefore they interpreted Jason’s ‘lack of ambition’ as his personal rebellion against his privilege and upbringing.

“Mom said he sent flowers and a bottle of wine to the house today and apologized for not being able to make it,” Kate added.

Y/N quickly looked at her in surprise.

“So I’m guessing from your reaction that it wasn’t your idea,” Kate teased.

“No,” Y/N shook her head. “He didn’t even tell me he did that.”

That was a Bruce Wayne move for sure. It didn’t matter that Jason had a rocky relationship with him, the Wayne charm and manners were deceivingly contagious.

————

Later that night, when everyone was in bed and Y/N decided to finally unpack. And she was surprised to find two of Jason’s t-shirts hidden in her bag. They were her favorites of his, always stealing them. Mostly she wore them to lounge around the apartment or to wear to bed. But her favoritism was in no way hidden.

Jason must’ve snuck them in her bag while she wasn’t looking.

Y/N smiled as she grabbed one of the shirts and raised it to her nose. It still smelled like him.

It was enough to make her feel guilty for not having called him yet. She’d texted him that she landed, but other than that, she’d been pretty silent.

She grabbed her cell and dialed.

“Hey, you.”

He always answered her calls as if they made his day, even if she’d called him multiple times that day already. His reaction to her calls never failed to make Y/N smile.

“I didn’t really expect you to pick up,” Y/N admitted.

“Always got time for you,” he answered lightly.

But then she heard background noise: wind blowing, distant sirens, people shouting at each other nearby.

Jason was on patrol. Or maybe he was doing some recon. 

But Y/N knew not to ask. 

“I see some of your clothes made the trip,” Y/N commented through a smile. Jason could hear the smile in her voice. “Those t-shirts have a mind of their own…”

“And my mom thought the flowers and card were sweet,” she added.

“I might not have met her yet, but I know that’s not gonna be enough to win her over,” Jason answered darkly.

Y/N didn’t say anything, because they both knew he was right.

“Flight was fine?” Jason asked, changing the subject.

“Mhmm.”

“I miss you.”

Y/N shook her head and laughed. “No, you don’t. I’ve been gone for like 12 hours.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She rolled her eyes. “Always the romantic.”

More sirens could be heard. They sounded closer this time. “Are you being careful?” All playfulness had disappeared from her voice.

“Of course.”

Y/N sighed. “Jason, I’m serious. Please, be safe.”

“I know. I know. Don’t worry about me.”

“You know that’s not gonna happen, J.”

He ignored her comment. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

————————

To say Y/N’s time at home was rough…was an understatement.

If Y/N wasn’t being asked a million questions about Jason, she was being interrogated for why he wasn’t there. And if Jason wasn’t the subject of the conversation, people acted like she was single – some even talking about setting her up.

Y/N realized she preferred the former.

Every year, her family threw a giant party.

And for the past five years, Y/N had always been the only one that was single. All of her siblings, all of her cousins, all of their family friends, all of their neighbors…every single one of them had a significant other during those years. 

Everyone...except her. Now, this year, all of them had kids or were expecting.

It was exhausting. 

Sometimes Y/N felt like they were all robots programmed to do the exact same things at the exact same time –  no original thought to be had.

Y/N would be lying if she didn’t spend most of the party wishing Jason was at her side. He would make fun of awkward situations with her. And he would stick up for her when her family teased her a little too much.

The other thing Y/N wasn’t prepared for was unintentionally studying  her family’s boyfriends or husbands. She felt like she was watching everyone’s relationships through a different lens now that she herself had her own. And to put it as kindly as possible…she was not impressed.

Y/N noticed how none of the men offered to help in the kitchen, instead deciding to sit on the couch and watch football and scream at the television. Or how when her cousin handed her son to her husband, and he acted like he didn’t even know how to hold the one year old. And later, when his diaper needed to be changed, he handed him back to his wife as if he had no idea how to do it himself.

Yet her family was stuck on Jason not being able to visit or that he was a mechanic.

What did someone’s job matter if they treated her like she was their world and he the best thing to ever happen to her?

If Jason were here, he would be in the kitchen cooking. And if they had a kid, it would be a 50/50 job – not a burden only Y/N had to bare. He would try to get to know everyone because he would want to know the people who raised the woman he loved. He’d make sure to check in on Y/N every once in awhile, making sure she didn’t need anything. 

Thinking about it all made Y/N miss Jason even more.

Needing to get some air, she decided to go outside and let the winter chill refresh her. It had been getting too hot in the house.

Y/N pulled her phone out of her back pocket and tapped Jason’s name.

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” she sighed.

Just hearing his voice made her feel a bit better and tension left her body.

“What’s wrong?” Jason quickly asked.

“Nothing. Just…wanted to check in.”

For a second, she was going to explain that she had the sudden realization that all the men connected to her family were trash. And witnessing it was making her miss him more. But she didn’t really want to waste her breath and she figured she’d just come off dramatic more than sincere.

“Are you at your apartment?” She asked quickly.

“Yeah, I’m gonna leave for patrol in a bit…”

Then Y/N’s mind suddenly thought, ‘Fuck it.’

“Jason?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“If you were here…” She began softly.

“Mhmm,” he encouraged.

“What would you be doing?”

Jason was a bit confused by the question for a second. But he slowly got what she was asking.

“Well,” he took in a shallow breath. “I would’ve stolen Alfred’s famous chocolate chip cookie recipe and whipped up those bad boys to bring over. And I’d pretend to care about football with your dad.”

That made Y/N laugh.

“I’d help your mom in the kitchen, even when she pretended not to want it.”

“Really laying it on thick, huh?”

But Y/N knew he was right. Jason was the cook between the two of them – and a good one, too. He also was a helper. He couldn’t sit back and watch someone do something while he did nothing. No matter how big or small.

“Shhh,” Jason reprimanded and then continued. “But most importantly, I’d try to get as many embarrassing stories about you as I possibly could.”

“Well, thank goodness you’re not here then,” she teased with a roll of her eyes.

Jason was quiet a second before he asked, “Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Just miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“All my family’s boyfriends and husbands are losers. And I guess I’m just now realizing it.”

“Ahh,” Jason noted.

Now he really knew why she’d asked her question.

“It’s snowing here,” he told her as he looked out the window. “It’s almost making Gotham look pretty.”

“Are you going to the manor for Christmas?”

“Probably not,” Jason answered.

“Jason,” she grumbled. “What are you going to do instead? Sit in your apartment alone?”

“I’m gonna patrol. Crime doesn’t take holidays, Y/N.”

“Cheesy,” she pointed out. “Please be with your family, Jason. I don’t want you to be alone. OK?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Y/N knew that was as good as it was going to get.

Then she felt something on her cheek and she looked up. “Hey, it just started snowing here, too…” She told him with her head tilted back.

“I love you,” he sighed.

“I love you, too. Be careful tonight, Jason.”

Y/N gave herself a few more moments outside before returning to the party.

When she walked back inside, she immediately heard her name. But no one was calling to her. 

She was being talked about. 

She recognized her mom and sister’s voices, and then a couple of her aunts. They were talking around the corner, completely unaware that Y/N was in hearing distance.

So Y/N couldn’t help but linger.

“She says he works a lot. Every time I facetime her, he’s never there,” her sister Kate told the women. “I wouldn’t even really know what he looked like if it weren’t for her photos that she’s sent me. He doesn’t have any social media.”

“I just can’t believe he couldn’t get work off. Around the holidays?” Her mom added in utter disbelief. “Sounds like it won’t be surprising when she finds out he’s been unfaithful,” one her aunts commented.

The group hummed in agreement, but also disappointment. 

“He doesn’t even live in Metropolis. He lives in Gotham,” her mother supplied, only further backing the idea that Jason wasn’t committed. “God knows why. But I hate that Y/N is constantly going there. No good news comes from that city.”

