#coaster mechanics

[hyper-coasters]

An up-close reminder of why NOT to have your phone out on roller coasters. This is a whole CHUNK taken out of the lower wheel from Cheetah Hunt, caused by a cellphone that had been dropped on the track. Not only do you destroy your phone, but you can do some serious damage to the coaster itself! Damage like this requires the whole train to come off the track and be at least partially, if not entirely, disassembled. Cheetah Hunts maintenance is done in-house annually and as needed by Busch Gardens mechanics. Super grateful for what they do!

[ironmyrmidon]

I've never found a game that lives up to the legacy of Roller Coaster Tycoon 3, and it's entirely because of the build preview mechanic.

On the off chance that you don't remember every detail of a 21 year old game, when you were building a rollercoaster or similar ride, the game would send phantom trains down the tracks at regular intervals so that you could see how the train would go through the roller coaster up to the point that you were building. That way, you could do things like make sure the train would have enough speed to crest a hill, but not so much speed that it makes the riders uncomfortably nauseous.

There are 3 essential elements that made this work so well in RCT 3 and work so poorly in all of the other roller coaster games I've played. A good preview mechanic needs all 3 elements to work.

1: RTC3 would start sending these phantom trains as soon as your station was big enough for the train to fit. If you only show me what will happen only once I've completed the ride, then I'm probably going to make a mistake somewhere during the design. Fixing that mistake is going to affect everything beyond that point, which means I'm going to have to fix those things too.

2: The phantom trains in RTC3 would despawn once they got stuck or reached the end of the track. They did not continue going until they hit the ground, burst into flames, and killed a bunch of my guests. I'm not going to use the preview mechanic if it kills people in my park. I was thinking about combining this point with one of the other points, but this is such an egregious oversight I need to call it out specifically.

3: The preview mechanic in RTC3 worked even when the rest of the game was paused. I don't mind running out of money because I designed a roller coaster that was bigger than I could afford, especially since these games usually let you refund for 100% of the cost as long as the ride hasn't opened to the public, because that's part of what makes the game challenging and rewarding. I do mind running out of money because I have to pay wages, interest payments, and other expenses every 6 minutes while I'm trying to focus on making a cool new roller coaster.

I don't know why video game companies fumble this every time they make a rollercoaster game. I don't need them to reinvent the wheel. I'm just asking them to use the same mechanics that were figured out 21 years ago.

[madebycoffee]

i've been on a planet coaster kick again and MAN i wish i could just grab my sims and shove them into one of the parks i've built.... it's so lame that the ferris wheel in copperdale is a rabbit hole >_> and the tunnel of love... left for dead 2 has a tunnel of love u can walk around in WHY NOT SIMS (answer is always ea and ts4 team do not know how to do cool things nor do they want to)

[meilia-stims]

May i request a sidesplitter stimboard it's @ballpitbee 's oc, can it have a mechanical theme with gifs of the smiler (the roller coaster) and black and yellow spirals and other things that give off sidesplitter's vibe, please and thank you

Sidesplitter (@ballpitbee) stimboard for @12-oz-joy with mechanical themes, smiler and spiral stims

🌀 🔧 🌀

🔧 🌀 🔧

🌀 🔧 🌀

[quixot1sm]

Hear me out: N and Hilbert going back to the ferris wheel with their kid

this is very very sweet (and i most certainly will be doodling something about this at some point) but i think, when their kid's grown enough to ask why they're so sentimental about the old thing, the following conversation would be pretty funny to overhear. well this is where your father rejected me<3

[farttherapy]

*boogley laughter*

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[episbep]

rehab day nineteen (I think? I’m starting to lose track)

my safe space, my sad view, the place I am crying and learning and feeling and healing ❤️‍🩹 fuck this is hard. my mentality has shifted from wanting to use and missing the “good times*” to being absolutely petrified of going back to that mental place and causing even more harm and damage than I already have. There is so much uncertainty surrounding the impact/consequences of my behaviour and actions and I want to make it all ok right now (typical addict ffs) but until I am in a better headspace I will only continue to cause harm to those that I love and take more than I am able to give back. The euphoric recall has turned to seeing it for what it really was - sitting alone in my room, putting shards above everything important in my life. I have faith that I can build a beautiful life once more but I absolutely must surrender to the program and put my recovery first.

