#maybe I should do this with other characters as well instead of just these characters

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the cozy café, the kind of place that hummed with quiet conversations and the occasional clatter of ceramic cups. Lizzie sat in the corner, tucked into her usual spot by the window,  her mind was elsewhere.

The Laptop was open, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, but the words…the words refused to come. 

Instead, she sipped at her now lukewarm tea, absentmindedly, running her fingers through Mara’s soft fur. Mara’s chocolate coloured head was resting on Lizzie’s knee, watching her, her tail rhythmically thumping against the floor. 

They often came here..nearly every day, to be exact. 

Elizabeth Treshton’s life was built around her routine after all. 

She knew the exact number of steps from her apartment to the cozy coffee shop on the corner. She knew the best seat—by the window, tucked away, where Mara could curl up at her feet while she wrote. And she knew the barista always had her order memorized: earl grey tea with a dash of milk, one sugar, and a small bowl of water for Mara.

They knew them both. They knew not to bother Mara while working, even when it looked like the dog wasn’t working. She was. 

Mara told Lizzie when her body once again decided that having seizures was something it should do and then stayed with her through the whole…shitty ordeal that were said epileptic seizures. 

Still, they thrived on their usual routine. And they hadn’t been able to have that for weeks, because Lizzie had been busy with all the publicity surrounding An Autumn of Flames and Stone and the fact that her little book had reached No. 1 of the New York Times Bestselling list. 

Which meant…that she now got to write the last book in the Seasons of Fate Series…Something that she never thought she would get to do. 

This had been her dream since she was a child…and now…now she finally got to do this. This was her job! Her dream job!

And if this chapter was finally going to start going her way, then maybe Lizzie would be feeling like she actually knew what she was doing too. 

Just at that moment, Mara suddenly lifted her head, ears alert and then stood. Lizzie’s pulse spiked. She waited with baited breath for Mara to tell her that another seizure was incoming, even when Lizzie couldn’t feel anything yet. 

“Mara?” Lizzie murmured, feeling her stomach knot.

Her service dog didn’t react to her voice. Instead, Mara’s attention was locked on something—or someone—across the café. 

Lizzie turned just in time to see Mara move.

Straight toward a guy at the counter.

“Mara, heel!” Lizzie called, already pushing back her chair, heart pounding.

But Mara wasn’t listening.

Mara always listened. Lizzie had not once been in this situation. 

Mara was always well behaved. Mara had been trained so well that this was nothing Lizzie had ever needed to worry about…but apparently that day Mara had decided that her time as picture-perfect seizure dog was over and instead she would run across the cafe, straight to random guy…

The guy turned just as Mara reached him. He was tall, wearing a hoodie pulled up over messy brown curls, and he looked as confused as Lizzie felt when Mara pressed her nose against his hand.

“Oh,” he said, blinking down at her. “Uh. Hi?”

Lizzie practically skidded to a stop beside them. “I’m so sorry—she doesn’t normally—”

And then she got a proper look at him.

Her brain stuttered.

Because that wasn’t just any guy in a hoodie.

That was Lando Norris.

Formula 1 driver. Twitch streamer. Walking, talking social media chaos generator.

She knew who he was. Of course, she bloody knew who he was. 

They were literally in Woking. A stone thrown away from the McLaren Technology Center. 

And even if Lizzie hadn’t grown up seemingly right next to the headquarters of a Formula 1 racing team, she still would have grown up as the daughter of a man that believed that Formula 1 was just as important on Sundays as church services were. 

Her dad was the original F1 fan and Lizzie had easily inherited his love for the sport. 

So to say that she was…a little bit starstruck, because there was Lando freaking Norris standing in front of her, holding a  coffee cup in one hand, a half-eaten croissant in the other, looking between Lizzie and Mara with increasing confusion, was an understatement

“So, uh.” Lando tilted his head. “What’s happening?”

Lizzie swallowed hard, her mind racing. “She’s a service dog,” she managed, her voice tight. “She only does that when—”

Mara insistently pushed her nose against Lando’s hand again. When he didn’t react she started to headbutt his thigh aggressively. 

The realization slammed into Lizzie with the force of a freight train. Mara had alerted to him.

Lando still looked baffled, shifting slightly like he wasn’t sure what to do. “Is—uh—is she okay?”

Lizzie swallowed hard. “I—I think she’s actually asking you that.”

His brow furrowed, then a flicker of something passed over his face. A split-second of realization. “Oh.”

Lizzie watched as Lando’s hand curled slightly, his fingers flexing like he was suddenly hyper-aware of his own body.

“Do you feel off?” she asked, voice softer now. “Lightheaded? Dizzy? Aura?”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue—but then he hesitated. “I mean… I was feeling a bit weird this morning.”