Y/N clenched her teeth in anger.

If only they knew the truth about Jason. 

He was a hero and risked his life every night for an entire city – a city that had done nothing but hurt him. And he was 20 times the man than any of the men in their family.

She just wanted to scream at them for being so judgmental about a person they’d never even met.

But she couldn’t.

So Y/N stormed up to her childhood bedroom and decided she had enough of the party.

She shouldn’t have come home for the holidays. She would’ve rather waited for Jason to get back from his Red Hood work than listen to her family misjudge the first man she ever truly loved and wanted to share with them.

————————

Y/N was so tired when she got off the plane.

She felt like a zombie as she walked to baggage claim to grab her duffle.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find her boyfriend waiting for her in arrivals.

Y/N had told him she would just get a car.

But Jason seemed to have other ideas.

Y/N’s entire face brightened at the sight of him.

She practically ran to him and jumped into his arms.

Jason chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her words muffled by his body.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Jason said through a smile before he kissed her head.

Y/N didn’t respond, just held him tightly.

“Come on. Let’s get your bag and head home,” he finally told her.

—

“So, how was it?” Jason asked once they got into his car. Y/N shrugged, “It was fine.”

Her lack of details and curt response was enough warning for Jason to realize things were not totally fine between them.

He didn’t bother asking for more details during the car ride home. Instead, he answered all her questions about what he had been up to, how the case was going, if his family was alright.

Once they got back to Y/N’s apartment in Metropolis, the grace period seemed to be over.

Y/N had grown quiet as she moved around her apartment, unpacking and putting all her things away.

Jason walked into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed as she folded clean clothes. “This might be a shot in the dark. But I can’t help but feel that you’re not happy with me,” he finally pointed out.

She didn’t answer or look at him, just kept folding.

“Did something happen while you were at home?” Jason pushed.

She still didn’t answer. So Jason reached for her hands, holding them gently.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I just didn’t expect how hard it was going to be…” she finally whispered with a bowed head.

“What would be?”

“Just going home without you,” she explained.

“Did something happening?”

“I mean, kinda? Not really. They just…” she hesitated. Did she really want to confess all of this to him? She knew it would only hurt him. "They think you’re a bad boyfriend.”

Jason just nodded slowly.

He should’ve seen this coming. Of course her family didn’t think he was good enough. How could they think anything different?

“I’m just…fucking frustrated,” Y/n groaned. “I knew what I was getting into when you told me about your other life and who you really were. I was willing to keep your secret and protect it. I just never thought about how hard it would be keeping it from my family.”

She shook her head. “They think you’re not committed or something. And that…that you’re probably cheating on me.”

The idea of him ever doing that her made Jason sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Jason mumbled.

“What?” Y/N gasped. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But I have,” he argued. “I put you in this position.”

“No, I did. I did when I fell in love with you,” she clarified.

“But I don’t want you lying to the people you love.”

“I’m not telling you this because I’m mad at you or blame you, Jason. I’m trying to tell you why I’m frustrated.”

She rubbed her face. “I just want them to know what an amazing person you are...and how brave and selfless. How you take care of me and love me and…and protect me.” Her eyes began to water. “They’re never gonna know the real you…even when they do meet you. And I fucking hate it.”

“So what if you told them?” Jason offered.

Her eyes widened at that. “Jason…”

“I’m serious. What if you told them?”

She thought about it. But she already knew the answer.

“It wouldn’t do any good. If I told them, then they’d be worried about me. Worried that your other life was putting me in danger. Worried that I would get pulled into it.”

Jason knew she was right.

Her family probably preferred an absentee boyfriend over a vigilante.

“But I see how the shitty men that have joined my family are. And you’re nothing like them. You’re so much better. And they’ll never even know.”

“Come here,” Jason muttered before he pulled her to him.

He let her body sink into his as he held her.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he whispered as he rubbed her back. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I always wondered what it would be like to finally been in a relationship – to just have someone on my team no matter what. I went to all those family gatherings thinking I’d never have it. And once I did, once I found you…” Her thoughts died out. “I just never expected it to be this way.”

“Do you regret it?” Jason asked as he pulled away to look in her eyes.

Her brow furrowed. “Regret what?”

“Being with me. Falling in love with me.”

Her heart broke at the question. “Oh, Jason. Of course not. Never.”

“What if I stopped?” He asked.

“No. I would never ask that of you,” she quickly shot down.

“I’d do it for you,” he tried to argue.

“I know you would. But I’m not asking. Because I know what it would do to you. Every time you’d see something in the news, you’d hate yourself. Because you would convince yourself that you could’ve stopped it. And maybe you would be right.” She took in a deep breath. “Red Hood isn’t just something you do. He’s a part of you. And even though I worry about you constantly, I’m never gonna tell you to stop.”

Jason took his time in reading her face.

“OK?” She pushed.

He nodded.

Then he embraced her once again.

“I’m sorry you have to keep my secrets,” he breathed into her hair.

————————————

Y/N walked into Jason’s apartment.

It was a Friday night and they agreed to have her come to his place this weekend.

Jason was always weary of her coming to Gotham, preferring her to stay in the safety of Metropolis.

He knew they couldn’t do the distance forever, and eventually they’d move into together. But he wasn’t ready to leave Gotham yet. And he didn’t want Y/N to lowering herself to such a city.

“J!” Y/N called when she walked in.

He had given her keys to his apartment quite early in their relationship, and told her she was welcome at his place any time. However, he wasn’t a fan of her getting there after dark. Gotham was Gotham, and he didn’t like her wandering around the city by herself just in order to give him a surprise visit.

An envelope on Jason’s kitchen counter caught her attention.

She nosily looked at it and saw that they were plane tickets to her hometown with both of their names on each of them.  

She heard Jason walk up behind her. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” he shrugged.

“What do you mean?” She laughed.

“We’re gonna visit your family,” he explained casually. “I called your mom and sister to find a weekend that worked.”

Y/N was shocked to silence.

“I know I fucked up when I couldn’t go with you during the holidays. I know this isn’t gonna solve everything. But I figured…it’s start.” Before he could say more, Y/N threw her arms around him.

————

Jason Todd knew how to throw on the charm. And no matter how thick he laid it on, it always felt sincere.

Y/N smiled as she watched her boyfriend interacting with her family.

He knew so much about each of them already, that he knew exactly what to talk about with every one of them.

For their long-weekend visit, they had decided to stay with her sister.

Jason knew she would be the hardest to win over and was the most protective over Y/N. He made it his personal mission to befriend her and show her how much he loved her little sister.

Y/N never said so, but Jason knew how important it was to her that Kate approved of him.

However, Jason hadn’t been able to have a conversation alone with her all weekend.

Until their last morning there.

Y/N was still sleeping when Jason had made his way to the kitchen.

He figured he could make Kate and her husband breakfast after housing them for a long weekend. And he made sure to start a pot of coffee while he was at it.

Halfway through making his specialty waffles, Kate walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted, clearly surprised to find Jason cooking in her kitchen.

“Morning,” Jason greeted.

“This is a surprise,” she said as she looked around the kitchen.

“There’s coffee if you want some.”

“T-Thanks…” she managed to mutter. “Do you need some help?”

“Nope. I got it. You just relax.”

Kate seemed to be unsure of how to behave when she was alone with her little sister’s boyfriend, and eventually sat on the kitchen stool with her coffee.

“Do you cook a lot?” She finally broke the silence with her question.

“I enjoy it,” he answered with a shrug. “I figured it’s the least I can do for you guys putting us up.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Jason.”

He continued cooking.

Kate figured this was her opportunity to get to know Jason – and not just through Y/N’s eyes. So, she started asking him question after question, and he seemed happy to answer them. Kate was surprised to find out about Jason’s traumatic childhood, making him realize that Y/N must’ve only shared his relation to Bruce Wayne and nothing more about his life before becoming an adopted Wayne.