I’ve been searching for Buddhist affirmations or prayers to start the day with and I’m going to start with the one up there👆 I can always switch it up if/when I find others that resonate with me but for now, that’s perfect. My intention is to start each day by reciting my daily affirmations and prayer, attend The Buddhist Centre 7:30 online meditation (Monday to Saturday- recovery meditation recordings on Sundays) and complete my gratitude list and goals for tomorrow each evening. The affirmations I’ve chosen are from the list that we all pick from each morning in treatment, I’ve just narrowed it down to the ones that work for me:

“I am a worthwhile person. I am enough. I am a unique and precious human being, always doing and being the best that I can, always growing in wisdom and love. I am in charge of my life, and am responsible for my feelings and behaviours. I am capable of changing; there is no fixed self. My emotional well-being is primarily dependent on how I treat and love myself. I do not need to prove myself to anyone , I need only express myself as openly and honestly as I am capable. I am not alone for I am one with the universe. I deserve to be loved by myself and others. I live one day at a time and do one thing at a time (keep it simple!)”

*they were not good times. they were fucking up my life times and hurting everyone I hold close to my heart times. They were fucking dark times when I felt that using was my only choice. I am incredibly grateful to be in treatment and to be being helped onto a path where there is light at the end of the tunnel.

[yaoischolar]

if anyone cares im actually very good at rhythm games to the point im learning how to git gud at osu because Im Just A Crazy Bitch

[hyper-coasters]

If you have never been on a roller coaster during an evacuation, you may wonder how it's done. Well, on Cobra's Curse the trains have 8 electronic locks which are located on the lower back of each train. There are several ways to unlock the lap bars in case of an emergency, but the most commonly used option is a 25 volt battery pack. The pack plugs into the ports pictured above and with a dial located on the battery pack, you turn to unlock and release the lap bars. If for any reason the battery pack is not available, there is a pump system that can be used to manually pry the seats open. The final option, which does not work on all the trains as some are newer, is with a giant butter knife. No, I'm not kidding. It is called a harness release key, and it is a long silver pole that comes to a flat, rounded end. To unlock the trains that allow this option, it is essentially jabbed into the marked spot on the train located near the edge where you place your foot to get on.

[catenary-chad]

I think the funniest instance of “you have to know almost nothing about actual trains or deliberately ignore everything post 60s to get behind Rusty” is MJ thinking steam engines just had push button start and being disappointed to learn otherwise when he got one for Neverland Ranch in 90s (AFTER he saw the show and said he’d want to be Rusty)

edit: source appears to just be “rumor” which on one hand is VERY unreliable with MJ. On the other hand it’s pretty believable because I’ve never heard much about him being mechanically inclined and a lot of people know very little about trains.

“He's apparently got quite a few of his own people staffing the place. One rumor suggested a paid engineer to keep the fire up all night so he could take a 'night ride' (as neighbors will supposedly say is true). I was told the client had some issue realizing a steam locomotive was the farthest thing from a "turnkey" machine, which he apparently expected.”

(there’s an interview with actual staff I’m listening to for details though)

[bricksxbooks]

I support this product idea on LEGO Ideas, and you should, too!

[lay-z]

I'm in a ✨️ mood ✨️ This is for you @bloodytalefeathers :)

Synopsis: When life gets rough, you forget about your "soft era", and tend to fall back into your toxic traits and coping mechanisms; feigning toughness and hyper-independence until you can crumble and break comfortably behind closed doors. Only nowadays, your loving boyfriend can read the signs and intervene before things can get out of hand.

Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader

Warnings/Info: MDNI 18+ | established romantic relationship; soft!dom!Keegan; lots of comfort; some angst; tw: eating disorder; FLUFF; dirty talk/cussing; fingering; squirting; overstimulation; two idiots in love

Keegan smirks to himself when the sound of you dropping your keys at the front door reaches his trained ears, followed by the door slamming shut, your exasperated sigh and grumbled curses.