Mara let out another small whine, nosing at his wrist.

Lizzie exhaled sharply. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Sit. Down. And drink some water, for god’s sake.”

He blinked at her in mild shock, but something in her tone must’ve struck him because he moved, letting her guide him to an empty table.

Lizzie crouched next to him, all business now. “Do you have any underlying medical issues? Mara was trained to alert to my Epilepsy. Have you ever had a seizure?!”

Lando shook his head. “No, nothing like that. But—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I do get migraines sometimes. And sometimes before I get one, things feel… off.”

Oh. 

Lizzie sat back on her heels. “Then she probably picked up on that.”

Lando looked down at Mara, who had now settled next to him, still watching carefully.

“Is this—normal?” he asked.

“For her, yeah.” Lizzie scratched the back of her neck. “She’s trained to detect seizures, but she picks up on other stuff too. She’s never alerted to someone else before, though.”

Lando let out a short laugh, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned. “Huh. Well, I’m still here, so I think I’m good,” he finally said and Lizzie exhaled. 

“Sorry, about that,” she apologised. “She has never done that before.”

Lando grinned, slow and teasing. “Guess I’m just special, huh?” he teased. 

A pause. Then, hesitantly, Lando reached down, fingers brushing Mara’s head.

“Thanks, I guess,” he murmured. Mara’s tail gave a small, reassuring wag.

“So, like… I am not dying, right?” Lando asked her suddenly, and Lizzie let out a nervous laugh, shaking her head. 

“No. But she’s never wrong about this kind of thing.” Lizzie sighed. “Drink some water. Eat something. Just—don’t ignore it.”

Lando hummed. “Noted.” Then he tilted his head, studying her. “And you are?”

She blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “Your name. And her name too.”

Lizzie felt warmth creep up her neck.

She bit her lip.

“I am Lizzie. That’s Mara.” 

Lando grinned, like he was committing both names to memory. “Lizzie and Mara. Got it.”

Lizzie wasn’t sure why her stomach flipped at the way he said her name, but she pushed the feeling aside. “And you’re Lando,” she said, more to ground herself than anything else.

His grin widened. “So you do know who I am.”

Lizzie scoffed. “I live in Woking. I’d have to be actively avoiding the internet to not know who you are.”

Lando let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” He glanced down at Mara, who had finally relaxed, still keeping a watchful eye on him. “So… does this mean I have, like, a cool dog guardian angel now?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Only if you promise not to ignore your body when it’s telling you something’s wrong.”

He hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “Noted.”

The café felt warmer than it had before as they looked at each other. Lizzie, still crouched next to Lando and Mara. The air between them felt charged, and Lizzie was suddenly reminded of a fact she had never forgotten: Lando Norris was unfairly attractive.

"So...are you here often or was today my lucky day?"

She blinked at him, caught slightly off guard by the question. “I—uh. Yeah. I’m here most days.”

Lando nodded like that was exactly the answer he was hoping for. “Cool. I might have to come by more often then.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Because of the coffee? Or because of the dog that just diagnosed you?”

He smirked. “Both. And maybe because the company’s not bad either.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was actually flirting or just naturally charming. Either way, it was… a lot.

Lando hesitated, then scratched the back of his neck. “Look, this might be weird, but—can I give you my number?”

Lizzie’s brain stalled. “What?”

His grin turned a little sheepish. “I mean, you know, in case Mara ever wants to check in on me again. Or, uh, if you ever want to.”

Lizzie exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. “That was smooth.”

“I try,” he said, dimples on full display.

Lizzie couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips, part amused and part baffled at the whole situation. She had gone from sitting in her usual spot, writing away in her notebook as Mara dozed by her feet to now crouching next to a Formula 1 driver giving her his number. What sort of alternate universe was this?

She hesitated, but then Mara nudged her hand, like she was making the decision for her. Lizzie huffed, pulled out her phone, and slid it across the table. “Fine. But if you start texting me memes at 2 AM, I’m blocking you.”

Lando chuckled, tapping in his number before handing it back. “No promises.”

Lizzie glanced down at the contact name he’d put in: Lando ‘Not Dying (Yet)’ Norris.

She sighed. “You’re impossible.”

Lando shot her a cheeky grin as he got to his feet. “It’s part of the charm.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, the smile stubbornly clinging to her face. It only widened when Lando bent down to say a quick goodbye to Mara, who promptly licked his hand in response.

Lizzie shook her head, but she couldn’t quite fight back her smile. “Come on, Mara. Let’s go before you decide to start diagnosing other random strangers too.”

As she walked away, Lando called after her, voice warm with amusement. “See you around, Lizzie.”

She didn’t look back—but her stupid smile stayed all the way home.