Jason wasn’t surprised Y/N kept that part of his life to herself. She was protective of him that way. She always felt like his past was his story to tell, not hers.

“I know missing the holidays didn’t leave the best impression,” Jason told her after they’d been talking for awhile.

“You really mean a lot to Y/N. And your opinion matters more to her than you might think,” he added as he crossed his arms.

Kate seemed a little taken aback by how unafraid he was of confrontation.

He seemed more mature for his age – maybe for hers, even.

“I know I’m not going to win any of you over from just a single trip,” Jason continued. “But I’m going to work my ass off to make sure I get there.”

Kate smiled at that.

“I love her,” he told her quietly, but with determination. “She’s…Well, she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Then he smirked. “And I’m not dumb enough to do anything to fuck things up with her.”

He took in a shallow breath. “I just…I just needed you to know that.”

Kate’s heart swelled from hearing her little sister’s boyfriend confessing his love for Y/N.

“Thank you for telling me that,” she whispered, trying to stop herself from crying. “I worry about her. And I hate that she’s so far away sometimes. I miss her.”

“She misses you, too,” Jason assured her.

“Thank you for taking care of her. I’m suddenly realizing you’re the only reason she’s eating anything that’s not out of a takeout container.”

Jason laughed. “I plead the fifth.”

Before any more could be said, Y/N walked into the kitchen as if she was sleep walking.

“Well, look who it is…” Jason teased.

Y/N walked to him silently, clearly wanting cuddles.

Jason chuckled at her, but gave her what she wanted. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. He had kept the PDA at an absolute minimum while he had been around Y/N’s family. But he couldn’t help it when Y/N was her sleepy and adorable self.

“You sleep OK?” He tried to whisper to her.

But Kate still heard it and pretended to look down at her phone.

Y/N nodded into his neck, making him chuckle at her more.

This was new for Kate, seeing her sister being loved and loving someone. Her instinct was to say it made her uncomfortable. But it was just something she wasn’t used to.

Soon Kate’s husband woke up and they all ate breakfast together.

And a few hours later, Y/N and Jason were packed and their was a Lyft was waiting outside to take them to the airport.

Jason hugged Kate and her husband and thanked them for hosting them. Then he grabbed Y/N’s bags and gave her a moment alone with her sister as he took their stuff to the car.

“I think I owe the two of you an apology…” Kate told her little sister.

“You do?”

“I think I judged him a bit too much before really giving him a chance.”

Y/N winced, but nodded. “Yeah, you did, actually.”

“He really loves you.”

Y/N smiled. “He does.”

“I just want you to be happy, you know that right?”

“I know. But sometimes you think that what makes you happy is what would make me happy. Our lives are different. And we want different things. Just because my relationship looks different than yours doesn’t mean it’s worse in some way.”

Kate nodded sadly, knowing her sister was right. “I get that now.”

-----------

A/N: I was inspired to write this when I thought about how my own family would react to me having a boyfriend like Jason Todd: a man who was secretly a vigilante and had a past too hard for anyone to ever imagine. Hopefully, other people can relate to this and it wasn’t too personal. 😬

Let me know what you thought!!!

[softboynick]

Despite all expectations, STEVE is the kind of guy to succumb to the call of ice cream, crying, and cacooning on the couch watching romcoms during a break up. + no shaving and couch surfing after he moves out. His Instagram is all screenshots of the sad songs he’s listening to on loop. He keeps posting on Facebook that he should get a dog. His friends keep trying to drag him outside for a night or a walk in the park.

TONY is the ex that gets spitefully motivated after a break up to engage in extreme “self improvement”. I’m talking new gym routines, new wardrobe, and taking at least 2 new classes of random subject/hobbies like glass blowing or house plant care. Maybe he even goes back to school for further study to help himself forget. His Insta is full of impeccably healthy meals, his glass blowing projects, and yoga poses, his face is in none of the pictures. His friends keep trying to get him to slow down and have a night in with them.

Both get convinced they need a holiday abroad eventually

here's a little ficlet for you, anon! this was so much fun to write <3

--

Steve knows he shouldn’t be looking through his Instagram. He’d been banned by Natasha when all of his depressingly sad posts just got, well, sadder. She had the hindsight to steal his phone before she left for work, but that meant he is now alone in his apartment with access to the app on his laptop. He’s never been the one to have healthy coping mechanisms after a break up.

So he looks, and it’s too late before he realizes he’s made a mistake. He never thought to block his ex—a stupid, stupid mistake in retrospect—and there she is, looking so beautiful and carefree in a photo sandwiched between a picture of a cute dog and an ad for protein powder. She doesn’t look unhappy, and a mean, twisted part of him wishes she was. But he quickly dashes that thought away because he can’t be angry at her for being happy when he isn’t.

The masochist in him analyzes the picture on the screen, stares at it longer than is deemed healthy. She’s in Italy, the location tells him. There’s a plate of pasta sitting in front of her, and he can see just a bit of the Tower of Pisa through the window behind her. Her lips are painted as red as the wine in her hand, and her hair has been tousled effortlessly from the wind.

He only hates himself a little more for the resentment that curls in his stomach. “God, get a grip,” he mutters to himself.

He quickly closes the tab before he has the chance to start crying, and while Netflix calls to him (as it nearly does every day—he doesn’t watch The Witcher just for the plot), he decides that he’s got something better to look up. He types his query into google search and clicks the first link that pops up.

He stuffs another spoonful of butter pecan ice cream into his mouth, and before he knows it, he’s looking through flights to Italy.

—

Tony thinks Rhodey’s dumb for suggesting he should take a break. He is on a break. He’s been on a break ever since Tiberius decided to cheat on him. But still, Rhodey—and even, Pepper, the traitor—doesn’t think that’s true.

Admittedly, he’s been moving non-stop since the break up, but that’s because he doesn’t have anything, or anyone, holding him back from doing things that interest him. So sure, the glass blowing and ceramics classes were a little random, but hey, at least he’s now got an Etsy store and the perfect side hustle to fund his gym memberships and healthy lifestyle.

Rhodey and Pepper had been supportive in the beginning, but that support had quickly gone sour when they barely got the chance to spend time with him. Somehow, Tony was always busy. With his classes, his side business, his healthy diet. He’s been taking the “grind lifestyle” way too seriously, and they think it’s doing more harm than good.

Of course, Tony doesn’t think so.

They suggest a break—a real one, Rhodey stresses. It’s summer, and it’s the perfect excuse to go out and take some time for himself, Pepper tells him. Tony hates the idea of soul-searching. People only did that when they were in the middle of a crisis. He’s perfectly content where he is now—no crisis in sight—but he only starts looking at flights to Europe just to spite them.

And the next flight to Italy is in a couple of days.

—

Steve has to convince himself (and all of his friends) that he isn’t going to Italy just because Peggy is there. He tells them it's about time that he leaves his sorry hole of an apartment and goes abroad like he's always said he would. He's got the money saved up, and there's no time like the present. Buying the plane ticket for the next flight to Italy is almost as easy as breathing.

When he steps onto the plane, he thinks he's made a mistake, but then the flight attendant quickly ushers him to his seat, and he has no other choice than to stay put unless he wants to cause a scene.

"You look like you're about to throw up. Do you need me to get you a sick bag?"

Steve looks to the person speaking to him and finds a brunet with big, Bambi eyes sitting right in his row. He shakes his head and offers him a small smile as he sits down. "Oh, no. No, I'm good, thank you."

"First time flying?" The stranger asks.

"In a while," Steve clarifies. He buckles himself in and sinks into his seat with a shaky sigh.

“Just start drinking. That’s what I do for long trips like these. You won’t even notice how long the flight is. You’ll just wake up, and boom, you’re in Italy.”