There is no malice behind his quiet snicker; he's simply happy that you're finally home, and he can’t see you yet, but he can already pick up on the mood you’re in by simply listening.

He can easily hear it in the pitch of your voice, which cuss words you're using and the way you stomp your feet as you walk.

And he watches wordlessly from his spot on the couch, PS5 controller in hand and an ice-cold beer on the coffee table, as you drag yourself across the open spaced living room, uttering a half-assed "Hey, baby." to him before disappearing down the other hallway towards your shared bedroom ‒ barely sparing him a glance nor telling him to use a coaster under the bottle for the umpteenth time, like you usually would. 

The former Marine is almost offended by the lack of attention from you; always craving it like the good ol' devil dog he is, though he lets you get away with it ‒ for now, at least. 

His dark brows furrow, eyes flickering down at the table before he grabs one of said coasters anyway, the one with the comic ghost print, just to be safe the next time you come by the living room. Surely, you'll ask him about his day on duty soon, like you always do, and then he'll ask you about yours, working at the office at HQ here on base, and you'll tell him all about it while you curl up next to him on the couch before watching him play for a while.

You don't come back, though.

And when Keegan finally glances at his watch, it's been way over an hour since you came home from work, and he's starting to get suspicious. Hesh, Logan, and Kick keep yapping in the PS party, talking shit over their respective headsets as they play, though their voices merely become background noise to Keegan as his attention begins to shift to more important matters. 

Namely, you. 

Where are his kisses? Why haven't you bitten him randomly yet? Are you mad at him for being away most of the week without proper communication? You're not on your period; he has memorized your cycle by now. Are you pissed off, because he's playing video games right now? But you've never complained about that before, you're a gamer yourself after all, and if there is something that pisses you off, you’d let him now. 

His mind begins to wander and spiral, as it does sometimes when he's getting unsure of something (especially when it comes to you), and before things can escalate, he mentally chides himself and bids a hasty goodbye to his friends and teammates, and before they can even start to protest his early departure, he’s turning off the console. 

Something is obviously up with his sweetheart and he's more than determined to figure out what it is. 

Meanwhile, you’re inside the ensuite bathroom of the master bedroom. You’ve finally stripped off your tight pencil skirt that has been pushing into your stomach uncomfortably, and the confining blouse that has been tucked into the waistband, along with it. The pair of tights which seam has been chafing between your inner thighs all day, finally comes to rest in the small trash bin next to the bathroom sink, and same goes for the bra which wire has been digging into your flesh after breaking through the fabric, leaving your skin all sore and tender below your breasts. 

You’ve barely slept all week, barely eaten anything too, except drinking copious amounts of coffee; work has kicked your ass thoroughly and the death of one of the operators – a young, good man KIA – from a task force you’ve been working closely with for the past months, has left you in a state of shock that you didn’t even have the chance to deal with properly yet. 

Needless to say, your life has been a proper shit show and on top of it all, Keegan has been just as busy, if not busier, which has left you feeling even more needy and vulnerable this week. Seeing him finally being able to unwind on the couch when you came home, only made you realize that you can’t possibly bother him with your pathetic clinginess tonight, so you simply kept on walking, determined to hide your misery for a little while longer. 

Just a little longer. That’s what you keep telling yourself. Just a little longer and things will surely get better. Even though you’re not actively doing anything to make it better, no. In fact, you’ve been slipping back into old habits, toxic coping mechanisms, that either hurt your body or your soul. Sometimes both. It’s not good, but it is what it is. 

It has worked out in the past. That’s good enough to you. It must be. 

Eventually, you manage to step into the shower to try and get rid of some tension in your body and that nagging, piercing headache in the front of your skull that’s been bothering you for days now, though to little avail. It’s still there after the steaming shower you take, but it has somehow simmered down to a dull throb now as you towel off and slip on one of Keegan’s old USMC shirts along with a clean pair of cotton panties. 