***

***

The morning air was crisp, the kind of early autumn chill that made your breath curl in the air but wasn’t quite cold enough for a proper coat. The park was quiet, save for the occasional jogger or dog walker, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees.

Lando arrived a few minutes early—not that he was eager or anything. He just… didn’t want to be late. Which was not the same as being eager.

He shifted on his feet, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. He wasn’t nervous. Not really. Okay, maybe a little.

It wasn’t a date. Not officially. Just a walk. With a girl. A very cute girl. Who had a dog that might have magical powers if yesterday was anything to go by.

He heard her before he saw her—the sound of Mara’s paws on the pavement, the soft jingle of her collar. Then—

“Morning,” Lizzie said, smiling as she approached. She had a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, and Mara trotted happily at her side.

Lando tried not to notice how good she looked or how her smile lit up her face. He was cool. He was casual. He wasn’t a blushing teenager getting flustered over a girl.

He failed utterly.

Lando exhaled, grinning back. “Hey. You actually showed up.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in her expression. Mara padded over and sniffed at Lando’s hand, her tail wagging excitedly.

“As if you weren’t expecting me to,” she said, eyes glittering with humor. “Did you really think I’d ditch you?”

Yes. Yes, he had. 

“I dunno. Maybe you’d wake up and realize agreeing to go on a walk with a random guy from a coffee shop was a terrible idea.” 

Lizzie laughed, the sound surprisingly musical. “It probably was. But you’ve got Mara’s seal of approval, so you can’t be too dangerous, right?”

She glanced down at Mara, who panted happily up at Lando, as if in agreement.

"Can I touch her?" he asked carefully. "I should have asked yesterday, I am sorry." He may had spent too much time yesterday reading up on Service Dogs. And what exactly they did for their handlers, especially if they had handlers that had epilepsy like Lizzie had.

Lizzie smiled, her expression softening. “It’s okay. I know it’s not exactly common knowledge.” She nodded. “You can touch her. She’s off-duty right now, so you’re good.”

Lando crouched down, holding a hand out, allowing Mara to sniff him. When she didn’t shrink away, he cautiously patted her on the head. Her fur was silky-smooth to the touch.

"Hello Mara," he greeted her. "I even brought  Peanut Butter for my saviour.”

He probably shouldn't have said that. At the sound of these two words Mara suddenly perked up, immediately sat down before Lando’s feet.

“You shouldn’t say the magic words unless you plan to give some to her right at that exact moment,” Lizzie said drily.

Lando laughed in surprise, looking down at Mara as she sat there, looking up at him expectantly. “She is serious about peanut butter, huh?”

He pulled the jar out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap before holding it out for Mara to sniff. She stuck her nose in it, tail wagging furiously.

“I think she approves,” he said, watching as Mara licked at the peanut butter.

Only after she had been allowed to stick her snout in there for a full 5 seconds was Mara ready to continue their walk. 

“So, how’s the head?” Lizzie asked, tilting her head toward him.

“Better. I took something last night before it got too bad and slept it off.” He glanced down at Mara. “Not sure I would’ve done that if someone hadn’t warned me.”

Lizzie hummed. “She’s good at her job. Even when she has never alerted to somebody else before.” 

Lando tried not to let that go straight to his ego. Tried.

Lando tried to sound casual as he spoke, but couldn’t quite hold back a hint of satisfaction. "I guess that means I’m extra special, then?"

Lizzie raised an eyebrow at that, but there was a laugh in her eyes. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He chuckled, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “Yeah, too late for that.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, just walking together, the sound of the leaves crunching under their feet and Mara’s paws filling the air.

“So, what do you do, exactly?” Lando asked, trying to shift the conversation somewhere less awkward. Though he was pretty sure that the abrupt topic change was not gonna help at all. 

Lizzie smirked. “You mean besides walk dogs?” she joked. 

“Yeah. You know, because you know what I do” He gestured at himself dramatically, trying to be playful. “It’s not fair that you are the big mystery.”

Lizzie laughed and shoook her head. “It’s not fair,” she agreed. “I write books.”

Lando blinked. “What kind of books?” he asked, his curiousity piqued. 

“Romantasy,” Lizzie answered, watching him closely, waiting for a reaction.

What? 

Lando frowned. “Like… romance and fantasy?” Was that a thing?

“Exactly.”

“Is that, like, dragons? Or is it—”

“Faes,” Lizzie supplied. “And magic, and epic love stories, and usually some kind of dramatic war.”

Lando’s eyes widened as she talked, the concept of 'romantasy' sinking in. “Wow. So, like… magic powers and romance and all that good stuff?”

Lizzie nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Pretty much. And there’s always a bit of adventure thrown in for good measure.”

Lando thought for a moment, picturing tales of epic battles and star-crossed lovers. It sounded…. Nice.