Steve looks at the stranger, amused. “Okay, since you’re the expert.”

The stranger laughs, and Steve has never seen a laugh more attractive than that. “It might be a mistake to trust me, but since we’re going to be best friends on this nine-hour flight, might as well take a leap of faith.”

“We’re best friends now?” Steve lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, then, let me fix that. I’m Tony.” The stranger—not a stranger anymore—extends his hands towards Steve, which he takes to introduce himself.

“Well, now that we’re acquainted, Steve. Let’s drink.”

—

Steve had thought that was the last he was going to see of Tony when they parted ways at the baggage claim. Italy is a big country, after all. True to his word, he barely feels the effects of a nine-hour flight with a drink in his hand and good company by his side, and he sleeps like a baby when he lands on his bed at the hostel he’s staying at.

It’s a day later when he runs into him in the queue of a cafe of all places, and he can’t say no when Tony offers to buy him a coffee. My treat, he says with a warm smile and his Bambi eyes crinkling around the edges.

They have their breakfast and coffee together under the warm Italian sun. Steve doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he thinks he might just be falling for the chatty brunet and his beautiful laugh.

He also thinks this might turn into something more when Tony invites him to stay at his villa—his parents’, he had explained. Just a little cottage by the beach. He knows he should say no. Despite having known him for a day, Tony is still a stranger. But then, he thinks about the picture of Peggy with her red lips and windswept hair and decides to take that big leap of faith Tony was talking about.

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (4/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.6k words

Warning: 18+ (discussion of assault, nervous breakdown, anxiety attack, just don’t read this whole series if you are a kid)

You woke up to a night of dreamless sleep like you always did, but then the events of the previous night hit you. You wished it was a dream, but one look in the mirror and a bruise running along your cheek was enough to confirm. Not only that, but you remembered asking your boss to stay over, but you didn't expect him to. The blanket on your living room’s couch and the bowl of fruits and a glass of juice situated out for you on the kitchen counter proved that he did stay.

And then the reality sunk in, you have a decision to make. You can either go to the cops or let that guy get away. The latter sounded not so great, but you knew going to the cops isn't going to be great either. You've seen enough detective shows to know that. You've had enough, and you just wanted to forget it. 

What did Mr. Barnes mean when he said you were going to talk about this? Are you supposed to visit him before work? Is he going to come to your place?

You decided to work on your book but ended up not being able to concentrate, so you started watching a show and fell asleep while watching it. Maybe some Chinese take-out could make you feel better. It didn't. Nothing made you feel better. You wished you had some friends in this new town because you didn't want to burden your work friends. 

After a horrible day of trying to cope, when you finally made your way to the club, you noticed the security was increased. Usually, security guards weren't present inside the club, but today it was different. Everyone was so vigilant and you felt a little safer. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Mr. Barnes did it for you, but again he would have done the same thing for any other employee. 

"Boss wants to see you," Pietro told you. You were about to head for Clint's office when the blond twin spoke again and pointed his finger towards the stairs." The boss."

Okay, well maybe playing naïve couldn't avoid this meeting, so you slowly walked upstairs. How bad could this go, it's not like he saw you in your most vulnerable state? Oh, wait, he did. 

You knocked on his office door, wanting to rip the band-aid and get over with it. 

"Hey," you said, faking a smile. "Thanks for getting me home last night and for breakfast today. I didn't even know I had fruits and juice at home because let's be honest, I'm a toast and coffee kinda gal."

Mr. Barnes didn't say anything, he just looked at you as if you were a confusing puzzle that he couldn't solve. He raised a hand towards the seat in front of him and you took it, nervously fiddling with your fingers under the table.

“You do that a lot, you know?” he asked, it wasn't a question, it was merely an observation.

“What?”

“Deflecting a serious issue by using a joke.” Mr. Barnes observed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What are you? My therapist?”

He arched an eyebrow, indicating that you were literally doing the thing he pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, it's called having a healthy coping mechanism. You should try getting one, brooding is only gonna help you this far."

 "It's not healthy if you're not dealing with it," Mr. Barnes pointed out. 

You scoffed in incredulity and you felt very, very attacked. 

What is it? Attacking y/n day?, you thought. 

"Anyway, I think I want to press charges," You changed the subject to a more serious conversation to avoid him calling you out on your bullshit. 

"Okay, I understand.” 

“You do?” You asked, bewilderment clearly written all over your face. “I mean, letting an employee go to the cops is not gonna be great for your club's reputation and yours too. And, you know, considering the shady business, you do-” 

"What exactly do you think we do?" He asked.

And that's when it hit you, you didn't know what he did or mob bosses do in general. All your knowledge about it came from movies and Wattpad, both of them are not a great place to gain knowledge.

“What exactly do you do?” you pondered.

 He obviously wasn't expecting you to directly ask him, nobody has directly asked him or even made it known that they are aware of his work. It was kind of like a silent pact that everybody signed for, everybody except you, apparently. 

“Um, you know, I've been working for almost 2 weeks here now, and I haven't seen any drugs around here, so it's obviously not drugs. You don't look like the sex trafficking types-”

 "Jesus, woman!" He exclaimed, offended by your assumptions. 

"Then just tell me what you do."

You expected him to tell you something, but he just kept looking at you with a face void of emotions.

 "Fine, don't tell me," you mumbled, raising your hands dramatically in defeat. 

“So you don't mind me ruining your reputation by going to the cops?” 

“I told you I don't care. Your safety is my utmost priority,” your face might have given away the surprise you felt because he quickly backpedaled. ”I mean, the safety of my employees.”

“The safety of my employees is my utmost priority,” he told you, providing an extra emphasis on the word employees. “Anyway, one of my people would take you to the police station near-"

You cut him off immediately. 

"No, you can't tell anyone else. I don't want everyone hopping on the pity train. I'm already ashamed that you know about it," you pleaded but your voice was firm, telling him that this was not up for a discussion.

At this, his eyes and features softened. Bucky didn't want you to feel guilty or ashamed for somebody else's actions, but clearly, you did. 

"Okay, then I can take you. You just had to explain to the officer last night’s events, and they'll ask you to recognize Rumlow and then we can-"

Mr. Barnes’s voice faded into the background when it finally hit you.

"You know what, I changed my mind. It's too much. I don't want to press charges anymore. I didn't think this through," you backtracked. You did think this through, but now all the factors were adding up in your brain. You'd have to explain the details to a cop who is probably going to be another man and a stranger, and then they'd ask you to identify the guy. You didn't think you had it in you to face him. At least not now. 

He interpreted your thought process and promptly changed the topic. "Okay, we can work with whatever you want, and at least let Peter escort you home after work."

"What? No!” You quickly declined.

“It's for your own safety,” Bucky tried to reason. He wasn't letting you get off this easily.

 “I'm a strong, independent woman and I'm not scared of anything.” 

That was a lie. You were scared of many things like heights, dark, spiders, confrontation and the list goes on and on. 

You remembered all the lectures your mom gave you telling you that women should be scared because men are monsters, and you'd lose your honor if you are reckless and some other patriarchal crap that you didn't pay attention to. But you weren't scared, you were just always careful. You'd always put the keys between your knuckles when you went home alone. In your previous job, you used to laugh it off whenever your coworkers made a sexist joke. You'd ignore the subtle shoulder touch that your previous boss did. You told yourself that this is what it takes to make it. If you were to run away every time someone eyed you in a wrong way, then you'd spend your whole life running. 

Women usually shrug this behavior off as it is what is, but the truth is it shouldn't be like this.

“Please, I insist.” 

“I'm very capable of taking care of myself. Just because one bad incident happened doesn't mean I'll fucking break!” You stated, your voice louder than your regular voice to get across your point.

That was also a lie. You were walking on a thin line and you were ignoring your emotions. You were one outburst away from a breakdown, and you just couldn't bring yourself to feel anything. 