Just when Keegan is about to get up from the couch to look for you, his ears pick up the sound of your bare feet coming down the hallway, cutely padding along the hardwood floor. 

His chest constricts tightly, fluttering with sweltering affection, when you finally come into view again, wearing one of his old shirts, the dark fabric a bit too baggy on you, with nothing but some panties underneath. He can see that you’re not wearing a bra and he tries to ignore the way his cock twitches with interest inside his boxer briefs to focus on your well-being instead, but – shit – you always look too good in his clothes to not acknowledge and appreciate it at least briefly. 

However, the look you shoot in his direction, standing a few feet away from him, shuffling on the spot a little as you play with the hem of his your shirt, is downright heartbreaking to him. 

You look like a tiny, lost and drenched kitten that has been left outside in the freezing cold. It reminds him of the beginning of your relationship, when he had worked hard for your trust and honesty. Back when he had to coax you to open up to him; cooing and coddling and pampering you until you felt safe and comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable in his presence. 

Now, though, now Keegan can read you better than the palm of his own hand. One good glance at your beautiful face and he knows that you’re not okay, if not physically then mentally, and he suddenly feels his stomach tighten with guilt and self-loathing for not noticing it sooner. 

The corners of your mouth are pulling downward with a quivering bottom lip, chin wobbling as you try to keep your emotions in check in front of him like the little control freak you are, eyes glossy and bright and your eyebrows pinched in a sad frown. 

Keegan knows the answer, but he decides to ask anyway. “You okay there?” 

As soon as your eyes meet his pretty pale blue gaze, you see his usually stoic expression soften, his toned body shifting as he sits up straighter on the couch, and you can feel your throat tighten as you try to swallow around the tight lump forming in it. When his question registers, you shake your head slowly, huffing a small breath through your nose as the dam, still holding back the myriads of negative emotions, finally begins to crack under the ongoing pressure. 

Keegan feels an immediate need to pull you into his arms as soon as he watches you shaking your head. He wants to make you curl up on his lap and let him take care of you the way you obviously need him to, but he stays seated as one of his legs starts bouncing restlessly, waiting on you to make the first move once you’re ready. 

His resolve doesn’t last long, though. 

“C’mere, baby.” He orders then, holding out his arms to beckon you over as soon as he sees a tear brim past your waterline and run down your cheek. At this point, he’s more than ready to simply snatch you up if you don’t comply. 

But then, your bare feet pad over the floor again as you swiftly approach, rounding the coffee table to practically fling yourself into his strong, welcoming arms, making him huff out a muffled oof! as he sinks deeper into the couch cushions with the impact of your added weight. 

Keegan’s hands settle on your hips as you crawl onto his lap, straddling him. Your weak arms come up to wrap around his neck while you bury and hide your face against the curve of his shoulder, and Keegan lets out a soft, pleased rumble when you cling on to him. His respond is immediate, and he wraps his strong arms around your midriff, hugging you even closer to his body.  

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your damp hair, inhaling your comforting scent deeply as he slowly rubs your back with his right hand while the left strokes up and down the side of your bare thigh soothingly. “Why are you shaking, sweetheart? What happened? C’mon, talk to me, please.” 

Keegan can feel your tears soak through his shirt as you bury your face deeper into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and when the sound of your suppressed sobs and snivels reaches his ears, there’s a sharp sting in his chest before his own vision nearly blurs with tears, too. 

Missed you. He missed you. God, you’d missed him, too, but then again, Keegan can sit right next to you, and you’d miss him. 

“I–I can’t–I just... I need you.” You manage to croak out while your fingers twist and stretch the fabric of his shirt on your fists, desperate to keep him close, scared he might disappear if you loosen your grasp. 

“Need me,” Keegan repeats in a rough whisper while his mind races, trying to come up with the right way to handle this. Need me. Fuck, but he needs you, too. “How exactly do you need me?” He asks eventually, left hand coming up to gently massage the nape of your neck until you let him tilt your head back enough to catch another glimpse of your face. 