“You write those books that people fight over on the internet, don’t you?” he asked. Because he was pretty sure he had seen things about Morally grey love interests and a enemies-to-lovers arc and people fighting with other people about which fictional man was hotter. 

Lizzie’s smile widened, her eyes glittering with humour. “Guilty as charged. I write the books that people have passionate debates over online. The ones where people are way too invested in the love triangle and have very strong opinions about which fictional man is hotter.”

His brows shot up. “Wait—are you, like, famous?”

She shrugged. “Depends on who you ask.”

Lando narrowed his eyes, then pulled out his phone and started typing.

Lizzie swatted at his arm. “Are you Googling me?”

“Uh, yeah?”

"What are you evening googling? Lizzie Romantasy?" she asked him with a snort. "You probably won't find me. Try Elizabeth Treshton."

The results for 'Elizabeth Treshton' appeared on the screen, and he scrolled through for a moment, articles and book covers, reviews and interviews popping up.

A moment later he got his answer.

"You sold millions of books."

Lando stared at Lizzie with a mixture of incredulity and awe. "I think that counts as famous."

Lizzie shrugged. “And yet, my dog still expects me to carry her up the stairs when she’s being lazy.”

Mara wagged her tail like she agreed.

Lando laughs, shaking his head. “I have a feeling Mara has you wrapped around her paw.”

She hummed in agreement, her hand going to the end of Mara's leash as the dog stopped to sniff at a tree.

“I swear, she knows exactly how cute she is and uses it to her advantage.”

Lando slipped his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head. “That’s actually really cool. How’d you get into it?”

Lizzie hesitated, then exhaled. “I have epilepsy. Had a lot of seizures when I was younger, which meant a lot of time in hospitals. You get really bored after a while.” She snorted. “So, I kept busy. Told myself stories, read, learned to crochet. But writing stuck. Studied English lit at uni, got a publishing deal right after. I was really lucky.”

Lando nodded. “That’s kinda sick, actually. You get to make stuff up for a living.”

Lizzie chuckled. “Yeah. I guess you could say that.” She glanced at him. “What about you? What’s it like, racing cars all day?”

He grinned. “Honestly? A lot more boring than you’d think.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “You drive 300 kilometers an hour for a living.”

“Yeah, but I also stare at spreadsheets for hours. It’s not all fast cars and cheering crowds.”

“I mean, if you didn’t look at data, I think there would be bigger problems,” Lizzie said, teasing.

He rolled his eyes. “I do look at it, I promise.”

“So, how’d you end up doing that?”

“My mum tried to get me into horses—wasn’t into it. But I wanted to drive. Did quad biking, motorcycle riding… then my dad took me to a kart race, and that was it.”

“That’s sweet. My dad and I have watched F1 together since I was a kid," Lizzie said with a grin.

Lando glanced at her. “Really? That’s awesome. So, are you, like, one of those people who actually knows what’s going on during a race?”

Lizzie grinned. “You’re just mad because I probably know more than you.”

“Impossible,” Lando said, acting affronted. “I drive the car, I know what I’m doing.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Do you, though?”

He gaped at her. “I can’t believe you just questioned my driving skills.”

She just laughed. “I can’t drive at all, you know.”

“I can teach you,” he offered immediately.

She laughed. “I am legally not allowed to get behind the wheel,” Lizzie told him drily. “Epilepsy, you know. If I get a seizure while driving, I would accidentally murder people,”

“That sucks,” Lando said quietly.

“It’s just one of those things you get used to. You get used to not having control over that part of your life.”

Lando felt a pang of sympathy. “That must be tough.”

Lizzie shrugged. “It is, sometimes. But Mara’s a huge help. And I get by.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Lando said, glancing down at the dog, who was happily leading the way once again.

Lizzie smiled. “She’s the best. And it’s not all bad. Gives me more time to write, at least.”

Lando grinned. “I’m definitely interested in reading some of your work now.”

She laughed. “You are aware that they are all like 500 pages, right?”

Lando groaned dramatically. “You’re telling me you’ve published multiple million-selling books, and they’re all doorstoppers?”

"I am a wordy person, you know," Lizzie shot back.

Lando groaned again, but he smiled, too. “You’re making me work for it here.”

Lizzie just shrugged, her mouth curving into a smirk. “You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

” Lando grinned, already planning his next move. “Alright, super important question,” he said, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket.

Lizzie raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Who’s your favorite F1 driver?”

She let out a soft laugh. “You really want to know?”

Lando nodded, deadly serious. “This is crucial information. Make or break.”

She laughed, a strand of dark chocolate brown hair escaping her bun. 