Mr. Barnes tried to call your name, but you were already bolting out of his office. 

You needed a drink. No, fuck that. You needed multiple drinks. It wasn't exactly wise to get drunk during work, but it couldn't get any shittier than this, right?, you thought.

Right?

 Wrong. It could get way shittier than this. Now it was almost midnight, you were kind of tipsy, and you could see two Mr. Stark, your regular customer, in front of you. 

Did he have a twin? Is he and his twin brother one of those identical twins that dress up the same? Because that's what it looked like.

 “Earth to y/n," Mr. Stark said, or was it his twin? It was getting hard to keep track anymore.

 And that's when you noticed. 

“Holy, Shit. You're triplets, Mr. Stark," you announced. 

"Okay, kid, close my tab.”

“Hey, y/n. Are you okay?” Peter asked, noticing the concerned look Mr. Stark gave him before leaving.

“Yes, I'm fine. Absolutely fine.”

***

Turns out you were not fine. You've been pretty much hammered for the past week, and you could barely get a sentence out without giggling or slurring. Your colleagues took notice of your state and whenever someone pointed it out, you'd just shrug it off as a bad day or a bad week. There was no concept of time in your drunk state.

You couldn't concentrate on your book, you could barely look at someone without squinting, and you've been eating takeout and leftovers for the past few days. 

James would have fired if someone working under him was this irresponsible, but he knew your reasons. He knew you clearly weren't coping with the trauma well. Your work ethics were shoved down the trash that even Clint asked why you weren't fired yet.

Bucky didn't want to talk to you, he thought that maybe giving you some space would do you good, but clearly it wasn't working. Usually, the mob boss didn't interfere in the affairs of his employees, it was Clint's job, but when you smashed a bottle on the head of a customer, he had to interject.

“I TOLD THIS FUCKER NO!” you yelled, Peter’s hand around your middle from behind. Another empty beer bottle was in your hand, ready to be smashed across the face of the drunk dude in front of you.

Pietro and Wanda were enjoying the show. Peter, being the peace lover he is, held you back when you smashed a bottle across a drunk customer's face. Even though Peter was younger than you, he was stronger, and he was not only holding you back but also himself. He didn't want to cause a scene and that is why he was mulling comforting words in your ear like, he's not worth it, you're gonna kill this guy.

Damn right I am, you thought.

It was ironic because everyone in that club had killed someone except you.

When Bucky walked into the room, the drunk guy turned towards him and pointed at you. ”You are hiring crazy bitches now? Just called her baby girl and she went psycho!!!”

Bucky didn't understand what was happening. He told the security guards to take that man outside his club and he walked towards you. He firmly yet gently took a hold of your left arm, signaling Peter to let go of you. Without a word, he started walking in the direction of his office, dragging you along with him.

Once near his office, he lightly yanked your hand and shoved you inside, making you stand in front of him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he inquired, having had enough of your incompetence.

You were seething with rage. "Wrong with me? I told him no, but he didn't listen."

Bucky stepped forward, his anger dissipating into sympathy. " I know, he mumbled, "and I'm so-"

 "No, you don't know!" you yelled, body trembling and tears welling up in your eyes. "I told him no multiple times, I even tried to push him off me, but he just kept coming back."

Bucky's eyes furrowed in confusion. He didn't understand your words, the drunk customer didn't touch you. And that's when he realized, you weren't talking about the drunk customer. He cognized that the drunk guy purely triggered something that you've been suppressing for days now. Bucky was aware that you needed to get it out of your system to cope healthily.

“I told him no, you know? But he just wouldn't listen,” you stated, trying to convince yourself that you didn't lead him on. ”And he was so…. so strong and… and then he hit me and everything just went blur, I couldn't see but... but I could still feel him with me.”

Not realizing that you were not in that place anymore, you wrapped your hand around yourself to seek some sort of protection and comfort, bottom lip quivering, the welled up traitorous tears were streaming down your face and all you could think about was that night. 

“I… I can't get his touch out,” you stammered. ” I shower, multiple times a day, but I still can't get his touch out.”

With that, you broke down completely and shattered on the floor, sobbing ferociously. Your knees ached because of the position you were situated in, but the emotional pain was enough to overshadow the physical one.

For once in his lifetime, Bucky did not know what to do. Cautiously, he made his way towards you and knelt down in front of you. He did not know what to say or do to make you feel better.

You launched your body towards him, snaking your arms around his shoulder to settle on his neck as if he was the only thing grounding you. You lurched onto him like he was your anchor, and maybe he was. It took a minute for Bucky to register your actions, and when he did, he wrapped his arms around your middle and closed the minuscule distance separating you.

He surprised himself with the way one of his hands automatically reached for your hair and whispered words of comfort in your ear. He caught you as you crumpled physically and emotionally. 

”You're going to be okay, doll,” he whispered and kissed your temple with sincerity. ”I will make sure of that.”

The second part was barely audible, it wasn't meant for you, it was a promise he made to himself.

Bucky held you tightly yet gently while you sobbed on his shoulder.

 He didn't know how long he held you, it felt like an eternity to him with the way he could feel the guilt and rage inside him. When you passed out in his arms, he gently placed you on one of the comfortable couches in his office and draped a blanket around you that he had for when he would work late at night.

An office chair might not be the most ideal place to spend the night in, but it didn't matter to Bucky. All that mattered was you.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​  @rivers-rambles21​  @emmabarnes​@goodcleanfunsis​ @valsworldofcreativity​

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Inspired partially by the twitter trend of The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It and just in time for Valentine’s Day! 

Gender Neutral Reader Insert. 

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on KoFi!

__________________________

While sitting in the car, you watch out the window. Folks buzz around you--some folks looking content, strolling about their day. Others are flitting around, a bit of crease in their forehead. And you feel for them. You know those days where there’s just not enough hours in the day to get it all done. Or it’s when one thing sets off a spiral of all terrible things. Or when you just don’t wake up on the right side of the bed. You know that crease all too well because currently you were having a bad sleeping week. 

You were getting tired when you were supposed to but the second you put your head on the pillow your brain was hot wired--keeping you up with all the things you needed to do, hadn’t done, all the appointments you had kept pushing off. It was finding the littlest things to find that anxiety and keep you staring up at the ceiling. Calum noticed the tossing and turning and tried his best to lull you to sleep this week, fixing you tea in the evening, getting you off your phone or laptop a couple hours before bed. He even started reading to you, but your ears picked up on the white noise of everything in the house. Your brain picked up the embarrassing memory that you hadn’t even considered in decades and now holding it in front of your mind’s eye for hours on end during the week. 

Like right now, you should’ve been at home sleeping. Your work was giving you a long weekend and you really could’ve used the time to catch some extra Z’s, but you were, admittedly, a little scared to stay home. Sure maybe you did fall asleep cuddled up next to Duke. But you worried that you’d stay up, worry yourself sick some more so when Calum told you he had some errands to run you immediately tagged along. The time running around would hopefully tire you out enough that when you got home you could actually fall asleep. 

So after Calum’s personal training session in the morning, which you sort of tagged along for, but mostly went through your own routine and getting a solid breakfast, you two were now buzzing around from store to store. Calum had gotten most of the grocery the other day, but he forgot a couple things so your first objective was to grab those and bring them back up. He then had to go to the post office to mail out his mother’s birthday cards and a few other things. 

While in the line at the post office, your head tucked into his back, Calum got a phone call from a guitar shop on the other side of time about a new model that had just come in. Calum had been eying it for ages, but he didn’t want to be reckless with his money especially after getting some work on his teeth and to the house. So he asked the guitar shop to keep an eye out for when more stock arrived in case it sold out before Calum felt comfortable spending a large sum of money like that again. 