Your eyes are red-rimmed, glossy, pupils blown and surrounded by broken blood vessels. Your lips look dry, your skin lacking your natural glow, and a sinking feeling settles deep in his gut as he realizes how sickly you look. Neglected. Weak. How did he not notice sooner? 

His fingers tighten their hold, his thumb pressing deeper into your neck to check your fluttering pulse, making sure you’re still with him, still alive. “Sweetheart–” 

He watches your eyes flutter, blinking away tears as you exhale a shuddering breath. “Please,” you rasp softly, swallowing thickly as you gather all your courage to speak your next words, even though your mind, those damn insecurities, are cursing at you not to, “–just kiss me.” 

His breathing picks up, along with his heartrate. You can practically watch his pupils dilate at once, pale blue turning a dark shade of grey while his blood rushes south almost instantly at the desperate sound of your voice. And that you can feel, too. The way his cock begins to stir and harden underneath you between your spread thighs while his fingers continue to massage the nape of your neck, slowly managing to get you to relax, like a kitten being scruffed into submission. 

The only warning is an imperceptible nod, a quick swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip while his arm around your midriff tightens, before Keegan surges forward to capture your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. 

You're not quite sure how much time has passed at this point, but some random movie is still playing on TV, illuminating the living room this late in the evening, while you've been reduced to a quaking, panting, shivering mess, still seated on Keegan's lap. 

He’s stripped you bare, switched your position to have your back flush against his chest before coaxing four orgasms from you with practiced ease. Then again, pushing you over the edge quickly has never been a challenge for Keegan, quite the opposite.  

Now, your mind has shut off; your body finally pliant and lax after stopping your initial protest to let Keegan do this, give this, to you. You’ve asked for it, after all, and now your headache is practically gone, and you feel blissfully warm, safe, and soft in his embrace.  

With your thighs nicely spread apart and draped over his knees, Keegan keeps alternating between rubbing your puffy little clit and pumping two, sometimes three thick fingers into your sopping cunt, curling them deliciously while he toys and gropes your tender breasts with his free hand, rolling and pinching your hard nipples between calloused fingertips until you can’t do anything but mewl and squirm helplessly in his grip.  

His cock is aching; throbbing and straining inside his boxer briefs as your sweet ass keeps grinding against his bulge involuntarily, but he's locked in on your pleasure above all right now. 

"Are you feeling any better yet, hm? I'm gonna take care of you all night long, my love. Y'know I will." 

"Always such a good fuckin’ girl f’me. Makin’ quite the mess here, hm? Not messy enough, though." He murmurs hotly just below your ear, the proud smirk audible in his voice before he nips at your flushed skin and feels your pussy clench around his fingers; soaking his whole hand, dripping down onto his sweatpants and the dark leather couch.

"Don't you think that I can't tell ya didn't take good care of yourself these past few days," he mutters accusingly before giving your pussy a few gentle slaps with his flat palm, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you; the obscene, wet sounds and your uncharacteristic moan making your face heat up profoundly. "Dehydration is pretty dangerous, baby, and I know you didn't drink nearly enough water."

Of course, the little shit can tell, but you're close again already, so the realization gets pushed into the back of your mind, because Keegan is thrilled to coax more of those sweet sounds from your lips. 

You nod slowly, borderline non-committedly. “Mhmm,” you hum with your eyes half-lidded, nails digging deeper into his clothed, thick thighs for leverage; some way to keep you anchored to reality as he rubs your clit in tight circles, coaxing you towards the edge again.

“Promise that you’ll stop hiding from me when you’re feeling like this,” he demands roughly, lips lightly brushing over the side of your neck as he speaks before he licks his flat tongue over your pulse point. 

“Promise me. Say it.” He growls this time, teeth grazing the curve of your shoulder as his hot breath pants over your skin, pruned fingers still not stopping their ministrations as you buck your hips with a whine, trying to squirm away on his lap.