“My dad is a die hard Ferrari fan,” she told him. “Seriously. Like you know that quote that there are only two religions in Italy, Catholicism and Ferrari? That’s pretty much my dad,” she said with a shake of her heard. “So for him it was always Schumacher…

As they strolled through the park, Mara trotting ahead with her nose to the ground, Lando shot Lizzie a sideways glance.

Lizzie hummed, drawing out the suspense. “When I was little, I loved Kimi Raikkonen.”

Lando groaned. “Kimi? Seriously?!?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “You asked! I was, like, ten. You weren’t even in F1 yet.”

“Still hurts,” Lando muttered. “Alright, fine. What about now? Who’s your current favorite?”

Lizzie smirked. “Are you asking because you want me to say you?”

He feigned innocence. “Noooo… but also, yes.”

She pretended to consider. “Well, I do appreciate drivers with great car control and a smooth racing style.”

Lando’s grin stretched wide. “That does sound familiar—”

“Which is why I love watching Lewis.”

Lando gasped, scandalized. “Lizzie, what the hell?”

She laughed. “What? He’s a seven-time world champion! You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“I can definitely be mad at you for that.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I thought we had something special.”

Lizzie smirked. “Would it make you feel better if I said you’re my favorite driver I’ve ever gone on a walk with?”

Lando narrowed his eyes at her, fighting a smile. “Barely.”

***

[clonerightsagenda]

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.  

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

#

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

#

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

#

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.  

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

#

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

#

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”  

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

#

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

#

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

#

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

#

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.  

#

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

#

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

#

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

#

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

[quibbs126]

Maybe I’m just being lazy but screw it, I don’t have much else to add to this page, or that I will add, so page now

As stated prior, this AU now has the name of Transformers X, and this page is pretty much just me trying to make various designs for characters

I say try because while I got Jazz and a design for Bumblebee, I kind of gave up by the Starscream design, or I just didn’t know how to finish it

I guess let’s just go through what’s here

So first we have Bumblebee. I gave him a visor, but I don’t know if I want to keep it, because honestly I’m giving too many characters visors at this rate

I do like how round he is though, and I like his horns

I also decided I need to give characters other gem shapes, which I did here with Bee. I gave him the two on his chest to mimic headlights, and one on his head because why not

I have no clue what his role in the AU is. I know he’s an Autobot, and he probably has some connection with Optimus, but I don’t know what specifically he does? Originally I was planning on him being Optimus’ support bot, but I ended up finding Jazz a better pick, so I don’t know what to do with him now

Speaking of which, on to Jazz. I already explained stuff about him prior, how he’s semi based on his TFA design. The red circle gem is supposed to be where his Autobot symbol is, but honestly I might change the shape. I don’t know how much I like the circle on him. The circle shoulders can stay though

By Jazz I realized I should probably be more elaborate with the arms, but I still need more time to figure out how specifically to go about that

And as for his role, as stated he is Optimus and usually Megatron’s support bot. By which I mean, guy in the HQ that’s giving the bot out field and opponent data, as well as helping with strategies

I said he has a casual thing going with both Optimus and Megatron, but honestly, I might take it out. I thought it was funny, but I’m not sure how much I like it genuinely. Not that I don’t think the ship could work, it’s just that maybe I’ll shelve it here. I do kind of like it though still, at least on Optimus’ end. The polyamory’s so there’s no cheating, because I’ve decided megop is official here

And then we get to the unfinished designs

So with Starscream, I didn’t really know how to translate his helmet design into Mega Man-esque format. So I went looking for characters to maybe get some pointers on how to do so, and I ended up finding Gate, who basically became my main inspiration for this Starscream

I just thought the helm design really fit Starscream, and I mean I can use the flashback Gate for scientist Starscream too

But then during my sketching I was like “does that really look like Starscream?” Like he looks like a Mega Man character, but to me I’m not sure he’s recognizable as Starscream

I also didn’t know what to do for his body, since the gem was supposed to be in place of his cockpit, nor was I sure on his arms or how his wings work

So I decided he’s to be shelved for now, maybe I can make a better design later

Then I decided to do a small head design for Skyfire. As is he isn’t really going to be in the AU, since he’s currently in stasis, but might as well

He’s fine, I just have to figure out his body

Then we have a semi-sketch of Soundwave, who’s mainly based on Vile because I feel like the shapes work for him

I was trying to add something to his head to make him look more Soundwave, but they didn’t turn out right. Maybe my issue here is leaning too much into the Vile helm style

All I know is he is very square

And I think that’s mainly it on this round of AU stuff. It really isn’t that much, I’ll be honest, but this is from like, the past few days where I’ve been doing a lot of work, and I haven’t had much creative juice. Hopefully by Thursday or Friday I have more substance

Honestly I just want to keep drawing Megatron and Optimus, but I know I should expand the cast. But maybe I should just do what I want instead, since all of this is self indulgent anyways. I do need to modify Megs’ design now since I’ve decided he has circle shoulders now

[gabbiecasso]

Sharing my recent journal entry about Neve Gallus and myself, so let me yap

One of the biggest reasons Neve means so much to me is because I see myself in her. I’ve always been logical and analytical, always trying to figure things out—why something works, why it doesn’t. That curiosity naturally led me to problem-solving, but it also made me intellectualize my emotions instead of just feeling them, even though I know I’m a deeply emotional person.