The store agreed to set one off to the side for him and could keep it on hold until the end of the day. Which was perfect--still gave the two of you time to get lunch. You didn’t need to get anything, didn’t need to do anything. But even after lunch, Calum made one more pit stop. Here now at the gas station, you sit peering through the windshield and can see a mother with her two sons walking from the doors. They boys hold brightly colored icees in their hand, each clutching a bag field with goodies. 

You aren’t entirely sure whey Calum needed to stop here for anything. It’s not like he needed stamps, since he got those at the post office. He hadn’t pulled in to get gas. Lunch had been filling, though you tried not to stuff yourself too much just because you knew that on a long car ride, the last thing you wanted to do was be uncomfortably full. 

The door opens again, Calum strutting through with his glasses covering his eyes and resting comfortably atop the chubby cheeks. Barely hanging from the crook of his fingers is a brown plastic bag. The doors click open and he climbs into the driver seat. The guitar shop wasn’t that far, but today seemed to be a busy day on the road. Took you all too long just to get to the grocery store this morning. 

“Snacks?”

“Was craving something sweet after lunch.” 

You peer into the bag as he hands it over to you. Some gummy bears, gum, a bar or two of chocolate you can’t quite tell. You set it onto the floor at your feet. “Let me know when you want something.” But he’s already tearing into a Twix bar when you glance at him. “Or not,” you laugh. 

“The other stuff is for you--if you want to indulge. Can’t forget ya,” he pushes the glasses down for just a moment to wink at you and then looks into the rearview mirror. 

“Do you think you’re going to get this one?” you asks as the SUV rolls out from the parking lot and onto the asphalt of the highway. 

“Hmm, maybe. Gotta see how it feels first.”

You nod at his question, resting your head into the cushion of the seat. And it goes quiet for a while. The radio plays softly in the background, and every so often the packaging crinkles as Calum downs more of the chocolate and caramel treat. 

“Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” Calum states, while paused in a bit of traffic. “Got any ideas on what you want to do for it?”

You think for a moment. Valentine’s Day has never been your thing--being perpetually single does that to a person. “Restaurants are going to be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, they will be.” Another crinkle comes from the right side of the car and then his arm reaches behind your seat, finding the small bag of trash you stash there--though you have to be careful when Duke sits in the backseat. Generally though, he doesn’t mess with too much. “My mom sent me a recipe of hers. It’s really good.”

“I’d be down for cooking.”

“Nothing else? Don’t wanna go sky diving? Give me another heart attack?”

You laugh thinking about the first birthday you spent with Calum together as a couple. “You didn’t die.”

“But I did almost shit myself.”

“You can play on stage to thousands of people, but no, jumping from a plane is a no-go.”

“Yes, because I am a sane human.”

You huff out a small tuft of laughter and turn to look at him. One hand on the wheel with the stainless steel linked chain dangling from his wrist. His other arm is resting against the door, gently tapping out a beat with his long slender fingers. “Do you want to do anything?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he scoffs. “How long have we been dating? When have I ever been dying to do anything on some random day in February.” His statement doesn’t fall venomously from his mouth. He even looks over to you with a smile. “I don’t need one day out of 365 to declare my love for someone.”

And it’s true. While Calum wasn’t super accepting of love from new people, while it took you months to show Calum that you were trustworthy and not someone to keep at an arm’s length, once he cracked open, he oozed adoration and love for people. And you knew it was a defense mechanism. You knew that when someone did care as hard as Calum did it wouldn’t always be an easy thing to win over. 

Calum, when he finally let someone one, loved hard. It could be a random Tuesday in July or a Sunday in February, and he would make sure his love was known. He never needed a special occasion to send flowers, to cook dinner, to offer to drive you to doctors appointments because he knew that sometimes you got too nervous or flustered by them to drive but did manage to push through if absolutely necessary. He’d easily pick up some gloves and an extra sponge if he saw you wiping down the walls in the kitchen or wiping through the counter. He kept fridge cleaning days marked on the calendar. And when you added reminders to wash bed sheets to the shared one, he also include rest breaks for you too. 

Calum had never needed someone to force him to show appreciation. 

“I mean, there is the option to literally do nothing on Valentine’s Day. Like treat it as any other day.”

“That’s still something,” he countered, turning on his signal and switching out from the middle lane. His exit was approaching in another mile and a half. 

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh. “We can’t cease to exist that day. Bare minimum we need to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.”

Calum laughs softly, showing some of his teeth too. “Fair, fair. There’s another Netflix documentary coming out, true crime one. I forget what it’s fully about, but I think it’s about a serial killer if you’d be down to start it then?”

“When would I ever turn down the opportunity to be a detective with you?”

“You haven’t yet,” he states with laughter in his voice. 

“And I never will.” The ramp takes the two of you down and down and soon you’re winding through streets and not too far you can see the shopping center coming into view. He pulls into the lot of the shop and the two of you step out in unison. 

The bell above the door chimes as he opens it for you and you smile often in your thanks. “Hey, Calum!” one of the guys at the register calls out. The store is fairly empty. But you’re not shocked on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“Hey, Derek. How’s it going?” Calum heads directly over to the counter and you look up to the left wall, at the records on display.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the second guy states to you, “or if you want to see anything.” He’s younger than Derek, both look to be equally tattooed from the pieces that peek out from the short sleeve work shirts, but his face is significantly brighter. 

“Thanks,” you return and go back to the displays. You can hear Calum and Derek chatting but slowly tune it out, make it background noise to the music playing through the speakers. 

You turn to walk towards the back where more instruments sit and you can see Calum leaning into the glass display of the counter. The palms of his hand pressed into the metal edge. The sunglasses sit on top of his head and you notice the younger guy glancing over at you again.

He nods again and then goes back to his computer. Nothing else is said. And you look over the stringed instruments, ukuleles, some violins and then you spin around again, done with that lap and go to head up to Calum. “See anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “You’re the musically talented one. I just nod and smile when you talk about it.”

Derek returns, a case in hand. He comes out from the hinged doors that separate the sales floor from the registers and back of the store. You scoot a little closer to the display as the case is transferred over. Calum takes it easily heading to the corner you just abandoned to sit and check out the instrument. It’s a beautiful deep green, almost reminds you of the thick Washington forest. The body is slender. 

“That’s a pretty cool color,” you note, watching Calum work his fingers over the frets. 

He grins up at you. “Think so?” You give another nod. He doesn’t inspect it long before you can see the desire to give in crosses his face. 

Derek’s standing close by and you turn to him and keep your voice as close to a whisper as you can while still being heard. “What’s a bass like that cost?”

He rattles off the price, one eyebrow slightly raised over the other. You know Calum will riot--he’ll pitch a fucking fit. But you reach into your wallet and slide out your card. You had been saving--for a year. You wanted to do something big for Calum. You just didn’t know what it was yet specifically though you had some ideas, a bass was top of the list.  But you didn’t want to try and go out and buy a bass without consulting him, without getting an understanding of what he liked. You thought about maybe a really good leather jacket and some more boots. He loved the ones he had, wore them as much as he could. 

And when you mentioned possibly getting him more, he told you the ones he had were still in good shape. Calum wasn’t the type to just buy clothes to buy them. He indulged here and there, but always made a point to wear something he had down before replacing it. You’d tease the subject a couple more times after that, but he never took the bait and you weren’t going to force him into a thing he didn’t want or need. 

But it’s clear to you that this is something he wants. But he’ll tussle with himself and never give in on it. It’s pricer than you thought it would be. But you too were being smart, having finally paid off the last of your car, you start moving those payments to savings and it helped a great deal. You were fine. You get insurance and the whole deal as Derek advises. By the time you slide the receipt back across the counter, Calum comes back to the registers. “I appreciate you holding it for me, man. But I don’t think I can right now.”

Derek looks at you and you look down into the glass. “It’s--it’s yours, dude.”