You try to keep your noises at bay, but the added sensation of his warm tongue on your sensitive skin makes you shudder, and before you know it, you’re climaxing again; squeezing your eyes shut and gritting your teeth, chest heaving with panting breaths while your cunt clenches around nothing and your whole body twitches and writhes while another wave of pleasure wrecks through your body, though only the tiniest bit of wetness squirts and dribbles over his calloused hand this time.

Yes, you might be dehydrated, indeed.

“F-Fuck–I ah pr-omise, sir!” You cry out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes once more, though this time it’s the overwhelming pleasure and stimulation bringing you to tears, along with the way your man is currently taking care of you. 

And you could swear you can feel his cock swell even harder against your rear when you call him 'sir'.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he coos huskily, peppering kisses between your shoulder blades and up to your nape as he kneads and gropes your trembling thighs, finally giving you a break. “You’re mine, I love you, and I need you to let me look after you, ya hear me?” 

Your head lolls back, resting against his shoulder as you nod meekly, butterflies going rogue in your tummy. “I hear you.” You rasp, too exhausted to be bratty and resist, slumping even more against his chest while his arms come up to wrap around you like corded steel, keeping you steady and safe. 

"Good." He mutters against your temple, nuzzling his nose into your hair and taking dramatic little sniffs like some mutt before pulling back and nipping your earlobe, making you hiss.

"Ow! What's that for?" You whine dramatically, speech slightly slurred by fatigue and bliss while you don't even bother to wiggle free from his embrace.

The pout in his deep voice is more than evident when he replies: "Didn't even say I love you back, sweetheart."

[lamb-hugs]

soft and cute < 🧁 ~#🤍

adorable craft ideas

Easy (Beginner-friendly, minimal supplies)

Pastel Bead Bracelets – Use stretchy cord and pastel beads for a cute DIY bracelet.

Sticker Collage – Make a pastel babycore-themed collage with stickers and scrapbook paper.

Decorated Hair Clips – Hot glue tiny bows, charms, or pastel cabochons onto plain hair clips.

Cotton Ball Clouds – Glue cotton balls to cardstock and add pastel stars or glitter.

Kawaii Eraser Stamps – Carve simple shapes (like hearts or bunnies) into erasers for cute stamp designs.

DIY Washi Tape Notebooks – Cover a plain notebook in pastel washi tape for an instant makeover.

Pom-Pom Keychains – Make fluffy pastel pom-poms and attach them to a keychain.

Soft Fabric Patches – Cut out pastel felt shapes (hearts, bears, stars) and stitch them onto clothes or bags.

Foam Sticker Decor – Use pastel foam stickers to decorate phone cases, mirrors, or notebooks.

Glittery Babycore Slime – Make pastel-colored slime with glitter and small beads.

Medium (More materials, a little patience)

Mini Clay Charms – Sculpt tiny pastel baby bottles, pacifiers, or teddy bears with polymer clay.

Felt Plushies – Sew small felt plushies like bunnies, lambs, or stars with pastel fabric.

DIY Suncatchers – Use pastel beads and clear glue to make adorable window decorations.

Painted Pastel Mason Jars – Paint mason jars in soft babycore colors for cute storage.

Resin Hair Clips – Create babycore resin hair clips with pastel pigments, glitter, and tiny charms.

Ribbon Embroidery – Stitch small hearts, stars, or clouds onto fabric with pastel ribbon.

DIY Babycore Earrings – Make earrings from pastel charms or shrink plastic designs.

Crochet Babycore Coasters – Crochet simple pastel coasters shaped like hearts or flowers.

Handmade Pastel Candles – Pour pastel wax into cute molds for aesthetic candles.

Cloud Wall Hanging – Use felt, stuffing, and thread to create a soft cloud wall decoration.

Hard (More complex, takes time)

DIY Babycore Dress – Sew a pastel dress with lace, bows, and frills.

Stuffed Animal Customization – Customize plush toys with pastel dyes, bows, and embroidery.

Hand-Painted Shoes – Paint soft babycore patterns onto sneakers or flats.

Decorated Pastel Mirror – Use charms, pearls, and acrylic paint to make a babycore vanity mirror.