Neve’s struggle is not that she lacks emotions—it’s that she feels too much. She’s the kind of person who catches the smallest inconsistencies, pieces together the truth with precision, and always seems to know what’s really going on. Her logic is sharp, her deduction skills nearly unmatched. And yet, when it comes to her own emotions, she shuts them down. Not because she doesn’t understand them, but because she does. She knows that if she lets them take over, they might unravel everything she’s built—her discipline, her duty, her control. And god, do I feel the same way.

The way I see it, our logic isn’t just a tool—it’s a shield. We both intellectualize our emotions, treating them like puzzles to be solved rather than experiences to be felt. But emotions aren’t rational, and the more we try to categorize them, the more they slip through our grasp. So instead, we repress them.

But repression isn’t the same as control. Neve’s emotions don’t disappear—they linger beneath the surface, showing up in subtle ways. In the way she hesitates before making a choice that should be easy. In the way she avoids thinking about what comes next. In the way she convinces herself that as long as she keeps moving forward, she’ll be fine.

Her emotional logic is a paradox—she tries to rationalize feelings that, by nature, resist logic. And deep down, she knows she can’t keep running from them forever.

When my emotions rise and start clouding my judgment, I panic—not because I don’t understand them, but because I know myself. I know how deeply I can feel, but I don’t always know how far those feelings will take me. I think Neve is the same way. She’s confident in herself, but she doesn’t know her breaking point.

And maybe that’s why falling in love can feel so terrifying for someone deeply logical and analytical. You can study it, observe it, notice the smallest details, and even rationalize why a person makes you feel the way they do—but love isn’t something you can fully understand. It has to be felt. And for someone like Neve, who’s spent so long relying on logic, that’s exactly what makes it so daunting. She knows she has feelings for Rook, but acknowledging them isn’t the same as allowing herself to feel them. So she represses them, over and over again.

Man, human behavior and emotions have always been my favorite topics, so stumbling upon Neve’s character was such a treat. But honestly? Watching her struggle was like watching myself, LOL. Not to mention, we both share the same deep-seated need to be of service to others. The need to fulfill a duty, god. As someone who thrives on acts of service, I get it. When you want to be there for people, you start taking on everything yourself without even realizing it. Sometimes it’s so second nature that I don’t even notice I’ve gone out of my way to do something I swore I wouldn’t—like taking a route I hate just to make sure a friend gets home safe—until someone else points it out.

Learning to balance logic with emotion—understanding my feelings while also allowing myself to truly feel them—and balancing the need to be of service to others and to myself, it has been a lifelong journey.

It's exactly the reason why I draw.

I’ll remember Neve for a very long time. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a fictional character who mirrors me this well.

I don't follow zodiac signs religiously but me being a Capricorn (Sun) and Virgo (moon) is too much of a coincidence that explains my overly logical + overworked ass LOL

[bonnibellexox]

Writing: Things I Learnt the Hard Way #11

~Character Conflict~

Conflict is one of the biggest pitfalls in character-driven stories like romances. How often have you felt like one character flies off the handle at nothing just so they can argue? Be it jealousy, neglect or cheating, it always seems to happen shortly after the ‘will they/won't they’ has run its course. Every story needs conflict, so I guess John will get mad at Jane for being out late and they’ll almost break up over it... Or something.

Well, maybe don't do that.

Instead, you need to work on your characters themselves. Are they too generic? Are they too similar? What makes real relationships so prone to tension and conflict, even when the couple are perfect for each other? Real people fight because real people are different, no matter how much they have in common.

So here’s the formula:

1) Give your characters more rounded personalities, value and principles. This does not mean you should write polar opposites with nothing in common, it just means that people’s experiences will inevitably make them react to things differently. (This is crucial)

2) Set off a separate conflict- A traumatising event, an argument with a third party, pregnancy, illness, house burning down. Pick something that will poke them in all the right places.

3) Now, let your characters react to this. Conflict will bloom in just the approach they take in this situation. Both can have their reasons to behave the way they do, while still being at odds with the other person.

It's hard to write about two good people who still fight somehow. It feels like there's supposed to be bad guy but you dont want to ruin one of your carefully crafted sweethearts just for the book. Well the reality is that bumping into each other is human nature, especially under stress. With all the good intentions in the world, sometimes you won't see eye to eye.