“What?” Calum breathes behind you. 

“They-uh, they paid for it,” Derek says, nodding at you.

You can feel the heat in your body now and spin around to face Calum in a rush. “Consider it a not Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Ever since I finished paying off my car, I saved the payments to do something nice for you. Didn’t know what it was going to be for sure. But I know you, Calum. You’d want something and tell yourself no. I mean you can treat yourself sometimes.”

“You-you didn’t?” His eyes are rapidly blinking, head shaking like he doesn’t want to believe you. Like he can’t believe you as his mouth mumbles out, “No,” repeatedly. 

“It’s yours,” you nod. “It’s really yours.”

If it weren’t for the weight of the bass, you’re sure Calum would’ve tipped over, maybe even rushed to Derek to hand the case back over, but instead he’s weighed down, chained to this spot in the blue speckled carpet of the store, still repeating, “No,” softly. 

“‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to find space in your office for it now. Because I refuse to return it.” You step forward, find the handle and slip your hands around it taking it from Calum. A small grunt leaves you and then you start to the door, throwing a thanks to Derek. 

The lights to the SUV blink and you can hear the locks clicking open as you push open the door to the store. “Wait--what are you doing?” Calum asks. 

“Open the trunk please,” you ask. 

“Let me do it,” he demands, stepping in close to take the case with the bass now. “What the fuck did you do? Baby, this is expensive.”

“It’s not a Valentine’s Day gift,” you answer again. “Because I love you. On a random Tuesday.”

He gets the instrument safely into the trunk and then closes it, watching dumbly as you climb into the passenger side. He walks to the driver seat and climbs in, taking you gently by the chin. “That was absolutely reckless and unnecessary-- ”

“I am just absolutely reckless and unnecessary then,” you counter, “because I’m not returning it.”

“--but thank you. Thank you so much,” he continues as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Then it’s silent, as the two of your gaze at each other, watching what could almost be tears well in his eyes, but they don’t fall. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a person like you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“I’m glad you did it too.” The two of you return home, Duke rushing to the front door as the two of you step through it. Calum safely places the bass in his music room/office and returns shortly after to help you decide on what to order for dinner. 

As the two of you settle onto the couch, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to teach knuckle. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“You know we’ve done this before.”

“And you were good at it.”

“I was alright at it.”

“It’ll be your bass,” he whispers. 

“I bought it for you,” you return tossing your head back to look at him. 

He kisses your lips. “Yeah, but it’ll be the one that I teach you to play for real one and it’ll be yours--just as much as it is mine.”

“A true sap,” you laugh, but nod and return your focus back to the TV. 

In the week that follows, Calum makes sure to take an hour in the evenings to set you down and pick up on the lessons. They fizzled out as work for the both of you picked up. But now things are a bit more calm. He sits next to you, assessing what you remember from last time and correcting finger placements as needed, but they go smoothly. 

When Valentine’s Day does come, Calum pulls you back into bed for just five more minutes of sleep. And five minutes turns into half an hour. But finally you two pull yourself out from the sheets, figure out what to do in the midmorning that results in food being consumed and then you slowly gravitate towards different sections of the house. 

There’s still a bit of laundry to be done and Calum takes Duke out for just a little bit. The two of you migrate back together by mid afternoon. He finds you making a quick lunch and presses a kiss to your cheek. You turn to face him, squeezing at his. “I bought some face masks,” he offers. “Care to join me in doing the bare minimum of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide after your lunch?”

“Don’t see how I could pass up such a wonderful offer? You want anything?” He shakes head, mentioning grubbing on some of the leftovers earlier while you took a nap. 

With your lunch done and the plates cleaned, you find Calum in the bedroom and let him know you’re ready for the face masks. He shuffles to the bathroom. “I hope I got the right one for you,” he mutters. “I got them forever ago it feels, so who the hell knows what I got.” His laughter is soft as he rummages through the bins under the skin. 

“I’ll be in the office,” you tell him and he nods, still pulling bins out. You settle into the couch and spy the green bass still on the stand from yesterday. You pull it into your lap and sling your arm over it. The amp next to you is off, you know but you still pluck away at it as if it were on. 

Calum shuffles in a few minutes later. “Um, babe. It’s off.”

You don’t reply but do look up. He holds up three different packages. “Here’s to hoping one of these is worthwhile.” You place your bass back to the stand and take one that sounds like one you’re okay with using. Calum hands you a towel so you can wipe your fingers off after you get it placed onto your face. He helps get it right and then you help him with his and the two of you slip onto the couch, legs entangled and leaning into opposite ends of the couch.

You laugh at Calum’s story as you scroll mindless through app after app. In the boredom you snap a picture of Calum with the face masks on and don’t think too much of it, saving it to the album with all the silly and cute photos of him are--there are tons. 

“I mean the sun is a star. Though the ones we see have been dead for a long time.”

Calum taps your leg with his foot. “It was a simple question--to be the sun or the stars. I didn’t ask for this philosophical crisis.”

“Why would it not weigh in your decision! If you’re a star like the ones we see at night, you’re technically already dead. You wanna be dead?” You huff, sitting up. 

“I mean, no, but c’mon.”

“It’s a valid thing to consider, that’s all I’m saying!”

He laughs. “Okay, sun or the moon?”

“You first,” you return and just then your alarm on your phone goes off. The two of you shuffle back to the bathroom and take off the masks. 

“Moon, maybe,” he counters. 

You nod. “Fitting. When should we get started on that recipe of your moms? Is it super involved?”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. Normal time should be good. I’m going to read outside if you want to join.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Calum nods, grabbing his book as he passes through the bedroom and the patter of Duke’s claws follow behind him. You go back to the music room, turn on the amp and then actually play a little something. It’s nothing fancy--just the arrangement you put together with Calum as a practice exercise once. You play it for a bit, adding a little flair. When you phone rings, you pause to answer it. You wouldn’t normally, but the number looks semi recognizable so you answer it. 

It’s just a scam call and you hang up but then notice some other notifications. Before you realize it, you’re deep into Twitter. You’ve run across the trend of people posting pictures of themselves and their significant others with the caption, The Face Vs The Face Sitting On It. It made you laugh just a little bit at first. And then you kept going down the rabbit hole. Some are silly, most are good pictures. 

While it’s not exactly secret that you and Calum are dating, you two don’t post too much. Calum isn’t incline to post on social media in the first place and while you use it a bit more than him, you try not to post too much about him out of respect. However, as you look tap on quote retweet and bring up your photos you think maybe one silly post wouldn’t hurt. So you grab the one of him recently with the face masks and then one of yourself--it’s silly too, a little blurry too in the darkness that it was taken in. 

You hit post and watch the likes come in. Then keep scrolling. Eventually you have to put the bass away and peel yourself from the couch to find Calum and see if he’s hungry enough for dinner. Just as you round the corner to the office, you spy him stepping through the glass sliding backdoor. “Hungry?” you ask. 

He nods, “Yeah.”

The two of you, with Duke trotting ahead, make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. “You’re funny,” he states, washing his hands first. 

“Thank you. I’ll be here until you kick me out.”

He laughs. “No, the pictures you posted. On Twitter.”

You’re shocked that he noticed it that fast. Normally it took him a bit longer to see silly stuff like that. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. What I hope you don’t mind is my reply.”

At first you’re nervous. Calum could’ve gone one of two ways--super silly and broke out even worse photos of you possibly not sober or he went super on trend with it and pulled out a photo of you done up for a date night. Not that you preferred one over the other, but sometimes you liked to keep your relationship light on social media. It was easier that way. There wasn’t any real pressure that way. Though the fans seemed to have enjoyed it when you posted more posed and serious content. 