Babycore Themed Blanket – Sew or crochet a pastel blanket with soft, fluffy yarn.

Custom Doll Repainting – Repaint dolls with soft babycore-style faces and outfits.

DIY Music Box – Decorate a small jewelry box with pastel paint and add a musical mechanism.

Embroidered Tote Bag – Hand-stitch pastel babycore designs onto a fabric tote bag.

Upcycled Denim Jacket – Add pastel patches, embroidery, or lace to a jacket for a babycore touch.

DIY Canopy Bed Decor – Create a soft, draped canopy with pastel fabrics for a dreamy aesthetic.

[eiralunaire]

Damian rode a ride with his girlfriend only to see her pass out on the way down.

The amusement park was full of lights and bustle, and Damian Wayne walked with a serene expression next to his girlfriend, who seemed much more excited than he was. Although at first glance Damian didn't seem like the type of person who would enjoy a park, he had agreed to accompany her, convinced that it would be an... interesting experience.

“Are you sure you don't want to wait here?” she said, pointing to the mechanical game that stood in front of them. It was one of those where the passengers were launched up and then fell suddenly, only to be launched again on an adrenaline-fueled roller coaster.

Damian smiled slightly, with that gesture that he considered confident and that, in his eyes, made it clear that he was not afraid. “Do you think I'm going to let you go up by yourself?” he joked. “Besides, I'm a Wayne. A little game is nothing to me.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing softly, and they both joined the line. When their turn came, they settled into their seats and fastened their seatbelts, and Damian looked around, assessing the safety system as if it were a strategic project.

“Relax, Damian. It’s designed for this,” she whispered to him.

“Who said I’m not?” he replied, but she noticed his hands tightening on the armrests with a slight tension. It was almost adorable to see Damian trying to remain stoic.

The countdown began, and Damian felt a knot in his stomach as he heard the machinery start up. And suddenly, the ride launched into the sky at breakneck speed. The wind whipped their faces, and in an instant, they felt as if they were flying… and then they were falling at full speed. His girlfriend screamed with excitement, while Damian barely managed to suppress the urge to grab the bar in front of him.

However, on the second fall, Damian heard silence beside him. He glanced over quickly and noticed that she had closed her eyes, her head tilted to the side. She seemed completely relaxed, more so than anyone would be in such an intense game.

“Hey!” Damian nudged her slightly with his elbow, calling her name, but got no response. His calm expression turned to concern, then to barely contained panic. The game kept throwing them up and down, and he tried somehow to steady her, but it was nearly impossible. “Did you pass out…?”

The game finally slowed down, and when it came to a complete stop, Damian was already in action. She quickly freed herself from the harness, and before the operator could even react, Damian had stepped out of his seat and was untying her.

“Are you okay?” The softness in his voice was unusual, almost inaudible. The concern was evident, though he tried to hide it.

Slowly, she blinked, her eyes half-closed as she tried to come to. “What… what happened?”

Damian breathed a sigh of relief, but seeing her dazed state, worry crept back into him. “You fainted,” he explained, helping her to her feet. He was trying to sound neutral, but there was something in his tone that betrayed the fright he had felt.

“Oh… that explains the ringing in my head,” she said, smiling weakly. But noticing his worried expression, she tried to reassure him. “I’m fine, really. It was just… more than I expected.”

Damian shook his head, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “I knew it was a bad idea, but no, you had to convince me it would be ‘fun,’” he imitated her in a slightly mocking tone.

She laughed, though the laugh turned into a small cough, and Damian gave her a warning look. “Okay, Bruce Wayne Jr., I’m not getting on anything like that with you again. You look more scared than I am.”

Damian watched her closely, his eyes shining with relief and something else. Finally, he smiled and murmured, “Only you could pass out in one of these games… and make me worry like an idiot.”

[darsynia]

Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Part II

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job. 

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby. 

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust. 

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

Part 2

[a-method-in-it]

I was going to make a joke that actually the log flumes are fine and it's your track that's sideways, but that wouldn't fix it either huh

why my log flumes sideways