The empathy you fell in love with might stop your partner from condeming peoples actions even when they hurt you. The adventous spirit that lit up your life might overheat when its forced to stay home with a sick baby for days on end. The trust you earned through months of careful affections might be lost in one moment of anger. The laid-back attitude that freed you from perfectionism might become bloodboiling when you need a situation to be taken seriously. The joy you became accustomed to might be hiding a million tiny cracks.

Use that. Let your characters discover every incompatibility and find a way to work with it. It will write your character arc for you and won’t have your audience wondering why the book is still going.

[puppppppppy]

i feel like im not making any sense but does anyone else feel like there are stories that let u run with them and ones that spell everything out for you

[tropicalcontinental]

Fucked up slugcat and its iterator

I'll name them uhhh, Two Sided Coin idk

I'm getting more attached to this every passing second it's kinda fun

[deus-ex-mona]

series i’m gatekeeping from my family vs series i’m ✨ok✨ with my family knowing i’m into:

[doodlingwren]

It's 2024 can we please stop saying it's normal to trace or copying an entire drawing and pretending it's 100% your work? Just bc you changed the character or added clothes on a base you found on pinterest it doesn't mean you created original art

[phagodyke]

kind of annoys me sometimes how I can happily listen to my roommate explain the entire plot of whatever she's currently into but when it comes to my interests she can only listen for a few mins before wordlessly walking out of the room

[spilling-blood]

I fucking forgot I had explicitly been rolling with the poison dart frog ability theory for this fic since we didn't actually know when I started this thing.

[pikachu-deluxe]

it's honestly so relieving to realize what you were missing for your creative projects no matter how dumb and obvious you think it should have been

[quibbs126]

My brain decided to take this idea and make it more angsty, with the idea that they are father and son, but neither of them know it, either because D was born after Sentinel’s betrayal, or the betrayal was like, right after D was born, like only a couple days later. But regardless of which option, Sentinel has this relation scrubbed from records because he doesn’t want to deal with this kid or something or because he’s the son of the High Guard commander, has D’s cog removed and sends him away or something

I mean I don’t actually think it’s legit, it’s just that my brain keeps making this connection between them because of their similar colors and such, but like, pretend it is for this thought

I know the timeline also gets awfully messy with this proposed idea as well, like it assumes Sentinel immediately started stealing T-cogs (though to be fair we don’t know when he started in the first place), especially if D was born before the betrayal. Also it means D has to be like, 50 but we also don’t know his canon age in the movie. Just again, like, walk with me here on this, alright?

Also there’s the fact of D’s helmet only being black in his cogless form. With that, I’ve sort of concocted this headcanon (not just for this but it applies here) of the cogless forms we see being semi-natural for Transformers, considering the distinct differences between their cogless and cogged state, like the color and form of D’s helmet. I’m thinking that, if sparklings/development cycles are a thing here, the cogless form would be their initial appearance, minus the empty T-cog hole, when their bodies are not yet able to transform. Once they reach the age where they can, they have some sort of growth spurt thing where they go from that developmental stage to their normal cogged forms. Since the miners didn’t have T-cogs however, they never had that spurt and had to stay and grow in their cogless bodies instead

So like, in this scenario, Starscream would know his son looks like D-16’s cogless form, since that’s what he started out as, his cogged form would be mostly unrecognizable to him other than Starscream thinking they look pretty similar. Like maybe this D-16 guy is what his son would look like, but other than similar appearance he has literally no evidence to say it is, so he’s not going to believe it until more evidence otherwise, it’s more likely a coincidence. And D doesn’t know anything because he was a baby

While I don’t think this idea holds that much actual water, and I’m not saying this is my definitive theory or take on this version of the two characters, like I legit believe D-16/Megatron is Starscream’s secret son, in a vacuum I kind of like the concept of it. Like I need an fic exploring this concept and the angst potential. Maybe I should do that honestly

No because real talk, whenever I see D-16 and Starscream next to each other, they honestly look related to me

Like D looks like Starscream’s tank son, but white with red accents instead of Starscream’s red with white (and also blue). And the fact that the cogless bots are notably smaller than the cogged ones does not help

Starscream needs to pay his child support

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

The I feel like she sees me line being said to Eddie who is the person that truly sees Buck for all that he is. Are we supposed to take this line at face value which would indicate piss poor writing because they needed to rush to a horrible ending or do we take it as Buck being an unreliable narrator? What was the audience supposed to interpret from Buck saying that, were we truly supposed to believe him or we supposed to be pissed at Buck for saying this to the one person that truly sees Buck?

Good morning to me, I guess.