You liked to keep it a bit more real. You and Calum didn’t do the whole nine yards a lot--you two were normal people who hated getting out of bed some days and went as well into the afternoon before showering at times and walked Duke and went to doctor’s appointments like everyone does. So you always opted for a bit of a joke, a silly Tweet or photo whenever you could. 

“What did you post?” you ask. 

He shrugs, taking up the knife to dice the onion. “I’m not telling you.”

You glance at the printed out recipe and get a pan on the aisle over medium heat before pulling out your phone. As you load the app, you listen to the snap of the knife fitting the wooden cutting board. You type Calum’s name and tap onto his profile. 

While there’s is silly--I do want to take a moment to show off my favorite person in the world. So here we go, The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It. Below is attached a picture of him--you snapped while you two were out for lunch one day. The black t-shirt tight around his biceps as he slyly grins into the camera. The lights in the background are just barely in focus of the resturant and Calum’s glancing out of the window next to him. You remember that you were recording him, or at least you thought you were, and told him that he was handsome. Not the first time, but everytime he did, he blushed and turn away. And you captured it here too. 

The photo of you is actually one with him in it. The guys got together and did a big family dinner and the two of you posed at Crystal’s request in the slightly matching outfits. You hadn’t intended to match--though black was a staple in both your wardrobes. You were a bit different thanks to the pop of color in your shoes, but in the lighting of the street lamp, you had to admit that you did look hot. The first couple of  buttons on your shirt you were undone and with your hands tucked into the pockets, you looked like you owned shit. 

“While I hoped that you’d go with something more silly, I will take this,” you finally say. 

“That picture is literally my background for a reason,” he returns. 

You kiss his cheek and then trace over the stubble with your teeth to his ear. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“The table is reserved for you literally at all times,” he returns in a breathe. 

“Good,” you laugh and then glance back to the recipe. 

[violetevents]

HELLO!!! Mutual pining au + locked in a room + first kiss for willex pleaseeee 💖💖💖💖💖

will i ever stop writing hospitality related fics???? probably not. anyway, alex is a chef and willie is a night audit. i hope you like it :)

It’s the end of yet another grueling shift and Alex finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to the elevator. He has changed out of his chef’s white in the kitchen’s little backroom, and is now in a simple sweater and jeans. He looks out of place among the hotel’s guests, who are dressed up to the nines. Alex is pretty sure they don’t have an official dresscode, but no one steps into the Michelin star restaurant of a Ritz-Carlton without at least a suit or a gown on.

To avoid the crowds of fancy dressed guests who will no doubt side eye him for his attire, he heads towards the service elevator. During the day the thing is in constant usage, mostly by the cleaning staff. But it’s eleven at night now, and when he steps inside, the elevator is blissfully empty. He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath.

Service was good today, but it’s his ninth shift in a row, and he can’t help but be exhausted. He loves his job, he really does, but sometimes he wishes he had picked a profession that values sleep and days off just a little bit more.

The doors slide open on the 12th floor, and someone hurries inside, nearly bumping into Alex.

“I am so sorry,” they say, and then glance up, their face lighting up. “Oh, hi Alex!”

“Hi, Willie,” Alex says, trying to not let his smile take over his entire face. Willie looks a vision in a suit, with his hair pulled back into a bun.

He’s smiling at Alex as he leans over and presses the ground floor button. The elevator doors shut behind him and he sighs. “How was your shift?” He asks, leaning against the wall next to Alex.

“Long,” Alex says, and Willie nods sympathetically. “How’s yours?”

Willie pulls a face. “Room 104 had a noise complaint and 117 demanded fluffier pillows. And that’s only been the first half hour.”

Willie has been the night auditor for as long as Alex has been working in the rooftop restaurant, and he guesses he’s had a crush on the guy for about as long. There’s just something ridiculously refreshing about Willie in a world full of strict rules and fancy suits. He’s a breath of fresh air, someone who never fails to make Alex smile.

They run into each other most nights, when Alex goes to leave and Willie’s shift is just starting. Alex cherishes those little moments they have, figuring that’s all he’s ever going to get.

He’s about to reply, when the elevator shudders to an unexpecting halt. They’re nowhere near the ground floor, and the doors don’t open. This can only mean-

“Not again,” Willie groans, digging around in his pocket for his phone.

Alex sighs and slowly lets himself slide down to the floor. Every once in a while the service elevator breaks down. No one seems to know why, or how, or how to fix it, but it’s always ridiculously inconvenient. Trappings can last up to an hour at times, and his was not how Alex was imagining tonight to go. He had a bath planned, for fucks sake.

Willie is talking on the phone, presumably to whoever is manning the front desk right now. He hangs up eventually, sighs frustratedly, and falls down on the floor next to Alex. “They are aware we’re in here, and they’re calling the mechanic.”

In other words: all they can do right now is wait.

“Hey, look on the bright side, at least you won’t have to deal with any more fluffy pillow complaints for awhile,” Alex says, nudging Willie’s shoulder with his own.

Willie sighs ruefully, “Yeah, or people are even more insufferable by the time I do finally get to them because they’ve had to wait.”

Alex pulls a face. “Yeah, probably.” There’s a silence, and then he ads. “I was going to have a bath.”

Willie laughs, “I’m sorry, that’s not funny, you just sound so upset.”

“Are you laughing at my pain, William?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Willie says, and his eyes are twinkling, and it’s a challenge almost, and Alex sticks out his tongue at him.

“I hope everyone demands fluffy pillows for the rest of your night,” he says, and now it’s Willie’s turn to stick out his tongue.

Alex laughs. “For two people working in one of the fanciest hotels in town we are ridiculously immature, you know that?”

“It’s what I like so much about us,” Willie says.

Us. Willie doesn’t mean it in the way Alex wants him to mean it, but god, that sounds nice, doesn’t it? Us.

A silence falls over them while Alex’s spirals down a rabbit hole full of ‘us’ and ‘we’ and ‘ours’ and Willie stares a the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Willie eventually asks, and gets shaken out of his thoughts quite rudely.

“How’s who?” He asks, incredibly confused. He would know if he had a boyfriend, right?

Willie waves his hands around, but he’s pointedly not looking at Alex. “You know, that guy that comes to pick you up every now and then? Dark blond hair, no sleeves.”

Alex stares at him incredulously now. “Luke?!”

Willie looks at him now, if only to frown. “How the fuck am I supposed to know what his name is?”

It comes out kind of rude, and suddenly a lot of things are clicking into place for Alex. How Willie had always disappeared from his side the second Luke showed up. How he immediately changed the subject if the conversations steered only slightly into the love territory. How he had always denied any of Alex (albeit a bit botched) attempts at flirting.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” he says, turning so he faces Willie. “I’m single.”

“Oh,” Willie says, sounding slightly hopeful.

“Actually, I kind of have this crush…”

“Oh,” Willie says, again. This time he’s sounding kind of sad again.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and then he surges forward and kisses Willie full on the mouth.

This is not the kind of thing he usually does, kissing people at work, being the one to initiate the kiss, but this is Willie he can’t not.

They pull back and Willie is looking at him wide eyed, and suddenly the elevator springs back to life and they find themselves scrambling to get up. Only seconds later the elevator opens on the ground floor and they’re greeted by Flynn and the mechanic.

Willie walks him to the door, and there’s a silence between them and it’s kind of awkward and Alex is just starting to regret it, is just starting to think maybe he fucked it all up, when Willie says, “When’s your next day off?”

“Uh, Friday,” Alex says. They’re standing at the employee exit now, and Alex is fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

“I, uh, know this coffee shop a few blocks from here. Really good stuff. Think you maybe want to go there with me?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, smiling widely, “yeah, I would really like that.” And then, because he’s riding this wave of courage all the way to the end, he leans forward and kisses Willie on his cheek before disappearing through the door.

He’s still absolutely exhausted, but he’s not stumbling anymore. In fact, he nearly skips the whole way home.