I'm assuming you haven't really seen people's reactions in the fandom on tumblr because I feel like I saw this said in quite a few posts going around, but you are absolutely not supposed to take this line at face value. I'm surprised that people think you should. 9-1-1 has from the beginning had a habit of turning friendships into romantic relationships (Bathena and Madney) and taking their time with these things rather than having an instalove situation. Even Karen and Hen, who meet when they're set up on a date together, don't instantly fall in love. I do not think they would set Eddie or Buck up for an endgame relationship with a woman by having them date that woman immediately, even if they didn't plan to make Buddie canon.

Buck is clearly struggling post-death. He's lost and once again looking for the answer from a romantic partner. He did a lot of growth in regards to his family relationships this season but not his romantic ones. Remember, his couch ended up destroyed and he asked his latest girlfriend to pick the new one out for him. Again. He's still not picking his own damn couch. After being unable to sleep on the one his mom gave him but passed out instantly on Eddie's where he ran to feel safe.

If people think this is all, somehow, an accident or the writers are doing this without knowing what they're doing, then I can't help you. Do you also think the symbolism I put into my fanfics are a total accident? Do you guys think I picked the name of the poem "Fuchsia Emerald Alizarin Rose" just because the colors are fun and they accidentally spell out F.E.A.R. or do you think maybe I did that absolutely 100% on purpose and was waiting for someone to realize?

Buck saying that to Eddie is 100% supposed to make the audience raise their eyebrows. Especially when we see Eddie's reaction. He's confused and he's hurt and he's annoyed. Eddie then spends his next few lines showing Buck (and us) that he sees Buck. Buck misses it, it goes right over his head, but the audience is shown that Buck is wrong and Eddie sees him.

I think there was a lot of internal stuff going on behind the scenes way high up the ladder that meant Buddie didn't happen this season. No, I don't mean that in a tinhatting way, I just mean that they knew Fox wouldn't renew them, they didn't know if they'd get picked up somewhere else, Fox hasn't promoted or cared about this show the way it has its other shows in a while, and I think it's pretty clear there was shuffling and changes going on with 6B. So I think things had to be put off. Similar to the pandemic, where I genuinely wonder what kind of season four we would've gotten if we'd had the full 18 episodes and hadn't had to work around Covid. I think that when we know there was a big shift going on behind the scenes, we need to have some grace and patience in how that will effect the story that's told on screen.

But I think that this default to "everything good we see on our screens is an accident and the writers are making shitty choices" is a horrible bad faith argument, and it's exhausting. Aren't you exhausted? I'm exhausted. Fandom shouldn't treat the writing and production team like their enemies any more than the writing and production team should treat the fans like their enemies in some kind of war they have to win (looking at you, GoT showrunners).

We are supposed to be annoyed that Buck is missing the point. We are supposed to see Buck's yearning to be a husband and a father, and how he's missing what's right in front of him. We are supposed to put two and two together and see that Eddie was hurt by Buck's words, that Eddie sees Buck, that Eddie is Buck's safe place, and that Eddie in that moment decided he might not have a chance with Buck and needs to move on, because previously we saw Eddie admit he wants romance again but he doesn't want to go out on dates, we saw his aunt say she met her husband through work, we saw him say 'we have time' and then we saw him immediately after Buck tells him about this new girl who "sees him" flee to visit his mother and then immediately actually try dating. On a meta level this is also because Eddie needs confidence in himself as a romantic partner and needs some more experience under his belt before he's ready to take the plunge with Buck, but in Eddie's mind, I think it's pretty clear he feels Buck will never want him back and he's trying to find the love he wants somewhere else, even if his heart is still Buck's.

So that's what I think. I think it's not explicitly spelled out for a few reasons, but frankly if one of them was a woman we wouldn't need it explicitly spelled out and personally I kinda like that it's not. Something that annoys me with M/F pairings is the constant "we all know you two like each other" talks from third parties that half the time aren't about the characters but are about the audience, to either tell the audience SEE THEY LIKE EACH OTHER THAT'S WHAT THIS IS ABOUT or to give the audience some fanservice while the characters aren't ready to get together. I don't need to be pandered to that way, thank you, so I'm a fan of the slightly more subtle approach that I, personally, see going on with Buddie.

If you or anyone else disagrees with me and feels it was just "piss poor writing" then that's entirely your right. I'd just appreciate it if people who feel that way would stop watching the show, and stop putting their complaints into the inboxes of people who clearly do enjoy the show.

TL;DR - You answered your own question, Buck is an unreliable narrator (and always has been) and we are supposed to be frustrated he said this to Eddie who has proven time and again (and does so in that very scene) that he sees Buck.

[orcelito]

I take back... SOME of my negativity about fe:engage. Now that I'm out of prolog hell I have decided the fun eclipses the annoyances. For now.

[slightlytoastedbagel]

kinda sorta want to do a room update for Kohane. as in adding in the littles trinkets she's acquired since vbs formed